When I was smaller than my current five foot and maybe one inch I used to have an eagle-eyed Sindy doll. If I remember correctly, which is very unlikely, she'd gouged her eagle-eyes from a Special Boat Service Action Man (GI Joe) that she'd been carrying on with on the side. Now most Sindys were middle class housewives in waiting but not mine. Oh no. Mine was a white trash council house gold digger who with her eagle-eyes could spot a slut-whore outfit up to a thousand feet away across a crowded toy shop. 

Worse still was that whenever a neighbourhood Barbie invited her around for afternoon tea and 'homemaking' she'd invariably stuff her pockets with whatever glittery accessories she could lay her plastic hands on. I still carry the emotional scar from the time she tried to drive off in Caroline Bamford's pink convertible as her Barbie waved politely from the window. You definitely couldn't trust her anywhere near a Ken doll; turn your back for just two minutes and she'd have his trousers down around his ankles, would straddle him and would be furiously grinding her anatomically non-existent sex against his. 

Its probably best if I don't even mention the incident with the Sylvannian Families because that went way beyond anything a young lady should experience, but how should I have known that Mrs Maple Squirrel and Mrs Tuxedo Cat were such a pair of dirty bitches. 

*blushes at the memory*

Anyway, if you have eagle-eyes like my Sindy doll you will have espied that I have a guest author this week, James Llewellyn. Now James has lots of 'friends' who have lots of problems. And when I say problems I mean the sort you normally keep tucked away in your panties and don't divulge to anyone beyond your nearest and dearest. But it seems James's 'friend', Mr Big Bugger, has paid his fifty pounds so it's best we find out exactly what his problem is. 

Dear CumGirl,

May I call you Cummy? I feel I know you so well, and I like Cummy better than CumGirl. It’s like Cummy Bears, or Cummy-Yummy. Or Mummy. I know we could be really good friends if we could arrange to get together. I could hold you and cuddle you, and you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. Let me know when we can make this happen. I sent through the five hundred pound cheque for a 'personal appearance' just as you suggested. 

Anyway, my problem is my girlfriend. Well, she’s not actually my girlfriend, more of an online girlfriend kind of friend. We met on this erotica website that’s really cool, and has lots of nice fucking stories about, you know, fucking? Anyway, I met this girl, at least I think she’s a girl, and her name is FX94728y, but I call her Rosie. I really like her avatar. It’s not red at all, it’s really, you know, sexy? She’s got big jiggly tits, and a shaved twat, and long, blonde hair, and smoky eyes, and I like all of that. Her avatar also got this funny watermark thingie at the bottom, but she tells me her lawyers make her do that.

Anyway, my screen name, which I use for this site, is Big Bugger, and I have to confess something. My avatar isn’t really me. Well, it kind of is, because it’s the me I would be if I could. You know? Big muscles, and an enormous cock? And a beard, or at least it looks like I haven’t shaved in a while. Anyway, Rosie and I have arranged to meet in Real Life so I can give her a present; some money so she can buy her auntie some medicine that she really, really needs. But the problem is, I’m afraid she’s going to expect me to look like my avatar-thingie, ‘cause I’ve assured her I am absolutely hunky. 

Well, I am. Sort of. I’m not as tall, and I do have all of those muscles, they’re just not as big. And I have an above average cock! It’s at least 4 inches long! Just not quite as thick. Anyway, what should I do?

Thank you – and I’d really like to get together with you real soon, as soon as we could make it!

Your friend and biggest fan,

Big Bugger

"Do I have to answer it? Just because he paid his fifty pounds? Where does it say that? Clause seventeen, section two? Hmmmm. But I can just write anything, can't I? Really? Where? Appendix three, but appendix three is thirty pages. Oh for fucks sake. Say that again, let me write it down. 'Substantially address the issues raised in the letter', well there goes that fucking Teletubbies joke. You know, the one where the Teletubbies are fucking. Oh forget it, I'm not in the mood now. Bastard, fucking contract. And what about the five hundred pound 'personal appearance fee'? Are you telling me I actually have to go and meet him? Thirty minutes? I've got to spend thirty minutes listening to his snivelling shit as he undresses me with his eyes? No, I can't send the money back. Because I've fucking spent it. Not that you noticed, I could be wearing a fucking bin bag for all you care. Don't 'honeybun' me. And no I don't want a snuggle. Look, can you just fuck off, apparently I'm contractually obliged to answer this sodding letter". 

Dear Big Bugger

Four inches!!! Sorry but you're just going to have to give me a minute whilst I catch my breath. I've known pigs with bigger dicks, and theirs are all corkscrewy. Oh well. Nevermind. There really isn't much point in you going to meet Miss Jiggly Tits with that little Iggle Piggle, she is going to be seriously underwhelmed. But, don't worry, we've got a little time to whip that pocket rocket into shape. 

Now I'm sure you've seen those adverts for pills in porn mags that will turn your Iggle Piggle into some Godzilla type monster, but believe me, those won't work. What you need is an exercise regime to whip it into shape (not literally, obvs, I can't imagine what good whipping it is going to do). The first step, however, is to build up its core strength and that means working out with weights. The type you get with old fashioned kitchen scales will do fine and it might be best if you start with the smallest and work your way up. You'll need a harness for Iggle Piggle, weights dangling beneath and then all you need do is flex and release, flex and release. About thirty minutes should be fine to start but you'll need to build up to a full hour as soon as possible.

With your core strength improved we can start on the stretches. Many coaches would recommend hand tugging, but I suspect that you've engaged in that extensively to little effect so I'm going to skip straight to banging the bishop. Just flop him down on a chopping board, grab a steak tenderiser, and let's beat the shit out of the little devil. Okay, this may hurt a bit, but remember 'no pain, no gain', so keep at it until you have something resembling a veal escalope. Give it a quick measure, we're looking for around five inches at this point, so if you're coming up short it's going to need a bit more of a bash.

Now all that is left is to add a bit more length and some shaping, and for that you'll need suction so I'd recommend using a vacuum cleaner with a hose attachment. Now isn't that just a perfect size for Mr Iggle Piggle and let's be honest it's almost exactly like her twat, hairless and hungry for your dicklet. So ram it in there, start on a low suction and gradually work your way up through the settings. Take your time. If you're too hasty you're either going to blow your load or end up with a spaghetti strand (all length and no substance). 

And there you have it. New cock, new you. No don't thank me, I'm just doing my job. 

Right, what's next. 

CG

Xxx

So there you have it, another satisfied customer. Now if you reading this, chewing over an insoluble problem and in desperate need of advice, then just write to Dear Cum, Cum Cottage, Lower Snatch Dripping, Cunnyshire. And remember to include your fifty pounds (cheques and postal orders accepted).