Taking One For the Team

When I worked for that school in Southern California I had a small army of hot college girls who worked for me.  No shit, there were like 8-10 girls that were just smokin’ hot, and they were actually referred to in the Athletic Department as my “harem.”

Ok, maybe my Harem wasn't quite this hot, but they were pretty stellar.

The ringleader of the group was Country.  She has only acquired that name recently, since moving to Nashville after college.  But Country was a pure-bred Orange County SoCal girl.  Not one of those stuck up bitches you see on TV shows though, Country is to this day one of my closest friends and my female confidant whenever I’m struggling to understand the psychotic mind of the female species.

Country and I have never hooked up or anything like that.  It’s odd, but I’ve just never thought of her that way.  Sure, she’s hot and all, with a remarkable rack, but to me she’s always been like family; I only half-jokingly refer to her as the big-breasted younger sister I never had.

One of Country’s best friends was HeartStopper, who was one of many hotties recruited to my Harem by Country.  HeartStopper is a sexy blonde, but that’s not why she has the nickname HeartStopper.  No, she’s had heart problems her whole life and has had (at last count, I have trouble keeping track) 14 heart operations in her young life.  She has a scar down the middle of her chest that she used to be extremely self-conscious about when she first started working for me.  Not to toot my own horn too much, but I feel like I helped her get over her self-consciousness by always telling her that her scar, rather than being a turn off, really just served to draw attention directly to her cleavage; it was like an arrow pointing to the promised land!  Nowadays HeartStopper proudly wears low-cut tops to show off her very nice cleavage.

(As an aside, as a result of all her operations, HeartStopper has no pulse in one of her wrists.  I don’t know how or why but if you check that arm for a pulse you’ll feel nothing.  It’s creepy.  So one year for a birthday present I got her one of those Medic-alert bracelets, you know for Diabetics and such, and had inscrbed on it “Check other wrist.”  You know, just so some rookie EMT doesn’t pronounce her dead if she ever passes out drunk at a party.)

Alright, enough background, on to my story.  Country and HeartStopper were living together in their later college years.  HeartStopper had just gotten out of a long term relationship with a guy.  I had never been too fond of the guy, seemed kinda like a douche to me, so I wasn’t too upset when they broke up.  But he was one of HeartStoppers first real boyfriends and sexual partners, so obviously she had some trouble getting over him.  Country, good friend that she was, did everything in her power to help HeartStopper move on.  Seriously, this girl was like a dude the way she stepped up as wingman.

Country had had a brief fling the summer before with the only member of BYU’s baseball team that wasn’t Mormon.  It hadn’t lasted long but they were still friendly and I assume still hooking up whenever he made his way to Southern California.  When BYU came to town to play San Diego State in baseball Country went out of her way to help hook HeartStopper up with one of BYU Guy’s teammates.  (Mormon or not, college kids still hook up no matter where they go to school.  As for BYU’s so-called “Honor Code,” read this article if you want to know how hypocritical and racist that whole school really is.)

HeartStopper picked out a player she thought was cute and Country got her guy to bring him out, a double date of sorts.  Things went great, everyone got along, and a good time was had by all.  The next morning HeartStopper was beaming.  She wasn’t all that thrilled with her new friend’s conversational skills, or his personality.  But she was impressed with his penis.  She went on and on about how big he was, gushed enthusiastically how it was so massive she could barely fit it in her mouth.  She claimed she “wouldn’t know what to do with it” if they had tried to have sex.  When pressed for number, she estimated him to be 10 inches.

10 inches!  Jesus.  When I heard this I immediately felt inadequate.

But I was also skeptical.  I mean, come on.  I’ve seen my fair share of porn (I’ve also seen your fair share of porn too, probably the entire state of Utah’s fair share).  I know there are 10-inch cocks out there, but they’re few and far between.  And they’re even rarer on skinny-ass white baseball players.  So I called bullshit.  But HeartStopper was adamant.  He was huge.  Double her last boyfriend, at least.

Being the good friend (and good supervisor) that I am, I turned to Country and said, “We’re going to need independent confirmation of this.”

Country agreed.  A little too eagerly, perhaps.  (Again, feelings of inadequacy growing inside me.)  HeartStopper didn’t mind at all if Country gave him a throw next time he was in town.  As I mentioned, she hadn’t been terribly thrilled with him personally, and since his dick was so massive she was afraid to have sex with him, she didn’t see much future for them.

The next time Mr. 10inches came to town I don’t know who was more excited, Country or me.  It was exciting just to be a part of this whole sordid tale.  The drama, the suspense, this was better than a TNT drama.

When I saw Country the next day the look of disappointment on her face told me everything I needed to know before she even opened her mouth.  “Average,” she said.  “At best.”

“Come on,” I said, “he’s gotta be better than average for HeartStopper to go on and on about it.  Maybe not ten inches but better than average.”

Maybe five and a half inches,” she answered.  “Probably less than five.  I was so disappointed I couldn’t even fuck him.”

Suddenly my inadequacy was disappearing.  “Wow, that sucks.  So… you didn’t fuck him, what’d you do?  Just laugh at him and tell him to put it back in his pants?”

“I felt bad for him,” she said.  “So I gave him a hand job.  But seriously, it was so small the head barely popped out when I put my hand around it.  I couldn’t even jerk him off properly.”

I was laughing so hard I could barely talk.  “Well, you do have big hands.”

“Yeah, for a girl, but still!  It was tiny!”

After I finished laughing for a good five minutes straight a new thought entered my mind (I have to admit, I was probably thinking about penises more than any straight man should be): “So if HeartStopper thought this barely average guy was huge, what does that say about her last boyfriend?”

Country thought for a moment.  Then she held up her pinky finger.  Combined with her look of disappointment, the picture was priceless.  I started laughing all over again.  “Yeah,” I agreed.  “He’s gotta be hung like an angry toddler.  Poor bastard.  No wonder he was always in such a bad mood.”



  1. […] Taking One For the Team […]

  2. […] I had a long talk with my friend  Country and broke it all down for her.  She listened sympathetically without laughing too much at my […]

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