The Slap

My girlfriend has forbidden me to tell anymore stories about her.  But she has granted me a special exemption to tell this doozie.  (I think she felt so guilty that she figured she had to let me write it.)  So here goes…

 —

This summer we took a roadtrip from End Of The World, Utah to attend a wedding in San Diego.  Since she had never seen that part of the country we decided to drive.  With summer construction it took us a good 13 hours, and in our haste to make it and get off our asses we skipped dinner to motor through, pulling into my friends’ place (the infamous Dead Wing and Prada) around 10 or 11pm.

We promptly started drinking.  It was my girlfriend’s first time meeting Prada and Dead Wing and I had been a little nervous of how everyone would get along.  You know how it is the first time your new girlfriend meets your friends, you worry about it way more than you should and it ends up being totally fine.  Same thing here.  Dead Wing and I started knockin’ back a refreshing gin and tonic, while Prada and my girlfriend went for a bottle of wine.

Before long, they opened a second bottle of wine.  Meanwhile, on an empty stomach I was beginning to feel a little buzzed after just one oversized and overpoured G&T.  It was going to be a good night.

I should probably explain here that my girlfriend can drink with the best of ‘em.  I mean, she can put ‘em away like a champ.  We haven’t actually had a drinking competition (I’m too old for that, plus I don’t think drinking should be a challenge; as long as everyone gets fucked up everyone wins) but I’m quite certain she could outdrink me.  She does, however, have one weakness: when she gets truly hammered she blacks out completely.  I’m not talking a spotty memory like most of us.  No, her mind just goes blank.  So, she often does or says things while intoxicated that she has no memory of, and many times she amazes even herself at the shit she does (i.e. saying we might be soul mates after knowing each other less than a month).  When this happens, she refers to it as having an alter-ego.  She even has a name for her alter-ego: Trixie.

This was definitely a Trixie night.

It started when she decided to invite herself into their hot tub.  Not that anyone minded, this was a splendid idea, and it actually made me feel good that she felt comfortable enough around my friends to do so.  So we all got into our suits and piled into the hot tub, pausing only long enough to refill our drinks.

It was a warm night and before long we were all rotating back and forth from the hot tub to the refreshingly cool swimming pool.  And the girls were cracking open a third bottle of wine.  We were all having a grand time.

But Trixie doesn’t have a very long shelf life.  When she comes out to play there’s only a short window before she is completely obliterated and the night is over.  On an empty stomach and after a long day on the road she went from drunk to sloppy to obliterated in the blink of an eye.  It was time to go to bed.  So I helped her out of the pool (almost losing her into the deep end), walked her into the house (almost losing her through the screen door) and into the guest bedroom, and let her fall onto the most comfortable aerobed I’ve ever slept on.

Of course, before we could go to bed we had to get out of our wet swimsuits.  My girlfriend was no help whatsoever, so I had to untie her bikini (yes, it was the infamous Buffalo Sabres bikini) and pull it off her while she laid half passed out on the aerobed.  With that job done, all that was left was to get out of my own swim trunks and I could pass out.

Now, at this point I would like to remind everyone that I had been in the pool for some time.  You’ve all seen the Seinfeld shrinkage episode, right?  It happens.  It’s nothing to be ashamed of, everyone’s dick shrivels up when it’s cold and wet.

Well, as soon as I pulled my trunks down my girlfriend stirred and lifted her head just enough to give me a look.  Then, with a look of drunken disgust on her face, she said, “I don’t like it.  It’s small.”  As if that wasn’t insulting enough, she then reached out and slapped dismissively at my shriveled cock and balls.  Not hard, mind you, it’s not like she hurt me.  No, this was worse, because it was so dismissive, as if my penis were completely irrelevant.

I began to mutter something along the lines of Costanza’s shrinkage speech, but she was already passed out.

So, what did I do next?

Well, let me tell you.  With my pride wounded there was only one thing to do:

I fucked her.

Hard.

She was basically passed out when I climbed on top of her, but I quickly brought her back to semi-consciousness with my crude, rough, drunken advances.  I pounded away at her while she more groaned than moaned, still not entirely aware of what was going on.  I knew I was too drunk to cum but I didn’t care.  This wasn’t about pleasure.  This was about restoring my manly pride.  And after I had satisfied myself that I had proven my manhood again I rolled over and passed  the fuck out out.

The next morning she awoke with a start, half jumping out of bed.  “Why am I naked?”

Not quite sure how I felt about the previous evening yet I gave the most simple answer.  “We had sex.”

“Oh… Was it good?”

I waited about a day and a half to finally tell her what had happened.  She was horrified.  Absolutely mortified.  But she also thought it was pretty fucking hilarious.  And, to be honest, once I had gotten over the initial shock, I thought it was pretty damn funny myself.  And after she spent the next week apologizing and reassuring me that my penis was perfectly decent, we reached an understanding that we could all laugh about this, the latest of Trixie’s antics.

Guess I'll never have to read this book...

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.”

Butt Sex: It’s Not For Everyone

I have a very limited experience with anal sex.  For some people that would be a source of great regret.  But the truth is, I’m ok with it.  There are many things in life I’m still hoping to experience: a threesome, sex in a tanning booth, a girl that doesn’t speak a word of English, cumming in a girl’s ear…. ok, I made that last one up, but you get the idea.  But anal sex just isn’t a priority for me.  I’m perfectly content with a tight pussy and a wet mouth.

My only incident with anal sex came when I was dating an Asian girl, who we’ll call Sun-Yi.  Sun-Yi was a lot of fun, she had a nice little body and was an absolute freak in bed.  This girl had no limits.  She had amazing muscular control of her pussy, she could basically milk my cock without me even having to move.  And she absolutely loved giving blow jobs and had excellent deep throat skills, plus she loved gagging to get that extra inch down her throat.

But by far the best thing about Sun-Yi was that, because of her apparent lack of experience with non-Asian men, she thought my average penis was just massive.  Let me tell you, there are few things in life that are a bigger turn on than fucking a girl and having her scream at the top of her lungs how much she loves your huge cock.  It reminds me of the old joke, “Find yourself a girl with small hands, it makes your dick look bigger.”  It’s all relative, folks.

Sun-Yi was also into anal sex, and although she was rather nervous about taking my “huge” dick up her pooper, she was absolutely hell bent on trying.

The first time we decided to give it a try she had a few drinks to relax before we got to work.  I managed to get the head in before she started having second thoughts.  Gasping and sputtering about how big I was, reaching a hand behind her to hold me back, I was already pretty certain this wasn’t going to work.  But give the girl credit, she was determined.  After taking a minute to get used to it, she told me to start pushing very very slowly.

And so I spent the next 10 minutes slowly drilling into her ass while she laid facedown on the bed, groaning and cursing and slapping the mattress like a pro wrestler caught in the figure-four leglock.  She clearly wasn’t enjoying herself despite her claims to the contrary.  And it wasn’t all that good for me either; sure, her ass was tight as a vice, but I could barely move, let alone stroke, so it was pretty much a waste.

When I had about four inches in her butthole she turned her head back towards me and asked, “Is that all of it?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Uh… about half, babe.”  She collapsed back on the bed. “Well, maybe a little more than half…”  I tried to console her, but she was deflated and defeated.

“I can’t do it,” she whimpered. “I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

I have to admit, I didn’t mind at all.  This buttfucking stuff wasn’t nearly as much fun as it looked like in porn.  And to be honest, the ego boost of having this self-proclaimed lover of anal be unable to handle me was better than any buggering could ever be.

Sun-Yi and I lived in different states so it would be about a month before we got to spend another weekend together.  And clearly in that time she had been thinking about her failure.  She was eager for a rematch with my penis.  We were making out on her couch, slowly disrobing as we prepared to go at it when she said she wanted to try anal again.  I had already started fingering her pussy when she asked me to finger her asshole.  Alright, I can do that. Getting a finger wet with her juices I slowly started penetrating her ass. No problem there, and she quickly asked for a second finger. Soon I had two fingers buried to the knuckle inside her, just pluggin’ away.  Sun-Yi was in heaven, moaning and grinding her pelvis into the couch cushions.  Her ass was slowly loosening and I was just beginning to think this could possibly work.

And then I felt something.

Yep, I was definitely touching shit way up in her asshole.  It was one of the most mortifying moments of my life.  I pulled my fingers out of her ass so quick it made a popping sound, taking her breath away.  “Uh, babe,” I said, “I don’t know exactly how to say this, but you’re kind of messy down there.”  And then I ran to the bathroom to wash my hands.  Repeatedly.

We never tried anal again.

We broke up shortly after that.  No, it had nothing to do with the anal.  The big issue was that, although she’s by far the biggest freak I’ve ever had sex with, she also was really into Jesus.  And although I am very respectful of other people’s beliefs I’m not a religious person myself.  This bothered her to no end.  I agreed to try going to church with her, but I told her not to get her hopes up and expect me to “see the light” just because I sat through a service.  It also bothered her immensely that, because I’m not passionate about any one faith, I can be annoyingly objective about all faiths.  One time she was badmouthing Catholics as “not real Christians,” to which I responded, “I don’t know much, but I’m pretty sure Catholics are the original Christians.”  That did not sit well with her, and shortly thereafter she dumped me.

But I have no animosity.  I can honestly say I hope she found herself a nice God-fearing man who could give her the butthole pleasures I never could.

Size Matters

I once slept with consecutive girls who said I was the biggest they’d ever had. (Note: I did not solicit this information, it was what the courts would call an “excited utterance.”  I don’t make a habit of asking girls how I measure up to their previous relations, I swear.) 

But the first girl was Asian and the other Mormon so I didn’t put too much stock in it.  I mean, we’ve all heard the stories of Asian men being hung like a light switch.  And let’s face it, don’t Mormon guys just seem like they’d be packing 4 inches or less?

 

But then the next girl I hooked up with gushed over my size as well, and suddenly my ego was bursting through the roof.  I held my head a little higher, I had a strut in my step, utterly proud of my manliness.

By my next conquest my arrogance had reached unprecedented heights.  In the middle of our coupling, a little drunk and a lot full of myself, I made some reference to my “huge cock.”  To which she responded, “Yeah, you’re decent…”

Ouch.

Rest assured, my ego has returned to a “decent” size….