Lick It Good

Hey folks. I'm taking a break from "Banana Hammocks" and "Cock Tales" this week to focus on some other projects. But of course I'm not gonna leave you loyal readers with nothing. Take a look at one of the many projects I've worked on and will be working on below. Come back next week for more adventures of Alex aka Rico and video skits...

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COCKTALES IV

“How can I help you, ma’am,” my voice spoke throughout the speakers all over the bar. This was the beginning of my mechanic act. “Do you need a tune up? Your tires rotated? How about I check up under your hood,” the song fades into R. Kelly’s "You Remind Me" and I start stripping my mechanic overalls off seductively. I start thinking about how corny my voice sounded and wondered if women really thought this act was sexy. The women’s screams as I ripped my wife beater off assured me.

After I had helped my hot seat girl out of her chair and gave her a hug, I walked back to the dressing room. Since we were at Red Velvet, the dressing room was what I had pictured one would look like all those times I came here to be the john rather than the trick. There were mirrors with bright bulbs lining them, counters, and nasty carpet. There were Polaroids of the strippers that worked there during the week posing in their novelty outfits. I looked around and saw a lonely clear platform stiletto with the strap ripped off. It was a small room, so the guys usually hung out by the bar during acts and when it was time for tip sets, they gyrated on the girls in the crowd. It was odd, though, because you couldn’t give what you would think would be called lap dances. They were more like… hover dances.

I didn’t have much time to think about how well I did or didn’t do. But I do remember thinking I couldn’t believe I was doing this down the street where I lost my virginity. Err, my second virginity. The virginity I didn’t sleep through. Such a bitter split second to think about how my sex life and perverted mentality had evolved. It was de-evolutionizing. I finished taking my mechanic costume off and went out for my set.

Since the stage was only big enough for two guys it was just Brett and me. The women screamed for him and threw dollars on the stage. One lady folded a dollar horizontally and laid it long ways on the brass railing two feet above her eye level. Brett walked over and hopped on the railing, placing his ass cheeks around the area where the dollar was and hopped back down. The dollar was gone. He reached back and pulled the dollar out his crack to show the woman his magic trick. My fear detector was alert. The ladies at the end of the stage waved me over as they swayed side-to-side to the music.

When the set was over, we walked back and Lance was getting ready for his pimp act. He dressed up in an orange velvet cloak with zebra print lining, a matching hat, a plastic gold medallion, and cheetah print velvet pants. Mr. Twinkles walked in as Lance left to get his hot seat auctioned off.

“Hey Brett, sorry I’m late. I got stuck in traffic,” he said noticing me.

“It’s cool. Go after Lance if you can get ready,” Brett replied. “If not, Bryan, do you care about going next?” He turned to Bryan who had been straightening out his costume, spraying each item with AXE.

“It’s cool,” Bryan said. Brett didn’t really like Bryan because he worked loyally for Leon. He conspired that Bryan was being Leon’s spy during Brett’s show. But since he needed one more guy and there was no one else at MIH Brett tolerated, Bryan would have to suffice.

“What’s up man, I’m Greg,” Mr. Twinkles introduced himself.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were Mr. Twinkles,” I confessed.

“I am, Greg’s my real name. Just don’t go telling these ladies,” he chuckled. Taylor was in his late 40s. He was the local founder of the hot seat concept. He had danced for Chippendales before it was called Chippendales. During those days, before the fame, they had an up close and personal show. The hot seat allowed them to get intimate with the ladies and was a brilliant gimmick to make money for nothing rather than collecting money from the door. Twinkles brought it to this area in the mid-80s. He had been worn down by years of tanning and having to work for the telephone company to pay child support for his seven kids by nine ex-wives. His words, not mine. He used the money he made from dancing to get by… and because he couldn’t leave the spotlight.

Lance’s act had finished and Twinkles still wasn’t ready, probably on purpose. Bryan would have to go next. I could tell he was displeased but he was too much of a punk to say anything to Brett. Lance and I went on stage for his tip set. Twinkles and Brett were dressed and went to the bar to take a shot. Some groupies in their early 40s approached Twinkles and gave him hugs. I’d later learn that they’ve been coming to see him for the last 23 years. Once a groupie; always a groupie. And morals—or lack there of—never age.

Lance and I went back to the dressing room and Bryan got ready to get auctioned off. Twinkles and Brett re-entered the dressing room with shots of Gran Marnier for all of us. We did wait until Bryan got back from being auctioned. Brett raised his shots and toasted, “Here’s to sleeping triple, seeing double, and being single.”

I chuckled and took my shot. Lance gave me his, “Here, I don’t drink.”

He proceeded to tell me that he once had been an alcoholic and didn’t like where his life was going, so he had finally left the bottle. He took his last shot the night he came to Red Velvet on a Sunday night before learning it was ladies night. He’d been attracted by the attention and money that filled the atmosphere and talked to Brett about dancing. The rest is history.

“Hey, I think you’d do really good at my show,” Twinkles said to me.

“Oh yeah?” I respond.

“I got this show I do on Friday nights at Van Gough’s downtown,” he told me.

“The black club?”

“Yeah. I don’t dance but I have some black guys that dance for my group. I pay them 50 bucks base pay just for showing up. So you know you’ll at least make some money. Hell, your Latin ass would do good there.”

“Hey, I don’t discriminate on booty. Especially the green kind.”

Taylor turned to Brett, “I like this guy.”

I made $287 that night. I was impressed with myself and my confidence had grown a little more that night. I was beginning to feel like a dancer and my ego had introduced himself to me. So much show that together with myself, we went on the prowl.

“Hi, I’m Rico,” I said to the cute chubby girl at the bar. Her breasts overflowed out of her shirt.

“I know. I was the one telling you to smile more,” she said.

“I’m Amelia.”

I thought to myself, Amelia is an awkward name that I wasn’t expecting to come out of her mouth. I started imagining a 60-something year old woman with a mole on her upper right lip working in a high school cafeteria with a nametag that read Amelia.

“You want to fuck?” Was the next thing out her mouth. The real Amelia, not cafeteria Amelia.

“You’re forward,” I replied.

“You’re stalling,” she struck back. She downed her beer and began walking away, “You coming?”

I rushed to the dressing room to get my bag. As I rushed back out through the crowd, I felt like OJ in those Hertz commercials, dodging and ducking groupies. I didn’t have time to mingle with anymore groupies. It was almost sad to watch them stay so long after the shows and tell the dancers little FYIs about their monotonous lives and to just collect their weekly hugs because it’s the only male interaction they got.

I bumped into Lance, who was walking out of the dressing room and heading to his truck. “What’s your problem, dude?”

I told him about meeting Amelia and that I was about to go bang some pounds of her chunky ass.

“Amelia? I fucked her a few months ago,” he told me. I suddenly lost a little interest in rushing to get to her house knowing that it’ll be an even easier lay. Fuck it. I got a wild hair up my ass. “Want to run train on this bitch?” I asked Lance. When I learn a girl is a slut, I start thinking of ways to really bring out her slutness and degrade herself even more. I told you, I was ready to see women suffer the way the women of my past made me suffer. I wanted to see what humiliation looked like. I wanted to feel what having the power to humiliate another human being with some kind of inner feeling felt like.

“You get down like that?” He was surprised to learn I was just like any other dancer.

“What the hell? I’ve been getting pussy way before I started stripping,” I informed him. What I didn’t mention was that no matter how much ass I had gotten up to that point, I always tried to find the romance in it. Even if I was cheating on a girlfriend. What can I say? I loved to love women.

“Let’s go.”

Lance was stopped by some groupies on his way to his truck. I was lucky I was still too new to have to have dealt with too many of them. I saw Amelia sitting in a black Mustang waiting for me. I pulled out of the parking lot and followed her, honking for Lance to hurry up.

After driving for about five minute without seeing Lance in my rearview, I called him. I told him to speed up so he could follow me. He told me he was just leaving because some chick had offered him a blowjob, in which he obliged her.

“Just text me the directions when you get there. I’ll find it.”

I hung up the phone and turned the volume up on my radio. I turn it up loud and roll down my windows. I was about to get some easy pussy. I reminded myself to make sure not to kiss her. I was not the first stripper she’d taken home, and I didn’t like the idea that if I did, it would pretty much be like kissing other dudes’ dicks. I’m sure most guys still do it all the time. Only difference is they don’t normally know the dick they’re kissing. Ignorance is bliss.

I started thinking about the last time I ran train on a girl. I had gone to a 7-11 to pick up some chips or something and seen a skinny girl with glasses in the store. I thought she was do-able and took her looking back at me with a smile as an invitation. She asked me what I was up to and I told her that my boy and I were just hanging out. She said she was bored too and invited herself to follow me to my apartment. When we walked in, I took her directly to my bedroom, wondering if by chance she was whore enough to fuck me without knowing my name.

As I walked past Reggie, he looked confused, as he didn’t recognize the girl. “She came with the chips,” I joked. I left my bedroom door open so he could watch me fuck this girl from the living room couch. I began kissing her—hey, I didn’t know her, so I didn’t know what face went with what dick—and wasted no time undressing her. I grabbed her waist with both hands and realized that if my hands were just a little bigger, my fingertips would touch. I paused and told her to hold on. I exited the room free balling with my cock saluting. I did a roundabout into the kitchen to get a condom out of the cookie jar that we used as community property. The rule was to by a box whenever there were three left. Reggie still had the confused look on his face, but with his eyes closed, “C’mon man! Clothes on in the communal area.” On my way back to the room, I tossed a rubber at him.

“I think she’s whore enough to let us both fuck her,” I told him.

I put the condom on as I walked into my room, dropping the wrapper at the threshold. I flipped her over and she immediately went on all fours. I didn’t hesitate to stuff all of my dick in her and felt that her snatch incredibly tight. It wasn’t as pleasant or hardcore as it might sound. It’s not like in the pornos when some stage hand lubricates the bitch with KY before the director yells action. This twat was rather dry and it felt like I was squeezing my cock in a vice grip.

Reggie eventually walked in and positioned himself on the bed so that her head was hovering over his dick. She WAS whore enough to let us run train. She began blowing him put paused a lot as she too realized my dick was too massive for her hole. She had a very, very small hole.

I looked down at her ass and was disgusted by how narrow it was. I spread her cheeks as to give it sustenance to see if it would look better. It did not. She just didn’t have any hips. I notice she was stopping in the middle of her blow job, so the next time she put her mouth on Reggie’s dick, I pressed on the back of her head. She gagged and Reggie shoot me a grin and shook his head. “Chill,” he said through a smile.

A few thrusts more and she was still not tending to the blowie. I pushed down on her head again. Again she gagged. “Hey,” she moaned out. Reggie puts up his hand and motioned me not to do it again.

A few thrusts later and she was concentrating too much on the pain I must have been giving her and let go of his dick completely. He replaced her hand back on it and she started blowing him again. As she began, I gave the back of her head an extra push and heard her gag louder.

“Gwulk-gwak!” She tried to press off of his dick but I left my hand firm on her head. At the same time, I began thrusting faster, harder, deeper. I wasn’t enjoying the fucking sensation, but I was enjoying the comedy at watching her flap one of her hands in the air, motioning me to stop. I eased up a bit when she began coughing on his dick in between gags.

“Yo, man, stop,” he whined. But he couldn’t help but to laugh. I left my hand on the back of her head for about five seconds, laughing harder at each gag, which was enough time for her to reach under and pinch my sack. I pulled back my hand and sack and she lifted her head up. She raised herself on her knees and made my dick slip out. It actually hurt more to have her tiny tight coochie damn near snap my dick off than it was when I first slammed it in there. As she tried to speak, she also tried to suppress her gag reflex. But it was futile as those gags mixed with sniffles and coughs. And then from the depths of her sinuses, a gush of ultra-green snot poured out of her nose onto Reggie’s balls. I mean poured like that green glop from Ghostbusters. Straight ectoplasm, my friends, and lots of it.

I pulled behind Amelia’s Mustang into her driveway. I started wondering if she lived home with her parents. I’m not convinced that a young 20-something girl, probably working as a waitress, could afford a one story, ranch-style single family home. I got out of my car and walked up to her slowly. “You live here with your parents?” I asked.

“No. I live here with some roommates.” We walked around the right side of the house to enter the garage from the back.

“Why didn’t we go through the front door?” I questioned.

“My friends are having some lame house party and my ex-boyfriends here,” she explained. Her slut meter began rising.

I told her that was cool and that I’d need a minute. I admitted that I had to text Lance directions. “Lance? You mean Lars,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Lars is his real name,” she revealed. It’s weird the names you picture certain people having. I knew Lance was a stage name, but I never thought about what his real name was. I guess if I had to think about what I would have thought it might have been, I would have tagged him as something douchier. Like Blake, Zack, or Nathaniel.

“Oh. Is that cool? I mean, you guys already fucked,” I said bluntly.

“Whatever. I’m drunk anyway.”

Bless her little slut heart, what a whore. And I loved it. I think I’ll call her Slorendella. She continued into the garage as I stood outside to dial up Lance. It was too dark now to text and my battery was running low. Through the backdoor window of the garage, I saw her walk up the steps inside the garage probably into a kitchen. He answered and I gave him directions telling him to enter around the back.

I finally entered and sat on the couch on the back wall of the garage. I leaned back and relaxed my arms across the top of it and left my legs opened, hoping she’d just walk back in, unbotton my jeans, and start blowing me. She stumbled back in a few minutes later. Her titties jiggled as she started walking towards me.

“Are you gonna take of your clothes?” She asked.

“Aren’t you?” I responded, meaning her undressing me.

Slorendella proceeded to pull her DDD-cup titties over the top of her shirt, exposing her areolas the size of drink coasters and pulled up her skirt.

“There. You ready?” She demanded.

She startled me as she jumped on me and started kissing my neck, pressing her titties against my body. I grabbed them forcefully and gave them each a healthy squeeze. They were real. They were clammy, too. I hate tittie sweat, but I still leaned her backwards and sucked on her nipples and licked the underneath of her heavy breast. She reached down, unzipped my jeans, and pulled out my dick, which was semi by that point. She jumped off and lurched towards the washing machine where she left her purse. She pulled out a box of condoms and returned to the couch, handing me one.

“Here,” she said. I was expecting this slore to do it for me, but I’m sure she was too buzzed to focus on any minute motor skills. I put it on in three moves. Rip open, pull condom ring out, slide on, pull tip for canal. Okay, four moves. She impatiently waited as I took a second and admired my precision condom-putting-on skills. I was impressed by my technique. She saddled up again, pulled the front of her thongs to the side and slipped my dick right in. She began riding me back and forth. She was grinding too hard for me to enjoy it and was pressing against my inner hipbones, but I just pressed my face into her tits and tried to escape to a happy, horny place.

The garage lit up, as headlights flooded the garage. Lance’s truck pulled up. By now I had switched to the doggystyle to recover from the bruises on my pelvic. Slorendella showed no emotion as to whether she was enjoying this or not. Either way, I was ready to bust my nut. There’s nothing worst than a boring fuck. And unlike my first, I had to put in work so I didn’t get the pleasure of taking a power nap.

Lance stormed in through the backdoor. I turned around to give him thumbs up. “On the washing machine,” I told him, referring where to find the rubbers. He looked confused but saw the open condom box.

“I got my own,” he responded. “Watch out, son, let me show you how it’s done,” he said as he pushed me out of the way.

He undid his pants and began to fuck her hard. Slorendella finally woke up out of her drunken stuper and moaned when he slapped her ass. It echoed throughout the garage. I positioned myself on the top of the couch, took my condom off, and sat in front of her. Every time Lance gave a thrust, my dick poked her in the nose. I positioned my dick closer to her mouth to hit her lips every time she was thrusted forward.

When she finally reached for it, I let go. She began jerking me off and I could feel her hot breath on my balls. I caught the smell of her bad beer breath. I grabbed the base of my dick and lined it up against her mouth, splitting her lips. She finally got the hint, grasped my dick again, and began sucking the tip.

“You better…not…cum in my mouth,” she whispered out in between thrusts. I said nothing. She continued only to suck the tip but that was all I needed. I was too exhausted from having to do all the work. It was almost like necrophilia. This must have been what my first felt like. In two minutes I grabbed my dick back at the base. She tried to control her neck motion as she continued to thrust forward.

I decided it was time to break this slore’s slut meter. I slowly placed my hands on her shoulders and began paying attention to Lance’s rhythm. After one 8 count, I timed the next forward thrust with a thrust of my own. My dick thrusting deep into her mouth, balls deep. I heard her gag as Lance continued thrusting her forward. The wetness of the deeper parts of her mouth actually felt good to the point that I busted my nut very quickly. Too quick for me to pull out and respect her no-cum-in-mouth policy.

As I pulled my dick out, she took a big gasp of air and began coughing. Lance continued to pump away. I sat back against the couch, half laughing and half wondering if I needed to call 911. I certainly wasn’t ready to give her mouth-to-mouth should she stop breathing because her lings were drowning in semen.

Lance fucked her harder and slapped her ass. He reached towards her neck and hooked his finger in her mouth, pulling her head sideways as she continued to cough and gag. He did this for a few thrusts and when her head returned to face me, the largest gush of vomit flows out hrough her nose and onto my dick and nuts.

All I could do was watch this waterfall of spew drench my crotch, trying not to catch the fumes that would send me into a vomiting spell of my own. Lance let out a howling growl, slapped her ass one more time, and pulled up his pants.

“Okay, dude, see you tomorrow,” he said as he walked back out of the backdoor.

Slorendella turned and sat on the couch, putting her titties back into her shirt. She dropped her face into her hands, and then lifted her head up again. Still in shock, I left my expression and arms in the air, waiting for some normalcy to return to what had just happened. She let out a disappointed sigh and blew some strands of hair out of her face. After checking a few strands for vomit chunks, she turned and looked at me.

She sat there looking at me with a blank expression. I looked back at her not knowing what to say or do next. I squinted as the headlights flooded the garage, again.

Slorendella raised her eyebrows, giving me the “what next” look. Now I was the one with the blank look. This went on for a good three minutes as the vomit now dripped down into the crevice of my ass cheeks.

I finally decided to just accept it. I buttoned my jeans and left… with her beer remains sloshing around in my undergarments.

Banana Hammocks - Chapter 4

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Awkward Broments - Guilty Pleasures

In honor of six-time Grammy award winning artist, Adele...

Awkward Broments - Forget Something?

I hate when this happens...

COCKTALES III

I saw Tasha for the first time since I graduated high school. She was working at the Hooters downtown. She was my girlfriend of three miserable, but experimentally developing years. Lance and I went to get some wings and shoot the shit before the show that Thursday. Dexter met us up there because he had nothing else to do ever since he quit dancing. Plus, since his car was still having problems and was in his parents yard decorating the weeds that grew around it, he had to wait for some girl he was fucking to get off work and give him a ride.

Lance’s wanted to come here to catch the beginning of the NBA Semi-finals. They had some pretty good wings, too… and some cute girls to look at. Before becoming a dancer, I felt guilty for staring at the waitresses whenever they walked passed. I remember checking out their assess and if I got caught, I’d blush because I was ashamed for staring. But now I realize that it’s their job to wear tight and revealing clothes and flirt with every guy in the joint. Even the fat fuck rednecks that know they have nothing to lose and would say some incoherent shit they deemed clever; “Hey hotness, wanna take a bite of my celery stick? HeeHaw, HeeHaw!”

What I still don’t get is why they call it Hooters when half these chicks don’t have boobs. I know from experience. Three of the Hooter girls I had been with wore extra padded, double bras, filled with gel thingys. So, when we’d get down to business, they’d go from hooters to straight up, bird-chested sparrows. But oh course; I still smashed their guts. What kinda hornball do you take me for?

Anyways, being as good looking as I now know I am, I figured I had more to gain than Billy Bob and cousin-wife-brother Frank and took every opportunity to be as crass and low-life as possible. Plus, again, from experience, I knew these tricks had low self-esteem and had a high tolerance for self-deprivation. That, or they just didn’t get it. Sometimes a waitress either wouldn’t catch-on to my sarcasm or would simply blow me off and just have to deal with it to get a good tip. Or so she’d think.

I had never been to this Hooters before, though. Yet, I knew Tasha worked here through a mutual friend. I told Lance our history of how I did her wrong and cheated on her with her own friends.

Our last argument, she was accusing me of fucking the new girl who had just transferred to our school because she caught wind that I had gotten this girl’s number in health class. I did get her number, but I hadn’t gotten the chance to bang her at that point. I never did actually. Damn it! She had a nice ass, too.

The scene she caused was more of a headache than weaseling my way out of a rumor that wasn’t entirely/completely a lie. We had just left the movies when the girl had walked by and smiled at me. Tasha stopped and had a field day with me in front of all our friends. During her rant, I could only sputter, “C’mon”, “Baby stop”, “You’re exaggerating”, the whole time trying to control my temper. As she drew more attention, I looked around at all the couples and families in the area now looking at us. The other two couples we were with shied away and headed home. Realizing how much of a bitch I now looked like, I took her by the arm (gently) and started speed walking to the car.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she cried.

My eyes felt strained and my brow was burying into the bridge of my nose. All I could think about were the countless times she’d done this before and the countless times Javi offered to negotiate with her to retrieve my testicles back.

I stopped in the middle of the parking lot and got nose-to-nose with her, “Look you stupid fucking bitch, I haven’t fucked that girl but, YES, I plan on it.” I continued on by telling her how fucking ignorant and blind she was not to notice that I had been fucking all her friends behind her back every other night after I left her house. And how she was too fucking worried about me fucking random bitches that she didn’t think about every time she told her friends how good of a fuck I am, in detail, that what she was really doing was advertising me. It felt good to say all that and clear my conscious. You might have thought the cops would have came and tried to get me for some kind of harassment, threatening, whatever bullshit law there was for kids involved in public disputes, except for the fact that I was half-crying through this rant like some punk-ass bitch.

Tasha’s tone changed, “You didn’t fuck my friends. They’re not like that.” She was convinced I was lying since two of the friends I was referring to had just left with their boyfriends.

“Then why don’t you call them to come pick your dumb ass up?” As I marched to my car, she remained standing there, yelling after me, questioning me to prove I had indeed slept with most of her friends and whether I really was going to leave her. I drove off and hadn’t talk to her since. It made it awkward when I passed her in the hallway for the last three months of high school.

Seeing me in a new light, Lance called me a prick and laughed, exposing that bear trap of a mouth. There you are, Sharky. When we entered, I immediately spotted Tasha leaving a table. The hostess asked us how many. I said two as I kept my eyes on Tasha heading to the bar. Lance corrected me; we would be a party of three. I forgot about Dex. Whatever. I was ass-focused. Her ass had gotten really thick. Wow! Like, Coco meets Kardashian thick. I wish I could fuck her, again.

“Can we have a table in that waitress’ section?” I pointed Tasha out to the Hostess.

“Candy? Sure.” The hostess grabbed us some menus. Candy? I guess everyone has a stage name these days. We sat down and Tasha… I mean Candy asked us what we wanted to drink. And then she realized who I was.

“Oh... Hey,” she said mundanely, but kept her phony Hooter smile.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. So you still fucking your girlfriend’s friends?”

Bless her scorned heart. She still hasn’t forgiven me, which only means she still cares. Lance grimaced when she validated my story.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I informed her.

“I’m shocked,” she stated unconvincingly. “You have a hard time being alone. You know, with the fact that you seem to be in love with being in love.”

Ouch. Burn. Okay, I see how this is going to be. Lance giggled his annoying giggle. He has a soft spot for scorned women. That soft spot is in the middle of his bed, where the mattress sinks in, according to him.

“Water is fine. Actually, do you have bottle water? I don’t want you spitting in my drink.”

“No, but I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. I’d rather piss in your beer.”

“I’ll have water too. And is it possible to change that TV to the Semi-finals,” Lance interrupted.

“What Semi-finals?”

“NBA. It’s on TNT. You work in a sports bar and don’t know about sports?” Yes! Lance also had a soft spot for ignorant women, too. He loved any opening to degrade them.

“I don’t pay attention to that shit.”

I was glad that she was outnumbered two to one with assholes like me. Dexter walked up as we were finishing up our drink order. Make that three to one.

“Hey girl, can you bring me a Bud Light?” Dexter asked.

“Is your mama named girl?” She walked away with a fake smile pretending to be unperturbed. At least she stopped at the TV and changed the channel to TNT.

“The fuck is wrong with that bitch?” Dexter asked.

“That’s Alex’s ex,” Lance caught him up to speed. Since I knew she wasn’t going to flirt back due to certain circumstances, I planned to be as sarcastic and rude and offensive as possible. What did I have to lose? Even if she did spit in my food it wasn’t as if I hadn’t had her bodily fluids in my mouth before. More on that later… what? Did you think this story was all cock and no tail?

As Dexter and Lance started talking about the pussy they had conquered in the previous days, I began to think of the first time Tasha and I had sex. She was only my second. Actually, it was the second time I had sex, too. Since my first time was lousy and a fell asleep, I wanted this time to be a little more memorable. I had considered myself a born again virgin. I annulled the first experience.

Tasha and I had met through a friend of mine who was dating one of her friends. Unfortunately, she wasn’t one of the friends I got to fuck. This friend moved before I got a chance to fuck her. Anyways, I told my friend that I thought his girl’s friend was cute and to check if she was single. She had just broken up with her boyfriend and thought I was cute, too. See how easy it was for me not to have to have game?

We all met up one night at my house to watch some movies. My friend and her friend started making out. So I took my queue and told her to come upstairs because I wanted to “show” her something. I hadn’t planned on pulling the brakes on her in particular, just the next girl I’d end up “making love to.” I had replaced the 75-watt light bulb in my ceiling fan with a blacklight, in the weeks past, I had made a mixtape of the sexiest R&B songs. This was back in the mid-90s. So think Color Me Bad and early Blackstreet. I had it ready to play in my tape deck strategically placed on the stand next to my bed. I also had baby oil next to my bed on the floor for said occasion. I occasionally used it to jerk off, but I usually preferred going raw hide. I have soft hands.

When we got to my room I flipped on the switch and we started to kiss. Her white shirt glowed under the black light. She had full, soft lips and I was focusing on kissing her for a long time. I was nervous and still fresh to this sex with someone-other-than-myself game, so I didn’t know exactly when to make sub-sequential moves. I eventually got her to the bed and began to undress her.

I let her take my shirt off and I helped her with my jeans after she had unbuttoned and unzipped them. I hit the play button. “Knockin’ Boots” was the first song on the tape. I started to kiss every corner of her body, massaging her breast and licking her nipples. I was a novice so it was more like slobbering. As I worked my way to go down on her, I thought to myself, I had never eaten pussy before. However, I had watched enough porn to get the gist of it. Except I thought I could add more class and sensuality to it rather than the dagger tongues from “Hardcore Mother Fucker 7.” I don’t blame them; I wouldn’t want to eat porno pussy, either… though, I’ve seen some puckered starfish assholes I wouldn’t mind tongue drilling.

I remembered a trick I had read about in one of my dad’s Playboy when I was like 9. I snuck two fingers in and slid them in and out as I twirled her clit in a counter clockwise motion, and then clockwise, and then the alphabet, and then numbers. I started spelling my whole birth name, and then hers. I only knew her first name at the time, so I went back to the circles.

My first impression of having some snatch sandwich was that pussy tastes kind of metallic. It was interesting. I was expecting it to be a little salty, bitter even. Kinda like sucking on a thumb… that had a slit on it… that secreted thick liquid stuff… and was eerily close to an anus. I knew I impressed her because her back arched, pushing her vag further into my mouth.

I spread her roast-beef lips and continued sliding my fingers deeper inside. I thought I had reached the back of her uterus when my fingers bumped into a blockage. I pushed harder to get a reaction out of her and when my fingers slid in, up, and deeper, she gave a loud moan. Aha! The G spot. I found it on my first try!

Her pussy gushed and I felt her wetness splash around my mouth. God it was so disgustingly wet. I heard in too many movies and songs that women aren’t always being pleasured enough in bed. I ate her out for 30 minutes. And I didn’t spit out the juice. I didn’t know the cunnilingus etiquette and back then, I cared about a girl’s self-esteem.

“Let’s Get It On” was now playing when my jaw locked. I moved my way back up her body. She grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me towards her. She started kissing my neck and I reached for the drawer of the night stand and pulled out a condom, that I had already torn the corner off of in advance to eliminate any awkward pause, to fight opening the wrapper right before sex. I felt the wetness around my lips drying up now. It felt sticky. So, while I slipped the rubber on, I found her thongs next to the pillow and wiped my mouth. I didn’t think it’d be too polite to make her kiss her own vagina smoothie.

After the condom was securely fastened, I entered her slowly. She moaned again. She was tight. Her last boyfriend probably had a small dick. You ever stuff a hotdog down a straw? I felt that good. She felt good. I felt good. I started to think about the ugliest football players I’d ever seen to avoid cumming too early. Mean Joe Green, Dick Butkus, Decan jones, a lot of the older players from the 70s. I thought it was strange to think of grown men during sex, so I tried multi-tasking. I fondled her titty and tugged at her hair. I nibbled on her lips and sucked on her neck.

The whole time I pumped away, feeling her moistness all over my sack. It felt better than that time I had smeared half a tub of Vaseline in between my mattress and boxsprings to see how it would be to fuck a virgin. Hey, I used a plastic bag for a condom; I practiced safe sex.

We went at it for the whole length of the A-side of the tape. I stopped for a second just to flip the tape while I was balls-deep inside her. We resumed. Marvin resumed; “Sexual Healing” was now sailing through the room. Classic. I bet she was thinking I was a natural Don Juan. Either that or she thought I had done this many times before.

I came during “Twisted” by Keith Sweat. His nasally wine interrupted my concentration and I focused on how wet Tasha continued to be. I thought she must have came three or four times, easily. She sure arched her back a lot and I felt her constantly squeezing my waist with her legs.

We kissed for a few more minutes before I rolled off of her. She noted that she felt dirty since this was the first time we hung out. I said the only consoling thing I could think of, “It was meant to be.”

She asked me to hand her her thongs, which were somewhere strewn on the floor, smeared with snot and panty gravy. I reached for the lamp on the nightstand next to the small Casio. I found her thongs peeking from under the bed. I handed her her bra that I fished from the foot of the bed, as I walked around my bed to my dresser to get some shorts.

I looked at her through the mirror with her back towards me as she pulled up her pants. I looked at myself again to study my after-sex glow. This was a moment I wanted to remember forever. I felt great; I had stayed awake, pleasured her well… many times, and I found the G spot, which caused her to flow more than Niagara.

I looked at my hair first. I needed to wet it and comb it. After pulling on it so hard, she had it standing up to the point I looked like Kramer. And then, something on the bed caught my eye.

“What…the fuck?” I muttered.

I turned around and saw the sheets had reddish-brownish stains on them. It was blood and it was all over the bed. It was concentrated in the center where we had just laid. My bedroom went from a capsule of sensual loving to looking like a crime scene. How was I going to wash that shit out?

I looked at Tasha, who was curled up on my black, leather beanbag in the corner of the room. She was holding her stomach. Even then, I still thought I had banged her guts out nicely.

I didn’t know exactly how, but I asked, “Are you.. on your… period?”

She turned away towards the wall. “No.”

I sensed I had offended her, but I didn’t give a fuck. It looked like something from Interview With a Vampire up in this motherfucker.

“Where did all this blood come from?” I asked as if I was expecting her to say her hangnail had ripped off in the heat of passion. I was also expecting to hear that I was so big that I scarred a few uterus tissues.

“I never did it before.”

The fuck is she talking about, I thought to myself. I turned and examined myself again. I didn’t really know what “it” meant, although we all knew what “it” referred to when we were pre-pubescent hornballs.

“I was a virgin,” she confirmed.

This brought a slight smirk to my face. It would have been a full-blown smile, except that as my eyes adjusted to the light, I could now clearly see that around my mouth there was dark reddish staining. Blood red.