Down Goes Drago

So I met this Russian girl at a birthday party a couple of weeks ago. I was drunk but kicking phenomenal game. Her and her friends asked me to take some pictures of them. It was the perfect opening into the group.

I purchased Drago and her communist friends a shot of vodka and was making out with her within an hour of meeting her. As her friend was trying to drag her home, I asked for her number. She hesitated. I told her it wasn't a big deal and that she doesn't have to give it to me. She explains that she wants to, but her nights are very busy because of her job. I immediately figure she's a stripper or prostitute, working for the Russian mafia to pay off her debt of them bringing her to this fine country.

She explains that she's an event planner. I picture said events being meetings with johns. Come on...she's Russian, lives in Brooklyn and works nights? Has to be a hooker. She gives me her number and says we'll get together on Tuesday. It being Saturday, I figure I'll shoot her one text as soon as she leaves the bar so she has my number and ignore her until late Monday night.

I text her Monday night and we plan to meet at Nevada Smith's because she has a "social obligation" that she must show her face at. Bachelor party? Group orgy? Whatever. I get there at 7pm. She's waiting for me by the door. Smoking body. The face is average. I didn't remember much about her considering I was up until 6am drinking and singing karaoke.

She escorts me to a party downstairs. Apparently Nevada's is a bigtime soccer bar. All the foreigners go there every week to watch the games. The bar was throwing a free holiday party for all of the houligans. It was a rather entertaining experience. The party was packed with people from all walks of life. A very odd and diverse group. These tools were screaming, chanting and singing the whole night. At one point, the bartender, or cult leader, got up on a table and gave a William Wallace-esque speech declaring how these soccer fans and Nevada Smith's has taken the Manhattan soccer scene by storm. Seriously? Is there such a scene anywhere in this country? He talks about how much better 2010 will be for them, the bar and their sport. Ugh! Get back behind the bar and back to handing out free drinks, ya fairy!

I pretended to be interested in learning about soccer and asked plenty of questions about it. This is going to be so easy. Drago is eating all of this up. I mingled with her friends. Some cool. Some losers. The party wraps up and we all head upstairs. One of Drago's friends, a mildly attractive black girl, took a liking to me and started buying us shots.

The next thing I remember is that we're sitting down in a Ukrainian restaurant. A gay looking waiter brings us Euro beer and hands us menu. I throw it down and tell her it's in her hands. Let me tell you something about the Ukrainians...boy do they love their beets. During this four course meal, I must've had three different types of beet salad. It was very good, but geez, how about a little creativity. Maybe some different ingredients. The bill comes and it totals $41. Are you fucking kiddding me? I just had four courses and beers. I ponder getting on the next flight to the Ukraine and buying the country.

After dinner we head to McSorley's but it's empty. We walk down the street to a different bar. I have a feeling it was a gay bar. On one side of me there was two dudes making out. On the other side, I overheard three guys huddled up together...

Fag1: "I don't know. I'm scared. It's not that big."
Fag2: "It doesn't matter if it's big. It just has to be pretty."

God, why can't women feel the same way?

At this point I was blacked out, so the being at the epicenter of gaydom did not bother me too much. But I do have to say, I did keep my head on a swivel on bathroom trips.

We're smashed and going at it at the bar. I've been that guy a lot lately. At one point she spreads her legs and shows me her panties. Nice. I squeeze her ass. She asks me if she can straddle me. I tell her to go for it. All of the sudden, a douchey bouncer walks over...

Bouncer: "Excuse me, but there's no straddling allowed."
Me: "I'm not straddling anyone."

He did not look amused. He turned to Drago and told her the same. She climbed down off of my lap. And what the fuck? Is there a sign on the wall that says, "No Straddling Please"? I don't fucking see one. I've got Clay Aiken talking about getting banged on film to the left of me but I can't have a Russian slut sit on my lap? What is this world coming to?

We close the bar down. I get home at 4:30 in the morning. Work's going to be a doozey. Wait a minute, did I really not fuck this girl after all of this? Wow. Pathetic.

We get together at a Greek restaurant for Happy Hour a week later. This chick is pretty cool. Am I going to date her? Absolutely not. But she's decent to talk to. After some drinks she decides that she's hungry. She gives me the option. Burger or pasta. I put it in her hands.

Why the fuck didn't I say burger? After a heavy Italian meal and two bottles of wine, I'm $120 poorer. Not exactly devastating, but the bill at the greasy burger joint probably would have been $15. We head back to Nevada Smith's. We don't even finish our beer before we leave. As we stand on the street corner she invites me back to her place.

I promptly pass. Wait, what? Uh, yeah. You read that correctly. She invited me back to her place for sex and I declined. I think that may be the first time I never turned down sex. I was too lazy. I didn't want to head back to her place in Bay Ridge and then have to wake up at 5:30 in the morning to get back into the city and then on to Long Island. I didn't have it in me. I must be getting old.

After I turned her down she was begging for me to hang out. She asked to hang out the following two nights and when I made excuses to get out of them, she asked about the weekend. Wow. Although not what I was going for, declining worked like a charm.

So Sunday I drive my brother and cousin into the city. They had all of their Christmas gifts and couldn't bring them on the train. I figured I'd watch the Giants game with them and maybe meet up with Drago and crash at her place afterward.

We saddled up at SoCo for the game. After the Giants started getting blown out, we started doing shots of Jameson. I hate Jamo. This does not bode well for later. We leave the bar and head to Canyon Road, where we pounded diesel margaritas. After dinner there, my brother bailed and my cousin and I headed back to his place.

I decide to wave Mother Russia in. I text her and give her the address. She'll be over in 15. Things turned a little hazy at my cousin's place because we continued to drink a few bottles of wine. By the time she got there we were blacked out. I don't remember everything but as we were sitting on the couch, drinking and listening to music, my cousin reached over and grabbed her tit. Drago is mortified and speechless. He mutters something incoherent. She looks at me and I laugh. Somebody's not a happy camper.

I head into the bathroom and she asks if I need any help. I tell her that I do. We start going at it inside. As I pull her pants down she tells me she's got her period. Figures. She tells me that she wants to see my cock. I unzip my pants and pull my piece out. She makes a sound of approval and she unbuckles my belt. My pants drop to my ankles and she starts going to town. Quality oral. I fire off a nice shot into her mouth and she takes it all down. I exit the bathroom but she fixes herself up.

As I'm walking back to the couch I see that my cousin is passed out. I stop. I turn around. She's walking out the bathroom door. I unzip my pants again and take my penis out. Why am I doing this? I literally just fired a load about 40 seconds ago. She gets on her knees and starts to suck me off again.

I walk into his bedroom and she continues to blow me. She asks me if I can cum again. I tell her that I can. I probably can't. Intermittently she asks me if I'm going to cum soon. I keep playing it off that it will be any second. She blows me for at least a half hour. I took her tits out of the bra during this blowjob. They were horrible. Like flapjacks. Gross nipples, too.My body tells me to gag. This isn't speeding things up at all. I close my eyes and think of a happy place. Blasting is going to be a chore under these conditions.

She tells me that she wants me to cum on her face and asks if I will. Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I will. As I'm about to spurt I pull my piece out of her mouth and aim for her eye. My penis shoots the weakest jizz bomb of its career. A small spurt lands next to her nose. Why the fuck couldn't she ask for a facial on the first one?

I sit back down on the couch. I'm immediately bored with her and never want to see her again. Drago continues to try to get me to go out and wants to get dinner. I tell her that I already ate three dinners tonight so I'm not eating. I'm hungry, but there's no way I'm buying her dinner. She just sucked me off twice, I don't need to!

She's persistent. I can't shake her. I pretend to pass out on the couch. For the next hour, Drago shakes me, tries to talk to me and does everything else in her power to try to get me to go back out and come home with her. Holy fuck, can this girl take a hint? At one point she throws my sweatshirt over my face. I can't breathe. It's about 110 degrees underneath it. I'm not going to make it. Geez, they should use this tactic at Guantanamo Bay. I use every ounce of will power in my body and don't crack. She lifts it off and squeezes my nostrils closed. I flinch and pop up. I quickly pop down and pretend to pass out again.

She throws the sweatshirt on my face again. Fuck me. I hear the door close. I don't move for two or three more minutes, thinking this is a trick. I hear nothing. I get up. She's gone. Thank God. I thought she would never leave.

The Comeback

Greetings, friends. After an eight month relationship I have returned. Much like when Michael Jordan dropped 55 points at the Garden after his first retirement, I picked things up pretty quickly.

Hit the hoops tourney at MSG with some of the boys Friday night. This was a nice little warm up for the evening, as we were headed to Toy's birthday party afterward. Actually, it was a joint birthday party with his girlfriend.

As soon as I walk into the room I immediately introduce myself to two randoms and start dropping game. One is eating it up. She's average. The other is snippy and doesn't get any of my jokes. Such a bitch. I move on because the bitch will surely cock block me.

So AT and I are playing Beirut and he and Hack start talking to a girl who's basically wearing a napkin for a dress. The thing pretty much covers her pussy and stops. I step over and jump into the conversation with a dirty joke. Cannot remember what I said. She tells me that I'm dirty. I step back to the table and brush her off.

I sporadically walk over to her and make more dirty jokes to her. She tells me that I'm dirty and that she likes it because she's dirty too. Well, that turned out to be the understatement of the century, but we'll get to that in a bit.

So her and her fat friend are up next to play Beirut. Thinking on my feet, I befriend the beefy friend. I tell this Jew (did I leave that out?) that she's cut and that I'm playing with her friend. I totally pour it on. I'm high-fiving the friend after I hit a cup. She sinks one and I'm picking her up, which was no small feat. I figure that once this broad falls in love with me, it's as good as gold with the other.

Finish the game. So I go up to the bar and sit next to the Jew. Ten minutes later we're making out in front of anyone. Ugh, I hate being that guy. It's like investing in your 401k. You hate seeing that money taken out of your paycheck but deep down you know it's the right thing and will pay off in the long run. Boy will it ever.

The following exchange takes place:

Jew: "All my friends are going home but I really want to stay out and party."
Me: "Well my cousin just texted me. Her and her boyfriend are at some party at a karaoke bar. You wanna go?"
Jew: "Yeah, that would be awesome. I would totally be down."

This is going to be easier than I thought.

We cab it down to the thirties. During said cab ride we start making out. We get to the place and start walking up a long staircase to get up to it. I pull her skirt up. No panties. Hmmm. My cousin greets us at the bar and we head back to the private room.

My cousin's boyfriend wants me to do a song. He gives me the book to pick one out. As the book sits on my lap, the Jew slides her hand underneath and starts playing with my cock. He keeps bugging me to do a song. I keep telling him that I'm looking for one. Finally I tell her that I need to go to the bathroom and that she should come with me. No hesitation.

We walk down this narrow, sketchy hallway to the john. I open the door and survey the scene. Empty. She scurries in behind me and we get in the stall. She drops to her knees and starts unzipping my fly. She pulls my johnson out and starts going to town. Real professional. So I'm not sure if she's going to want to swallow so I give her warning when I'm about to blast. She takes it in her mouth. I don't know if it caught her off guard or just because I shot a boatload, but it's coming out of her mouth. She pulls my rod out and the last few spurts land on her tits and sweater.

She starts wiping the cum off of her tits and sweater. As she's wiping it, she's putting it in her mouth! At this point it's a little horrifying. Not only did this girl just suck me off in the bathroom of a karaoke bar at 4:30 in the morning, but she doesn't want to waste any of my semen and is ushering it into her mouth!!!

We get back in the room. I'm basking in the glory of what just happened. I sing a song and we eventually wrap it up.

Jew: "Do you want to come home with me?"
Me: "Yes, yes I do."
Jew: "I live with my grandpa. Is that alright?"
Me: "Yeah, no worries."
Jew: "Wow. Most guys aren't cool with that."
Me: "No big deal."

I live with my freaking parents. At least your roommate will probably be dead by next week and you'll have the place to yourself.

She tells me that the next train to her town is at 5:30am. Is this girl kidding me? Pappy's going to be waking up to watch Golden Girls reruns by the time we stroll in. I tell her that I'm getting us a cab. I hail a cab. The Paki wanted $85 but I negotiated it down to $70.

We're making out in the cab. Next thing I know she starts fingering herself. I take the hint, hike the mini skirt up and start blasting away. She's going buck wild. I unzip my pants and take my penis out. She takes the whole thing. This made it the quickest cab I've ever taken from Manhattan. We arrive. I'm bamboozled at this point and tip this knob job five bucks. Whatever. He just got a great show so fuck him if he's not happy.

We get to Pappy's condo. Sneak in, get up to her room, which is right next door to Pappy's and fuck. It was solid. Nice performance. Black out.

Next thing I know it's morning and I have to piss like a race horse. The vodka/sodas I was crushing all night have finally hit me. This is not good. I'm going to piss the bed momentarily. I have to act. I crack the door open. No sign of Pappy. Sprint to the bathroom. I come out and I hear him mulling around downstairs. Fuck. Spring back to the room. I get in bed and pass back out.

I wake up shortly thereafter to the Jew playing with my cock. I open my eyes and she starts blowing me again. Nice. She asks me if I have another condom. I throw it on and she gets on top of me.

She's riding me but I'm sort of disinterested in the whole thing. I'm am still drunk, my head is pounding and I don't know if Matlock is going to bust through the door at any moment. These factors made for a great performance.

As she's riding me I notice that she's grabbing her ass. I'm sitting there wondering why the fuck she's holding it. For a second I think that she's conscious about it or something. Not sure why. It's pretty nice. The girl's body was diesel, now that I think about it. So I turn her around so she's now riding me reverse cowgirl and I discover what's been going on the whole time.

THIS CHICK WAS FINGERBLASTING HER ASSHOLE!

I perk up like a startled deer. I am into this. She had her middle finger knuckle deep!

She tells me that she's going to cum and soon after does. She then asks me if I'll cum in her mouth. Seriously? Do you really have to ask? I tell her "of course" and she slides the rubber off and starts deep throating my piece. I finally fire off a shot. Low volume and very weak pump action. She then tells me that we better get going because Pappy was probably out but would be home soon.

She drives me home. As we pull up to my house I ponder how to play this. I decide that I'll tell her that if she wants my number she can get it from Toy. Toy obviously doesn't have my number.

Me: "Umm...thanks for the ride. Uh, if you want my number you can..."
Jew: "Yeah, totally. What is it?"

Fuck.

I give her the number and start to get out of the car.

I say my goodbye.

Jew: "It was nice meeting you....and everything else!"

Ugh, what a skank. I close the door as the word "and" was leaving her lips. I stroll through the door and my father asks me who that was. As I walk up the stairs I tell him that I don't know.

The MILF Chronicles by Looty

So when I first started this current job, I was really bummed out because it was a small office and really didn't have any talent. But later on during that first day, I met a this hot chick and a milf. I immediately wanted to fuck both of them.

As time went by, through my quick wit and vile humor, the Milf and I grew closer and closer. Soon we were eating lunch together every day and emailing back and forth, sometimes a hundred times a day. The flirting really skyrocketed.

On the day of the Christmas party, which was at another one of our offices, she asked if I could drive her to and fro. I jumped at the chance. Knowing she was married with two kids, I really didn't think I had a shot but dreamed there was an outside chance of something happening that evening. No luck. Oh well.

So the hot chick is getting married and invites a bunch of us. I bail on the wedding but the Milf was desperate for a ride there. So again, dreaming she'd make a move, I offer to drive her. Slight problem, this gay black dude who wants me weasels his way in on the ride. I pick her up first and on the way to get him he keeps calling her to give her directions.

She picks up the phone and tells Gay Black to "stop calling me I'm sucking Looty's dick", in a joking fashion.

So throughout the whole wedding, the Milf is texting me nonstop.

"Wish you were here"
"You should come"
"Just come I want you here"

You get the idea.

So towards the end of the wedding she texts me that she wants to meet up afterwards. Done. I already know how this is ending. Don't we all?

So Gay Black slithers his way into the plans and comes out too. They're getting out of the wedding at 12:30 so I meet up with Pink and we go bowling and crush some pitchers while doing so. I get shitfaced while there.

So the Milf texts me and tells me where to meet them. I drive drunk (which I don't condone kids) and meet up with them. Pink and I are both smashed, borderline sloppy. So we hang at this bar 'til closing, drinking beers and yucking it up. After that, the Milf says I'm too drunk to drive and we sit in my car for an hour or so. She massages my neck while sitting behind me.

So this all went down Friday night. Saturday goes by with no contact from the Milf. Sunday rolls around and I get a text from her that afternoon:

"Do you remember kissing me?"

Wow, she must be joking about this cuz she wants it to happen. Nice.

Me: Haha, very funny
Milf: No seriously
Me: Uh huh
Milf: You don't remember?
Me: It didn't happen
Milf: Now I feel like an ass.
Me: Why?
Milf: Bc you don't remember our kiss
Me: Didn't happen
Milf: I knew you were drunk but didn't realize you were that drunk

Wait a minute...she does not sound like she's joking. I may have actually kissed her! I panic and quickly go into damage control mode to try to salvage this into hooking up with her.

Milf: You really don't remember?
Me: I do, I was jk
Milf: It was really gentle and nice
Me: Yup
Milf: You don't remember
Me: Yeah I do
Milf: Then where were your hands?
Me: On your hips
Milf: Wrong!

Is this seriously happening?

Me: Kidding, on your face
Milf: No! You don't remember! Your hands were on my shoulders
Milf: Where were mine?
Me: My ass
Milf: No!

Fuck me. Why the fuck would I guess ass?

Me: I'm really sorry. I was really bombed.
Milf: I feel like an ass. Is this the first time you've forgotten about kissing a girl?

Yeah...first time this week.

Me: No. Don't take it personally, I was smashed.
Milf: I'm really upset.
Me: Me too
Milf: Why are you upset?
Me: Bc that's something I want to remember
Milf: Really?
Me: Yeah, I'm really hoping I get another shot at it
Milf: I don't know

This continues the rest of Sunday night. I get into work on Monday and it carries on throughout the day. After some major damage control and buttering up, she shoots me this email:

I may have some time to spare after work tomorrow. Would you want to meet up?

Yes and yes!

Tuesday couldn't go any slower. We get out of work and meet a couple of blocks away from the office on this street that doesn't have any houses on part of it. She gets into my car. We start going at it. Big makeout sesh. She rub my penis on the outside of my pants.

A forty year old woman who is married and has two kids is rubbing my penis.

Love it.

I reach for her pants but she denies me. So after about a half hour of making out and some heavy petting, she tells me she has to go.

Hello, Wednesday. She shoots me an email asking if I wanted to meet up again after work. Done. Same deal. Just some making out and some fondling. Our session ends and I go home. I get a text later that evening.

Do you want to meet tonight? I'll have some time after my kickboxing class.

I meet up with the mommy and we go at it. Ten minutes in and she's unbuckling my belt. She's feasting on my cock like it was the Last Supper. She moves down to my balls and goes to town on them. But it doesn't stop there. She makes her way under my balls to my grundel and absolutely works it over. What a go-getter. First blow job and she's covering all angles. I blast and we part.

This continues for two weeks. We meet up and she blows me a minimum of two times, every time. Now I've fingerblasted her but she said she won't have sex in a car. Go figure.

So she emails me one day telling me that her family is going out of town for some hockey tournament that her kid is in. She suggests that we go out for drinks and then go back to her house. Given the fact that her husband was a big time hockey player that was supposed to go to the NHL before his father got ill and died, and he gave the sport up, I figure it'd be smart to take as little risk as possible. For all I know this dude could be an absolute monster.

So I book a hotel room.

We decide to meet at the hotel at 5:15. That gives me a half hour after work to check in, jerk off, take a shit and air out my sweaty socks. What the fuck was I thinking? A half hour? I'm a fucking dolt.

I get to the hotel at 5. That leaves me fifteen minutes to prep. I text her to see if we could change that to 5:30. She tells me she's two minutes away. Fuck. Didn't get to jerk off or shit. Walking around with two loaded weapons before a date isn't exactly something I prefer to do but I've gotta bite the bullet this time.

We go to a bar down the street and after her first rum and coke she's buzzed. After the second she's drunk. After the third she's making out with my neck as we sit at the bar. Check please. I stop off to get some beer before hitting the hotel.

We get back to the room. We're going at it, tearing each other's clothes off. We start to fuck. It's awesome. She's going buck wild. Her husband probably hasn't fucked her in ages. We're hitting a nice assortment of positions. Going strong. Straight plowing it.

Next thing you know, McGruff is taking a bite out of crime, and when I say crime I mean my fucking arm. This isn't a sexy nibble or soft love bite. This is great white shark chomping the shit out of a sea lion. I'm fighting back tears as I continue to fuck her. A sharp stabbing pain is pulsating at the spot of the bite, where my shoulder meets my bicep.

I am in so much pain my dick goes soft. Un-fucking-real. Couldn't keep it up. So she realizes and chalks it up to me being drunk. We fool around for a little and I throw another rubber on, thinking I'm ready to saddle back up. Get it in and start pumping. My arm is going numb. Lose the woody. This cannot be happening. And it certainly could not happen a third time. Could it? Fucking right it could. So humiliated at this point but I'm pretty sure she still thinks it's because I'm drunk.

She starts to suck my cock. My dick plays Lee Harvey Oswald to her JFK.

So we take a short break and before you know it I'm playing the pussy lips piano and she's back to sucking me off. Blast again.

So then we got into a fight. I really can't remember what it was over. She gets dressed and says she's leaving. She tells me she's leaving again. She keeps saying it but isn't doing it. She clearly does not want to leave and I'm calling her bluff. I tell her to do what she's gotta do. I'm basically Scott Boras and my penis is Mark Teixeira in these negotiations. After some drama and yelling at me she gets back into bed and is making out with me.

Now I'm determined to fuck her again, and finish.

I start fucking her. She's gets into it quickly and is going crazy again. So as I'm drilling away, wouldn't you know, fucking Hannibal Lector over here bites my hand as hard as she can. I bite my lip hard. I feel like slapping this broad. She reads the anger in my face.

Milf: "Oh I can see you're mad. I'm really sorry. I got caught up in the moment."
Me: "Nah, I'm not mad. I just can't really feel much of my left arm right now."

I tell her I have to go to the bathroom. I get in their to survey the scene and check out the battle scars. My shoulder is lightly bleeding. My hand, which feels like was slammed in a door, has a perfect mold of her teeth in it (which by the way, as I type this, THREE DAYS LATER, I still have the imprints of her fucking teeth in my hand).

I get back out there and she blows me.

We wake up the next morning and we fuck twice. In between, she shows me a text message her husband sent her last night:

Way to turn your phone off while both of your kids are way, God forbid something happen to them. Your son just wanted to say goodnight to you and you don't answer the phone. Guess it would be hard to do that with your mouth full. The sad part is I don't even fucking care anymore.

Now the weird part is that she said he's never acted that way before. I wonder if this buffoon is catching on to her coming home late three times a week to suck on my bratwurst. The best part was, by the second or third blow job of the night, she not only worked my grundel over but started tossing my salad. She continued to do so on each one after that point. There wasn't any tongue penetration like Fish Taco did but she did go to down on the outside and surrounding areas. It was a delight.

I look at the clock. We've been in bed for 16 straight hours, doing nothing but fucking and drinking. I really don't even remember how many times I jizzed but I'd say it was at least six, maybe closer to 7 or 8. My dick was so raw the next day that I could barely stand up straight. At one point, when we went to get lunch after all of this, she asked in amazement how many times we fucked. I couldn't give her an answer.

Girls Are Stupid

Forgive me, this story might not meet the usual standards.

So AT and Pink and I usually go to the same bar on Thursdays. This one group of chicks started talking to us one night. After two weeks of hanging out with these broads on Thursday nights, one approached Pink after I had left. She asked him why I haven't asked for her phone number yet.

Game over.

As soon as he tells me this I know how this is ending. We all do. My dick will be wet. I'm going to fuck this girl and she's going to hate me and herself after doing so. Sounds good to me.

So the following Thursday, at the end of the night, I put the wheels in motion and approach Picasso (because she goes to school for art and is a painter).

Me: So what are we doing this week?
Picasso: Are you asking me out? That's not really asking me out?
Me: What? So you don't want to do anything?
Picasso: But you really didn't even ask me out.
Me: Okay.

[I turn away from her. I don't deal with terrorist tactics.]

Picasso: So wait, aren't you going to take my number?!?!?
Me: Oh, so you DO want to give me your number? You were just complaining that I didn't ask you out.
Picasso: Here, take it. Give me a call sometime this week. It's XXX-XXXX.

I leave the bar. A few days pass. I call her. No answer. She calls me the next day. I don't get to the call. We play tag like this for a few more days. Finally we set something up. We go to a bar and crush beers. Unfortunately I couldn't get absolutely wrecked because I had to drive her.

So we leave the bar and we get to her house. I kiss her. She turns it into a little 15 minute sesh. She's straddling me in the driver's seat. I lift her top off and suck on her boobies. Nice boobies. They've got nice posture.

So it's going pretty well and decide to travel downtown. While slipping my hand down her jeans, she stops me.

Picasso: Looty, I want to but not in the car. I better get going.

Fucking biotch. Her puss lives to see another day.

Fast forward through the usual bullshit that you have to go through with most chicks.

The following week we go to the movies. Nick and Zora's Infinite Playlist. Fucking weak. Went in thinking it'd be really good but what a let down. By the way, can Michael Cera play any other character? But I digress.

After the movie we head back to my parents' basement, or as I like to call it, the spiderweb...once chicks enter, they're stuck until my penis feasts on their insides.

We're making out. Fondling. Petting. Groping. Well, mostly I am.

I slip her the breakfast sausages and she's getting buck wild. I'm working my fingers more than a Mexican day laborer picking grapes off the vine. Her vagina is flowing like Niagara Falls. Creaming all over the place.

Picasso: Do you have a condom?
Me: Yes.

As I pull the connie out of my pocket she has a change of heart.

Picasso: Wait, we probably shouldn't.
Me: Why not?

In my head that exchange looked more like this:

Picasso: Wait, we probably shouldn't.
Me: Why the fuck not you stupid fucking cock tease whore of a cunt?!?!?!?

Back to reality....

Picasso: I just don't trust you yet.

I got news for you, sweetheart, you're never going to trust me. But I do guarantee you will end up fucking me.

But I gotta give it to this broad. She's smarter than most chicks. She should be in a lab somewhere figuring out the cure for cancer...or herpes.

So I continue to fingerblast her for a very long time. Gauging by the pussy juice river that's been flowing down her ass crack, I've estimated that she's cummed about two times during this poke marathon, maybe three. Yet during her little orgasm fest, she hasn't reached for my cock or my balls once. Not fucking once.

This is absurd. I take her hand and place it on my shaft. She starts to rub it. She then moves to unbutton my jeans and slides them off. I'm on top of her now, in somewhat of a pushup position. She's in an all out stroke. It hurt at first but she really picked up on the correct rhythm. She continues for a good amount of time. I throw up one last hail mary.....

Me: We should have sex.
Picasso: No, not yet.

It was worth a shot. She continues to jack my cock for a while. Soon I'm about to blast. I inform her.

Picasso: Where, on the blanket?

Are you kidding? That blanket is like velvet and I'm not crusting it up with my fucking goo bomb. Nice try, honey.

Me: No, on you.

I explode onto her chest. I could've filled a Capri Sun juice bag with that fucking load. No joke.

Fast forward through some more time and bullshit. Said bullshit included the fact I discovered she was family friends with a guy who tends bar on Thursdays and Sundays at this one place and hooks it up big time. The dude will give me a $24 tab for an evening of drinking for three people. Now this is a pickle......fuck the girl and jeopardize the free booze, or don't fuck the girl and keep drinking from the table of plenty. What to do? Now, I've already sprayed a load on this girl. This dude can't even know about that. Do I take it a step further? Take a guess.

She calls me drunk last weekend at 2:30 in the morning. She wants me to come over to fuck her. She tells me her parents are away. I tell her I'm too tired. She's shocked.

Picasso: What?!? I just asked you to come to my house and I'm drunk AND my parents are away. Any other guy would jump at the chance!
Me: "Maybe I'm not any other guy."
Picasso: "Explain this to me. Something must be wrong. Did I say or do something to turn you off the other night?!?"
Me: "No, I'm just really tired."
Picasso: "That's bullshit."

We continue this dance for at least another twenty minutes. She's desperately fiending for my cock at this point, especially after I denied her.

Picasso: "Just tell me what's going on, Looty. If you don't want to hang out anymore, that's fine, just tell me."
Me: "Listen, I don't think we should have sex."

Did I really just say that??? Couldn't have. Wait...Yeah, I did.

Picasso: "Why?"

Obviously I can't tell this girl that I don't want to risk losing a boatload of free beers when her borderline "cousin" finds out I fucked her silly.

Me: "There are several reasons."

This is me stalling.

Picasso: "Let's hear them."
Me: "A) You've got better chemistry with AT. Maybe you two should get involved instead."
Picasso: "But..."
Me: "Let me finish. B) You just got out of a two year relationship. C) I'd hate for Steve-O to find out and have it awkward at the bar. I'd hate to ruin that friendship. D) You just seem more serious than I am. I'm very immature. To put it bluntly, I'm not boyfriend material."
Picasso: " A) Why would I be calling you? I practically had to force my number onto you. B) So what I got out of a relationship? I'm the one who ended it C) Steve is not your friend. D) I'm more serious? You're almost five years older than me and have a job. I'm in college and have no clue what I'm going to do. You're way more serious. Why did you even pursue me if you weren't interested? Just to have sex with me?
Me: "Anybody who gives you free beers is a friend in my book. That's not the kind of serious I meant."
Picasso: You know, you're a real jerk. I had you pegged completely differently. People told me you were a really good guy. You are such a jerk. Honestly, you're a jerk.
Me: "I know. But I was just trying to do the right thing by telling you this probably won't amount to anything."
Picasso: "You're such a jerk."
Me: "I'm not saying it won't amount to anything at some point...just not for now."

We all know that is a brutal lie. This drama continued for close to an hour, maybe longer.

Finally, after I tell her I can't talk about this anymore because she's not understanding and I can't explain it again there's silence. Picasso sits on the phone silent for like thirty seconds. I don't know what to say. I'm waiting for her a-bomb of curses to drop.

More silence.

Picasso: "So are you coming over???"

Girls are stupid.

I tell her I'm too tired. It's not working. She continues to prod me.

My tiny brain can only keep my tiny penis in check for so long. It's like Skywalker squaring off with Vader, with victory going to the one who yields the force best, but this one ends a little differently. In this epic the bad guy wins. I succumb. I tell her I'll be over in fifteen minutes.

I get over to her house and she slips me in the side door down to the basement. We are sitting on a couch and she's telling me how much of a jerk I am. Whatever. Who cares? I can't listen to this broken record anymore. I make a move. Little make out sesh. Groping. Etc.

Gentlemen, we have penis insertion. She's going buck wild. I'm putting on quite a performance. Very unlike me. It's going so well I ponder if it will run longer than Cats. She's creaming gallons of female juices. I blast, which leads me to a thought....

Obviously blasting inside of a girl is better than not. But I hate that you can't get an idea of how sizeable your load is. I think they should make a condom with measurements down the side. Not by the bottom though, cuz that would just be depressing. I'm talking by the tip, the cum reservoir. It's genius.

Anyway, we finish. Cleanup. All of the sudden there's footsteps walking around above us.

Me: "Who is that?"
Picasso: "Oh, that's probably my drunk sister. No wait, those footsteps are heavier. That's my dad."

Argggggggggggggh?!?!?

Me: "I thought you said your parents were away?"
Picasso: "Oh, well my mom went away. My dad's going away tomorrow morning."
Me: "Great. So what's he doing up at 4am???"
Picasso: "Well he's got a really bad back so he sleeps on the couch in the living room. He has a trouble getting up stairs."

She's got to be fucking kidding me.

Me: "Okay well I'm going to have a shit fit if I have to sprint out of your house naked."
Picasso: "He probably won't come down here. He'll probably just yell down. Maybe ask who's car is in the driveway. I'll just tell him it's my ex-boyfriend's. His family has 15 cars so he won't know."

So out of nowhere, Picasso, real bitchy, says to me.....

Picasso: "So do you think you're going to keep calling me or something?"
Me: "Well...I guess not."
Picasso: "But I want you to."

Girls are so stupid.

I tell her I have to go. Go-go gadget stealth mode. she sneaks me out the side door.

Fast forward a few days. My crew is hanging out with her crew at the bar. I'm getting smashed.

We all leave around 3:30ish. I drop a few people off before getting to her house. As she kisses me her hands start to unbuckle my belt and peel my pants off. The kiss ends and she's nosediving like a bomber plane that's just taken a hit.

I tell her that doing this in front of her house probably isn't a good idea and I pull into a darkened parking lot down the block. Good, strong blowie. I fire off a nice warning shot into the back of her throat and she swallows like a good girl.

Immediately following my blast she's back at it again.

Picasso: "I want to make you cum again."

I try to explain that I'm not going to be able to cum again after the first one. I mean, I didn't even get any recovery time. She just suctioned right back onto my already very sensitive, post orgasm cock.

Picasso: "I want to satisfy you baby. I wanna finish you off again."

I cringe at the thought of how raw my dick is going to be tomorrow. I know how bad this can get because PT's girlfriend did this to me senior year of college. The girl was so drunk that she didn't realize I unleashed in her mouth and she just kept sucking through it. That second steamer took her over an hour to finish. It's going to be peeled like a fucking banana in a monkey cage.

I physically try to stop her. She won't let me. I try to tell her. She won't listen.

She sucks me off. And sucks. And sucks. And sucks. And sucks. And sucks me off.

It's taking forever. I ponder the fact that as long as I got blown before each filming, I could easily be a pornstar...If i had a big penis.

This is really taking forever. I have to piss. I tell her to stop for a minute because I have to urinate. I get out of the car. I start to pee...FULLY ERECT. Not very enjoyable. I'm pulling my cock forward so I'm not peeing on my chin. It's got the arc of a rainbow. A pretty urine rainbow. I finish up but can't get a little bit out. That's just what happens when you try to pee out of a stiffy.

I get back in and she's already on my dick before I get my second foot in the car. This girl is a fucking leach. As she does this I close my eyes and try to picture anything that help me get this over with. I'm using every resource in my feeble mind. When I picture Marissa Miller spread eagle with two cheeseburgers covering her tits, waiting for me to eat them as I fuck her and I can't jizz, I realize this may never happen.

I start to face fuck her. I hold her head still and thrust like a jack hammer. No difference. She sucks some more. She then starts jerking me off! Whoa! Does she have a fucking piece of sandpaper in her hand. This is not going to fly. I give her the ten pound hand and she's sucking again.

Throughout this marathon fellatio festival, there's been some light conversation here and there. At one point the following tidbits occur:

Picasso: "You're penis is so nice. It's the biggest penis I've ever seen."

I laugh as this girl tries to placate me.

Picasso: "No seriously. You've got the biggest fucking dick I've ever seen."
Me: "So you've seen one penis in your life?"
Picasso: "Haha, no. You've got a really nice penis. Sex was almost unenjoyable the other night because it's so big."

That's the first and last time I will hear that sentence in a serious manner. A little part of me dies knowing that I didn't have that on tape. Are you supposed to propose to the first woman who says that in a serious matter? I don't know.

But let's get real. My penis is tiny when flaccid. When erect, it's an average length. I'm fucking dying of laughter on the inside as I picture her ex-boyfriend that she always mentions. He must have the penis of a four year old girl.

This has become a mission of mine now. I won't be happy if I have to throw in the towel.

After God knows how long, I finally shoot. Great orgasm but weak blast. I really can't even call it a blast. A miniscule load sort of just seaped out of my eurethra. I drive down the block and she gets out.

As I drive away my penis is absolutely throbbing. I can see it now...it's going to be like pissing samurai swords tomorrow morning. Fuck. I ponder apologizing out loud to my cock.

I pull up to my house. I look for my phone in the car. I find it...along with her phone...and her bra. Ugh. Check my watch.....it's 6:45am. I decide that I need a haircut desperately for the weekend. He opens at 7. I walk down the block and get a haircut. I stumble into work fifteen minutes late. My jewish Hitler of a boss gives me an evil eye and ignores me as I say "good morning" to him. Whatever. This faggot probably hasn't gotten his dick sucked for a total of over two hours in his entire life. I just got it done continuously.

I'M BACK! (again...)

This site was all but dead. Even I don’t visit every week anymore, save for one or two stories that Looty had posted that were gravely amoral, but wickedly amusing. I finished graduate school in May, having written an estimated 300+ pages in 2 years, with about 120 of them coming in the spring of 2008. As you can imagine that’s a lot, and I just could not will myself to write anymore. Also, I ran out of blog topics and it got real nice out – aka drinking outside weather, and we all know how that goes. Well, I have some good news – I am back with lots of stories that have transpired over the last few months. This time around I don’t have any lofty goals of posting every day or 3 a week, but am going to take a new approach – when an idea strikes I am going to write.

So using the school analogy – its going to be a hell of a fall semester for the Drunken Polar Bear. Just a preview of what will come:

Phillies, Fat Girls & a Ride Home from Officer Mike (a riveting tale)
Kenny Chesney – my ultimate wingman…
The rule of B’s…
Bar Golf – the quest for an Olympic sport

So lets give it one more shot. I am on a weeklong vacation through upstate NY and Canada trying not to watch any TV so its either blogging or reading books. Who knows if the actual writing will be good or amusing, but at least it will give me something to do….

Brrr…Beer (enjoy the pic of the girl from Chuck)

Phillies, Fat Girls & a Ride Home from Officer Mike (a riveting tale)

To get people reading the blog again, I had to lead off with one of my best stories. Being a huge Mets fan and friends with many folks who have made the unfortunate choice to root from the Phillies, I try and make it to as many Mets – Phils games as I can, regardless of city. Well, it just so happened, that on July 5th, a long weekend, the Mets were playing the Phils in a nice Saturday night game. Never one to turn down a good tailgate and baseball game, I saddled up the Silver Surfer (Tuna Titan’s car) and headed on down to Philly. And by saddled up I mean – asking Tuna Titan if he wanted to go so I could get a ride down to Philly.

So there are a bunch of us heading down to the game and thus characters in this day-long tale: Myself, Tuna Titan, Trackpants, Trackpants’ little brother, Jesus, Red Rider, Worlds Best Grandpa (WBG) and supporting cast. Truly a ragtag crew. So Tuna Titan and I get to Philly at the predetermined time (around 3ish) to tailgate, and shocker Trackpants is late. Everyone finally shows up, and beers start getting downed like a freshman college basement party with a little cornhole (Bag-O) to boot. As the sun goes down on the city of brotherly love, the BAC of the group goes up. One in particularly rises to the occasion – Trackpants’ little brother who we will call Crazy Legs. Crazy Legs is just as big as a Phils fan as I am a Mets fan, and the Phils were currently a few games up on the Mets so me wearing my David Wright jersey/t-shirt did not go over well on several occasions, but none more hilarious then this:

[Setting: I am playing cornhole, and Crazy Legs being a sprinter is drunk already and proceeds to interrupt the game]
Crazy Legs: DP, HOW DARE YOU!
DP: How dare I what? You’re drunk.
Crazy Legs: HOW DARE YOU WEAR A METS JERSEY. DON’T YOU KNOW YOU ARE IN
PHILADELPHIA GODDAMIT!

This conversation occurred at least 10 or 12 more times in which Crazy Legs tried to get several random Philly fans to kick my ass for being a Mets fan. It even got so bad, that after a Philly home run, and subsequent taunting of me, Crazy Legs was asked by security guards to leave, but WBG was a smooth mofo and got him out of trouble. The rest of the game included a horrendous brawl between about 8 guys that were all over 6 feet and some sandwich called the Schmitter which is fantastic when drunk, but I would never want to know what was in it.

Fast forward now – time to leave the stadium. Tuna Titan and I are on our way out and some girls are handing out large SOBE energy drinks which are like a cheaper version of Red Bull. I ask for two, and she walks four over the car – some excellent jet fuel for the evening’s activities. Fast forward again – we get back to Trackpant’s new apartment, get changed and head out to a bar which was about a mile walk. Having been tailgating and drinking during the game everyone has a good buzz going on, but still feels the need to pound lots of shots and beers – always one for peer pressure I give in. Every time I turn around, Red Rider is handing me some sort of shot – the kind of shot I never turn down. Everyone is drinking, but here is where the hilarity ensues…

Before I go any further I have one waiver – I am not Brad Pitt, nor do I have a six pack, but am in generally OK/bulky shape for mid 20’s, so I call girls fat it is in all jest (and truth). So there we all are drinking and notice two girls playing photo hunt. You know the game where you have to find the differences between the two pictures. Almost every time you play this it is erotic photo hunt and it is comparing two naked girls. So the two girls playing it are nice, but packing a little weight on them. As I glance at the photo hunt I see they are stuck pm one last match they can’t get. I reach in, tap the screen, effectively saving the day. The girls are happy with my advanced photo hunt skills (years of bartending) and invite me to play. Little do they know, that by inviting me, they are inviting the drunkards I came to the bar with. Over the next half hour, me and 3 of the group take over the game and almost crack a new score. When there are no credits left in the machine, we all effectively turn around and talk amongst ourselves. This is where I start getting into trouble.

With a little prodding from Tuna Titan, I feel bad about playing photo hunt with these girls and then just ignoring them when the game is over, so I strike up a conversation with the skinnier/more attractive one of the group. I am drunk, so I have the most confidence in the world. I proceed to talk to the one girl for about 30 minutes in which I am convinced she thinks I am the most charming person ever. The group starts to leave, and in my drunken state I tell Tuna Titan I am going to stay and talk to fat girl because I want to – he laughs loudly as he walks out. Needless to say because I started to sober up (that’s the excuse I am using), and she stood up there was no shot of me going home with fat girl (learned from past mistakes). I walk out of the bar with her and her friend (fatter girl) and we say our goodbyes after which I have a phone # for fat girl – which will probably only be used in case of a drunken emergency. Before the two large ladies disappear across the horizon, I have a fantastic thought, which I did not filter out in my mind…

DP (with a chuckle): [Fat girl], next time I am here will you hook up with me?
FG: Sure, sounds like plan.
DP: Score!

I take this as a victory, laughing wildly as I start the mile walk home. However, it was not an easy walk home. I am good with numbers/address so I knew where Trackpants new apartment was by address and paid attention on the walk over, but was a little drunk and had no clue where to go. Being a guy, I figured I would use landmarks to navigate home, except that everything in Trackpants looks the same and he lives parallel to a railroad which could really screw me up. So I start walking, about 15 minutes in I am worried, because I am nowhere near his apartment, and it is a quick walk. I am starting to get worried, meanwhile it never occurs to me to use my cell phone to call for help.

So keep in mind – it is around 2:30AM, and I am wondering around a quick neighborhood drunk and lost so it is no surprise that a cop stopped me and we had
the following discussion:

Officer Mike: Son, are you OK?
DP: Yea, I am pretty good – yourself?
Officer Mike: Ok, do you know where you are going?
DP: Yea, [insert Trackpants address]
Officer Mike: Ok, so…
DP: But I forgot how to get there.
Officer Mike: Were you out at the bars?
DP: Yes sir.
Officer Mike: [Chuckles] Ok I am going to give you a ride – get in.

I proceed to get in the backseat of the cop car because he has his laptop and a shotgun in the passenger seat – which is badass. Nervous at first, I talk to Officer Mike about the Phils game, the bar and am about to go into the fat girl stories when we get to Trackpant’s apartment. The ride took all of 4 minutes, but if you haven’t ridden in the back of a cop car – it is interesting. There are no seat belts and its hard plastic seats so you are sliding all over the place during turns – like a meaner version of Slip-n-Slide. Even better – when we finally got to the apartment, he had to get out of the car and let me out the backdoor, and I feel
like a cool criminal…

All in all a great night where Tuna Titan and other miscreants stole a large sign in put it in Trackpant’s apartment as a housewarming gift. Awesome and thank you Officer Mike wherever you are for the ride.
Brrr….beer.

The Shadow

Forgive me if this story isn't coherent and/or well written. I didn't go to bed at all the night this story occurred, then went straight to softball and out later in the evening.

So Friday night I crushed some pitchers while bowling and went out afterward. Got home at like five in the morning. With an 8am softball game Sunday morning, I really didn't plan on going out Saturday night. But after sitting in my basement for a good fourteen hours straight, needing to get out of the house desperado, I penciled myself in for a last minute spot start.

I met up with the Croatian Sensation, the Cheeseburglar and Bullet in New Jersey for some random's birthday party at a bar. While at this party I met some broad who went to college with me. Never heard of her, met her or saw her at school. We'll call her the Shadow.

After about fifteen minutes of trash talking my nemesis and the two of us bonding over it, it was clear that she was laughing at all of my terrible jokes and was getting very drunk. The two foremost things I look for in a girl. Now I felt I might be able to capitalize on the situation but had no idea just how quickly.

This next little tidbit might seem very random but keep in mind it ties in to not only the story in a little bit, but also the title. At one point, when the Shadow was talking to the Burglar and Bullet, CS points out the fact that her arms are hairier than both of ours....probably combined. I tell him that given my track record, that obviously wouldn't bother me.

After several more drinks and some other bullshit, we decide to walk down the block to another bar. While at said bar, CS receives a text from the Shadow claiming she wants to make out with me. Of course she does. She has a vagina, doesn't she? I know what you're thinking at this point...let's hope so.

So she comes to join us at the new bar. She's smashed. Shortly after CS and the Cheeseburglar leave, I tell the Shadow I'm leaving and that I'll walk her to her friend's place. We get to the corner outside and she tells me that she doesn't want me walking too far and that she'll be fine. Awesome. I didn't want to walk her home anyway. That was simply a ploy to pretend to be a decent guy, thus getting me laid further down the line. But she won't leave. I can tell she's dragging this goodbye out as long as possible because she wants my piece.

Shadow: "Sooooo......"
Me: "So I guess this is where we make out."

We proceed to make out on the street corner for a good fifteen to twenty minutes. Now I hate being that douchey asshole, Johnny Make Out Sesh, but sometimes it's just gotta be done to lock up some serious tail for the future.

During this sesh, she continues to jokingly ask me if I really live as far as I do, clearly upset at the fact. She probably only asked me 30 times. Obviously, due to her desperation, she wants this to go further. I invite her back to CS and Beemer's apartment. She jumped on the invitation like a black dude dunking.

We get up to their apartment. Once CS goes into his room, we start the making out and heavy petting. I take her clothes off, then my own. Now the Shadow isn't terrible looking but she is chunky. She also does have diesel tits. Usually chicks with her body type have saggy and/or flapjack boobies, but hers were solid. As I do what I do, I start to slip my fingers downstairs and play with her. She throws a flag....offsides. Are you fucking kidding me? Why even come back with me if you're not even going to let me fingerblast you. This has gotten disaster written all over it.

As we're fondling each other and kissing, I keep persisting with the finger fucking. Finally she gives in. Things are looking up. But once again, she stops it after a few minutes. We continue this little dance for a good half hour. For some reason she can't decide if she should be doing this. We all know the answer is 'no' but we also know where this is going. Finally she stops the charade and surrenders her puss to my hand. She's going buck wild.

Shadow: "OMG. Who are you and where did you come from?"

Okay, I may be getting you off with my alien like fingers but you're making it sound like I'm some mythical creature from a far away land or something. I ignore this idiotic sentence and continue my business. Yet two minutes later.....

Shadow: "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

Relax, sweetheart. I chuckle out loud and picture myself magically appearing from a mysterious lamp and telling her that I'll grant her three wishes. God forbid she say something cool like, 'Wow I'm going to cum really hard', or something like that. Is that too much to ask for?

After fingerblasting the Shadow for a long time, she starts to suck my throbbing cock. It wasn't the best blowie, but who am I to complain about a mouth pumping. I tell her that we should have sex. She tells me that she doesn't want me to get the wrong idea about her.

WHAT?!?

It's four in the morning, I've known you for five hours and my penis is in your mouth! I've already got the wrong idea about you. We all know how I feel about this topic and I'll resort to my 'go to' theory......would your father rather see my cock in your mouth or your vagina? I always feel it's gotta be the puss. One day I'm going to write a book about this topic.

So after fucking her face for a while, I blast in her mouth. Very large blast.

Now here's the weird part that I skimmed over earlier. While we were making out and I was fingering her, my face brushed against her chin. The chick had a fucking five o'clock shadow! Not fucking kidding. I felt stubble on her chin! I know you're probably sitting there reading this and not believing me. I FUCKING SHIT YOU NOT. Does she fucking shave or something?!? The amount of time she spent jerking me off and blowing me probably totaled over an hour. Normally this wouldn't be the case but the whole time I just kept picturing her lathering up her face with some shaving cream and going to work on it. I flashed back to CS pointing out her hair arms. I cringed. This girl must shave. I've never felt anything like this on a broad before.

So the Shadow gets up to go to the bathroom. When she comes back she's sniffling a lot. I can't tell if she got a runny nose or if she's crying over the fact that she just blew me. I'm guessing it was the oral.

Come 5:30, I start to go into stealth mode and try to slip all my clothes on while not waking her. Doesn't work. She wakes. She starts to get dressed. I reluctantly kiss her and tell her that I have to take off. She doesn't say anything.

As I'm walking to the train I ponder the fact that I just got sucked off by a girl who can grow a better mustache than I can.

Rubbers....Who Needs 'Em?

So I've been mired in a terrible cold streak lately as I'm sure most of you know. Sure there's been a few make out sessions with fat chicks here and there, but nothing really noteworthy...until this weekend.

I had a family function to go to Friday night. Sitting me in a private room with all of my family members and an open bar is never a good idea. You might as well hand a bottle of sleeping pills and a plastic bag to someone thinking about committing suicide.

So after downing about three bottles of wine at the party, I decide to go out with my brother [Ya Ya], my cousin [Her], her boyfriend [Party Boy], and her friend [Roomie]. I figured it would be a great night to bust out of my slump because I was beyond smashed. When I'm that drunk I'm pretty much willing to do anything.

So when we get to the bar I start crushing Tanqueray & Tonics. I'm in the zone. We're all sitting at a table out on the back patio of the bar. A girl my brother is crushing [Melons] shows up. That makes two couples and Roomie and myself. We are sitting next to each other and begin to chat and flirt more and more as the night goes by as we are ignored during a late night, drunken lovey dovey mush parade by the others. We mock them.

Ya Ya and Melons vanish. Later on we find out they were crushing in her car in the parking lot. He must be taking notes. But at the time we had thought they left. So as the bar is about to close we decide to head to 7-11 to grab beers and head back to my Aunt's house since she's in Europe for several weeks. We're hanging out in the backyard crushing beers and cigarettes. Yes, I was that drunk, smoking cigarettes. We bring the festivities into the basement. Her and Party Boy are tired and head upstairs to go to bed.

Roomie and I are listening to music and drinking. We start making out. A cash register sound goes off in my brain. It's on. She tells me that we should pull the bed out of the couch. I agree. It's doubly on. As I rip all of the pillows and cushions off the couch like a tornado ripping shingles from a roof, a sudden rush of panic, fear, disappointment and blue balls hits me like a shovel. I've got no rubbers! I always carry at least one with me! We're talking about the guy that has a connie in his pocket when he goes to drop a letter in the mailbox down the street. You just never know when some totally desperate-for-cock vixen is going to sidle up to you, lift her skirt and go all spread condor on your ass.

After hating myself for several seconds, we're on the pullout bed peeling each other's clothes off, locked in an intense make out sesh. I decide that I'll have to punt and try to settle for a blow job. Of course there's nothing wrong with a good old fashioned Steamboat Willie, but I don't get to tack another victim up on my resume. Lesson learned. Pack heat everywhere, even if you're headed to a family function.

We're now naked and I'm on top of her. There's some heavy petting involved. We're fooling around, molesting each other. She grabs my johnson again but instead of buffing the bad boy up, she slips it right inside of her...RAW. Me likey.

Christmas just came early my friends, and so will I!

I'm shocked and astonished. I mean, I've known this girl for a long time, but shouldn't that give her more reason not to let me slay her raw dawg???

But I'm also psyched. I haven't had an order of sausage, hold the bun, in ages. Probably a good six to eight months at least. That excitement, plus the extra sensation is absolutely killing my performance. Out of nowhere she says she has to go to the bathroom. God, what luck.

She starts to walk up the stairs. As soon as she's out of sight I jump to my feet. I'm rushed and panicked. I start to run in one direction, than the other. Then I notice the door of the laundry room open. I run through it and look around. Thinking quickly on my feet, I decide to jack off as fast and hard as I can into the sink. I hear water running through the pipes in the ceiling above me. That's the toilet flushing! Fuck! She'll be back any second. I miraculously get the job done. Shots fired! Oh my, what a blast. Probably the biggest of my life. And not just a nice quantity, I got some powerful pumps. No time to bask in the glory...I ninja my way back onto the bed. Back in business. We get back at it and I slip it right in while I'm still hard. I throw down but don't finish again. I don't remember how the session stopped and there's a very good chance I just blacked out on top of her.

We wake up the next morning and she tells me she needs a ride home. I grab her hand and put it on my cock. She starts to tug it. My command center is telling me to launch a second attack so I slip it in again. Terrible performance. At the point where I'm about to climax I pull out and start to finger her. She thinks I'm just switching it up but I'm actually orgasming. But I held the hounds back, didn't fire the shot, so she wouldn't know. I slipped it in again. This time I couldn't keep it hard. Here I am, on top of this chick, with my penis turning into a limp noodle. I mean, it's not completely soft yet but I'd be lucky if I was flying it at half mast. I pump desperately trying to revive it like an EMT pounding on a dying person's sternum. No luck. We've lost him. The combination of previously orgasming and my heart saturated with red wine and gin did not help the cause. I wave the white flag.

As I'm driving her home, which is only a few blocks away, I'm recapping all the events in my head to an Avril Lavigne song that came on the radio. God Avril doesn't get enough props. I ponder why. Who knows. Roomie's been talking but I've been too wrapped up thinking about the aforementioned issues. I suddenly realize I never cleaned my cum out of the sink. It probably got dry and crusty over night. Oh well.

I may have lost the battle...but I did win the war.

Drunken Dog Syndrome

I drink. I drink a lot sometimes. That may not come as a surprise to some. I am coming off 5 straight nights going out and have some minor chest pain, but that is despite the point. Although I haven’t been super polar bear drunk in a while, it is a show when it happens. Like a freight train full of Japanese fireworks, carrying death row inmates, driven by a drunken frat party into a gunpowder factory. Many stories from previous entries cover more on that topic, but I want to share a syndrome I have experienced every since college that has saved my life on more than one occasion – drunken dog syndrome.

Dogs often have a unique ability. When they get lost or are taken far from home, they are miraculously able to navigate back to their home despite overcoming odds and probably a lot of traffic lights. I don’t know if there is a scientific explanation for this and it doesn’t really apply to ever dog, but that doesn’t lessen how cool this feat is. Humans can have some semblances of this ability when driving, but it’s just not that same. However, there are a rare few that have a good case of drunken dog syndrome. These professional drunkards can knock off a bottle of Jack and a 6-pack and still make it back to their home each night. The kicker is most times the drunk doesn’t remember the actual action of getting home, yet they will wake up in their bed the next morning. It’s almost like they have drunken GPS. Here is an example to further proof my point:

So I go out in the city on a fairly normal basis and rely on subways and buses to get home each night. One particular Saturday night I was out with friends and started drinking a lot fairly early. And by a lot I mean enough to kill a small animal – possible a big mongoose. So around midnight, my memory fades and I only get flashes of what went on, but I woke up in my bed the next morning in my PJs. Over the next few days more memory comes back as the booze gets diluted in my brain. At 2:00AM I decided it was time to go home and head on my way. Keep in mind I still don’t remember all of this. What I did smashed out of my mind is impressive any way you slice it. I took 3 subways, a PATH train and walked about a mile to get back to my apartment – not remembering any of it. Now a cab ride and one subway would be easier, but I had to make 3 transfers and get off at the rights tops. I call this drunken behavior a superhuman ability, which is repeated on more than one occasion. I have never not come home when blitzed and always seem to not know how I got home. I stopped trying to figure it out a while ago, and just remained thankful I wasn’t waking up in bus terminals or subway cars.

Thus you could reasonable say that being a drunken dog has saved my life on several occasions…

Note: Keep in mind drunken dog syndrome applies only those who don’t drive because drinking and driving is just fucking idiot and horrible.

Brrr….Beer

Tackling Mascots

Quick hits for this one. I would like to tell you where the idea came from, but I was nowhere near a mascot during this thought so I am pretty sure my mind is a giant carnival. But my point – every time I see a mascot, whether it be Chucky Cheese, a Disney character or the Philly Fanatic I have the primal urge to get a running head start and spear tackle them out of nowhere. If you don’t know what a spear tackle is: you get a running start and about 5 feet away from your tackle object, you jump going fully horizontal to the ground hoping to hit the person so hard in the middle of their body that one of their kidneys turns to dust and you shatter 9 ribs. Essentially this kind of tackle pulverizes your body, but is hilarious. A good example of this is seen in Old School during the hazing scene when Will Ferrell runs and spear tackles “Spanish” into a fountain.

So yea – every time I see a mascot I want to spear tackle them. It’s not that I don’t like these characters, but I think something is built into human DNA, probably mostly in men, that triggers violent urges when an 8ft colorful cartoon character is within 20 feet. It may be some pent up anger from watching too many childhood cartoons like Barney, Looney Toons or Darkwing Duck (boo yea on that one!). I think it is a justifiable action because it is fucking hilarious. I bet many guys have this same urge, but have never acted upon it. Therefore, men of the world, I say go for it and tackle the Toledo MudHen or the Chatanooga Lookout because aggravated assault (only a misdemeanor) and a night in jail are way worth it.

Note: The only exception to this rule is Mr. Met. He is awesome because he head is enormous and he has a hot wife – Mrs. Met.

Brrr….Beer

Goldfdish & Barracudas

So I come to work this Tuesday having enjoyed the long holiday weekend and find all internet and email is down in my office. I spent a good part of the morning catching up on some stuff, but its lunch now and since I can’t get to any type of Internet I am going to rattle off blogs for the remainder of the afternoon. Don’t worry I have been writing things down on bar napkins, post-its and even my hand as creativity has come back to me in the last week.

So what are we talking about this Tuesday? Fishes. That’s right – not the little cracker versions (although they are the coolest snack food ever. I finished off half a bag of zesty nacho yesterday), but the kind swimming in the sea or your local fishbowl. So a good friend of mine who is in a good relationship was talking to me the other day, and through my normal distorted thought pattern another theory started to develop on sex for single people and those in relationships. Of course, what would a drunken polar bear theory be without animals or some far-fetched analogy…

When it comes to sex, those in relationships are like goldfish. I know it sounds crazy, but just hear me out. Whether it’s a regular goldfish bowl or a more elaborate aquarium fish get fed on a daily basis. You come home from work, grab the pellets or flakes for the fish and drop them in the top of the tank. The fish go crazy and snatch up all the food. After a while they even may know what time of day to expect the food (kind like a simpler version of Pavlov’s dogs salivating when the bell was rung). Fish in tanks have to do no work for their food and get fat and happy eating their fish food. Being in a relationship is the same thing. If you are in a relationship you don’t really have to work for sex, and it may not come daily for some, but it still is pretty much guaranteed and you don’t have to buy $14 martinis and pretend to be interested in the girl to get it. You come home for work or just do a movie night and you have a good chance at getting some. This constant stream of sex makes you just as fat and happy as the goldfish. Although there have been no studies, I guarantee with all the polar- bearness I have that guys in relationships get fatter because they don’t have to work for it anymore. Even those couples that are a little freaky/kinky/exotic are still like fish in tanks, but are more like fighting fish or those exotic fish you pay $80 for to look cool. No matter how many colors or stripes they have, they still live in fish tanks.

However, when it comes to sex, those single folk are like barracudas. Barracudas are some of the most wild, badass fish in the ocean. They roam the seas and have to work for their food. No magical pellets or flakes for them – they hunt for their daily feed and are in fierce shape. When a barracuda sees its dinner it goes into attack mode flying at its prey while avoiding all the obstacles of the sea. If the barracuda is not stealthy, smooth and fast it doesn’t eat. Even when fisherman drop chum (that bloody fish cocktail used to attract fishes), they still have to be careful not to got caught. Being single looking for sex is just like being a barracuda. Replace the sea with bars and the prey with women. Once a guy has found a girl that is attractive, he must be quick to beat out other guys, yet has to be smooth so the girl doesn’t think he is a big jackass. If he is not a good hunter he is going to get any for a long while. Whereas fish die if they don’t eat, single guys slowly turn more and more desperate until they turn into asexual beings. Also, just as a barracuda has to avoid being caught when fisherman drop chum in the water, single guys have to be careful too. Often a group of girls will dangle their one hot friend in the bar in hopes of attracting a group of guys – only to find out later that the group of guys has been trapped by ugly girls.

So to close – what kind of fish are you???

Brrr….Beer

Indy vs. Bond: Bring on the Duel

So it’s a huge week. First week of no school…like I am done forever. But more importantly Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skill comes out. Now its very rarely that I get excited for a movies and plan to see it a couple of weeks in advance, but Indiana Jones was basically my boyhood idol and still is. So here I am excited for the movie release. They are running marathons non-stop on all of the cable channels. Suddenly when I got home from work today I realized I hadn’t seen the first movie – Raiders of the Lost Ark – in something like 10 years. Therefore I threw it in the DVD player and here we are. Indy just escaped the giant rolling rock and is dodging arrows from natives.

It got me thinking (and by me I mean someone else proposed this). Who is better Indiana Jones or James Bond? I think they are both some of the most badass guys I know, but here goes the 11 round battle royale...

Clothing
Bond: Tuxedos, sharp and sleek and always perfectly fit
Indy: Worn down pants and cargo shirt, leather whip, revolver, leather jacket and the trademark Fedora hat
Winner: Although tuxes are great, nothing ever tops Indy's get-up

Fighting Ability
Bond: Knows how to fight in every manner it seems from karate to ass whooping
Indy: King of the good old fashion right hook
Winner: Bond does it all on the fighting front and takes this round

Weapon of Choice
Bond: Walther PPK-7 with silencer
Indy: Whip and revolver
Winner: Anyone can fire a gun, but wielding a whip as your only weapon most days? Indy takes this round.

Smarts
Bond: A world traveler and expert in gambling and all classy things
Indy: Professor at a college in CT, with a PhD and an expert archelogist
Winner: Indy's got the super smarts on this one. Hell, Short Round calls him Dr. Jones!

Ladies
Bond: He sleeps with every hot girl both evil and good. It is just amazing how easy it is for him
Indy: He has a main squeeze in each of the three movies
Winner: Bond takes this one by a mile - the notches on his belt are more numerous and hotter

Gadgets
Bond: Cars that shoot fly, motorcycles that shoot rockets, boats that become submarines. If you can think of it, master gadgeter Q can make it.
Indy: Um, revolver, cars?
Winner: Bond by a 4 miles (which he probably covers in 40 seconds in his nuclear-powered Vespa scooter...hahah)

Villians
Bond: Evil organzizers the world over and also a lot of pissed off Russians
Indy: The Nazis, crazy slave-driver who rips out people's hearts, the Nazis again
Winner: Its a close one, but two separate bouts with the Nazis gives Indy the edge

Humor
Bond: Always has some witty lines stashed away fro his female conquests of vanquished villians
Indy: Brings a gun to a sword fight, laughs at the women he eventually beds, and has jokes ready for everything
Winner: Again its close, and its probably the dry humor of the Brits, but Indy gets it

Theme Songs
Bond: Universally recognized songs and different for each movie
Indy: Dah duh da daaa - everyone knows those first four notes
Winner: Indy by a landslide

Body Count
Bond: Who the hell knows, but he has to kill at least 100 bad guys per movie with every sort of gun, bomb, missle, and sometimes even his own bare hands
Indy: More of a humanitarian and fan of the knockout, his body count is probably only 20 per movie
Winner: Bond by lots of dead bodies

Sidekick
Bond: He travels and works alone because he is sooo good at what he does
Indy: Various minor characters, Short Round, and his Dad (Sean Connery)
Winner: That little tike Short Round puts Indy over the age

By a 7-4 score Indiana Jones emerges triumphant over James Bond. Maybe I am biased because the new Indy movie is coming out next week and may change when Bond's new movie comes out, but I am sticking with Indy on this one

Country Music & Atlantic City

This one is going to be fun. Like lots of fun to tell. Last minute trip to AC came up and it was f’ing fantastic. Now although I didn’t text myself at regular intervals like I did for St. Patrick’s day I have clear recollection of my entire night. Without further ado…

Background: So my good buddy Trackpants called me at the beginning of last week with tickets to Gary Allan at the Hard Rock down in Atlantic City. Now Gary Allan is one of the most badass country musicians ever. He is from legendary Bakersfield, California and easily has over 10 tattoos all of which are awesome. After all the traveling over the past week or so I was really reluctant to go down and stay in yet another hotel and probably blow some more cash in a casino. Luckily those reservations lasted all of just one day.

3:00PM: Leave work and lots of emails and phone calls with hopes of country music and lots of booze

3:33PM: Get on NJT train to Trenton

5:40PM: Arrive 35 minutes late in Trenton and miss my connection to Philly, making me really late

5:54PM: Get on a SEPTA train for Philly with arguable the angriest commuters in the world. Apparently every train was late or running way behind. There was lots of cursing and such. I found it amusing as I typed away a memo on my laptop.

6:35PM: Finally get into the Philly train only to find Trackpants and PT (another new character is the story) are running way behind because Trackpants forgot he was driving a rental car and had to swap his out at the airport – what a Goddamn moron.

7:10PM: Finally get picked up and make the trek to AC

8:30PM: 2 trains, one traffic-filled drive and 5 and a half hours later and I am finally in AC. Too bad the concert starts at 9PM so that really didn’t leave much time for pre-gaming or so I thought. The three of us check in and speed-drink 3-4 Knight’s Head Light beers in 25 minutes. Good thing I can still pound them back and this beer is horrible.

9:20PM: Finally get to the concert to find the opening act, Jypsy, is 4 girls who play violins, sing and all other musically stuff while wearing really tight, colorful, short gym clothes. Their music is ok, but their outfits are better.

10:00PM – midnightish: The concert was unbelievable. Beer was tough to get at first, but great concert and get this – they filmed a music video for his new single at the concert which makes it that much cooler. Maybe I will get credited in the music video for rocking out – probably not.
Some time around midnight: I got separated from Trackpants & PT and got stuck behind two women on a really long escalator. So there I am riding along and Trackpants & PT are making such faces at me on the ground that these two women have to ask me who the two jackasses are waving at me. Needless to say one girl is very hot, while the other looks like a tranny. It was quite an amusing encounter and we later had sandwiches with them.

Midnight – 2:30AM: Texas Hold Em against the dealer at the Wild Wild West Casino for a while. Easily the most depressing casino in the world. They play old country music which is slightly amusing, but the clientele is utterly demoralizing. These people are on their last dime and gambling it all away. I proceed to break even, yet grow very angry because the drinks they are serving are watered down and tiny. I get up from the table to go visit Trackpants who is playing at a $25 Blackjack table. While standing next to him, he proceeds to go 11/14 racking up somewhere in the neighborhood of $500 in winnings while playing a lot of money on each hand.

2:30AM- 4:00AM: I am kind of drunk, but Trackpants is up $500 and PT netted $200+ on the craps table so we go to the bar to celebrate. I wasn’t that drunk, but the bartender flagged me anyway because I stuttered a little bit – oops. I think she just didn’t like me because I was having a good time.

4:00AM – 9:00AM I think?: Trackpants & PT finally decide to listen to me for once, and this just happened to be when I was having an inclination to play poker. So we go to Bally’s and hit up the no limit Texas Hold’Em tables. Now I play a fair amount of poker and can safely say I am little better than average, but keep in mind we have been drinking and I have been up almost 24 hours. So about the first two hours I am killing this table, taking pots while bluffing and go from $100 to somewhere in the neighborhood of $300-$400. I am smiling and pounding Red Bull and vodkas and quite a rate. Now I feel I must describe the table crowd so you can get an accurate picture. It is early Sunday morning in AC at a no limit poker table and all the players are guys in their 20’s. One guy is reading a book, others have headphones, one guy was drunker than I, and two guys were just huge jackasses. One guy, sitting to my left was f’ing awesome because he told me jokes and laughed every time I won a hand. Ok – back to the story, so its now about 6:40AM and I am thoroughly drunk and bleeding money by the $5 chip. I am so drunk that I am thanking the guys at the table for letting me play with them. The rest is a little hazy, but I busted out. I have now been up a long time and am exhausted. PT went back to the hotel and it took me two hours to get Trackpants up off the table so we could head back to the hotel.

9:30AM: Trackpants and I stumble into the hotel laughing and drunk as families are checking out. Check out time was noon, so we can get a couple hours of sleep before checking out. I walk into the hotel and faceplant onto my bed – I have been up 27 hours and probably have a Blood-Bull Level of 0.08

2:30PM: We all wake up way way way past the checkout time. We rush to get our shit together before we get charged another night. I am massively hungover

4:30PM: I get back to the Philly train station less than 24 hours from my last visit. I contemplate taking the SEPTA/NJT train back home, but decide to fork over the extra $23 and take Amtrak. I feel like a sheik traveling through Dubai with the comfortable seats on Amtrak.

7:10PM: After a transfer over in Newark and a PATH train ride, I finally make it back home, down $312, still somewhat drunk, probably with a heart-murmur from caffeine and not regretting any minute of my trip.
Brrr….Beer