I’d been jerking it to big asses. Specifically, white women, pale skinned white women, with large round asses, bent over in panties shaking them into the camera. Because of one video I saw months ago and could never find again. A white girl in blue underwear bent over doing a cute dance. For some reason it gave me that urgent reflex boner you get right before you die. That praying mantis boner that makes a hanged man ejaculate.
I’d been searching and searching for the clip but it was something I’d jerked it to at work; I couldn’t remember the search terms that brought me to it by accident or even the site. So I’d spent hours on various porn sites entering every word that seemed slightly germane in every combination, like a guy trying to crack a safe by spinning the dial to random numbers. Big butt chubby butt big ass tease panties blue panties ginger white girl bent over… onion booty chubby booty PAWG panties tease… there was similar stuff, but not the one. That perfect shard of the Jerk Crystal. The porn so hot you can jerk off to the memory of jerking off to it. That ass.
Still, I had many satisfying jerks. You know how it is. You find one unexpected porn and it sends you on a porn odyssey– like Picasso had his Rose Period, I was having my Chubby Ass Period. Those asses spoke to some long-buried gene from before men left Africa, urging me to rut my seed into healthy young village girls who wouldn’t starve.
Meanwhile I’d been corresponding with a “sex blogger.” She’d send me texts about how she loves to fuck and suck cock and etc. When I asked what she looked like I got two seconds of access to a fuzzy twitter thumbnail and then the account was blocked. Fine, she’s Vladimir Harkonnen in a wig looking for attention. Once in a while I’d get hammered and shoot her a text, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet up with her. The idea of someone showing up for an NSA fuck off the internet and having to turn them down felt like stomping on a little girl’s puppy in front of her.
But last night I took some pills. Some painkillers Astrid’s boyfriend hooked me up with. I got high as shit and everything seemed like a good idea. Let’s meet this chick, I thought. How bad could it be.
And I got to the bar. And it’s a better story if she was the girl from the video, but, not quite. Instead she was merely an exact clone of this person. A ginger chick with perfect skin and a big thick meaty ass and titties. She’s married, she tells me. They have an open relationship. You start to think you are some sort of god who can create these scenarios with your mind. Or maybe you flipped your car the last time you drove drunk and you’re in a coma having wonderful dreams. Thank God I took those pills and drank a bottle of wine on an empty stomach so this seemed like a good idea.
We went home. Got naked. I told her to bend over. It was the ass. The ass. It was like meeting Jesus. We were making out, I was wrestling around with her. She likes rape fantasies. Me too. She was the god damn Meryl Streep of rape fantasies, squirming around, locking me out with her legs, making me get to the pussy with jiu-jitsu. She likes sucking cock. She was the Michelangelo of sucking cock, rolling it around with her tongue and giving good suction and taking it deep while juggling flaming bowling pins on a tightrope. This girl was amazing. Thank you Jesus, thank you God, but…
I couldn’t pop wood.
I took pills and drank wine and smoked cigarettes and I couldn’t pop wood. Almost. ALMOST, while I was on top of her choking her out and prying her thighs open; I was getting the tip in her and feeling that perfect pussy, but… she started hassling me about condoms and it went away. This wasn’t a real condom hassle, it was one of those token ones where if you can sneak the head of your rigidly hard meat into her she’ll forget all about it, but… you can’t say let me just squish it in there for a couple pumps and it’ll spring to life, in this situation. The moment is lost.
If I were at my desk watching a porn of my own life I would have popped the hardest pussycrushing wood of all time. And of course, the night after you can’t get hard, you wake up with morning wood that could penetrate tank armor. Your penis is cruel. It taunts you. And often the amount of booze you need in your body to get laid is the exact amount it takes to kill your erection. Some scientist should measure this constant, give it a name.
She took off. Back home to her husband. I smacked her ass as she was getting dressed, left a mark you could get a fingerprint from. I had to leave some evidence that I was there. In the morning I jerked off, meditating on the cruelty of dreams.