Image stolen from CBS News, where I assume it was also used in a story on squirting.
Some time in the last five years every woman started bragging that she could squirt. If you hit my G spot with your fingers while I’m in a seated position and Venus is in the Third House of Capricorn… I will squirt all over the place. Look what a libertine I am, she says. And I know when I hear it exactly what to avoid. I hate doing laundry.
It’s bragging on their part, but also an invitation to do something you can brag about. Dude, she squirted all over the place, you will say, heralding your status as a sex god.
I used to care about being “good in bed.” About whether a woman was satisfied. About engaging in hours of elaborate foreplay and mood lighting and appropriate drugs and music. Back in college. Girls talk to each other about that stuff, men would say. They’re gonna hear that you’re a sex god and come get some of that too. Continue reading
The girl in this story looks somewhat like adult film performer Christine Young.
I can’t stop fucking looking at this woman and I can’t stop being aware of what a fucking dork I must look like, resting my face awkwardly in my fingers. It is extremely uncomfortable but I can’t stop doing it. Because she’ll know I stopped doing it because I was afraid she would think I’m a dork. I can’t make eye contact but I can’t look away so instead I give her this squinty side-eye. And she knows, she knows, that I am supremely unworthy to ejaculate into her fertile young womb.
If I had a huge wang it wouldn’t be like this. I would just shoot her a glance that implied “hey, I have a huge wang.” I know I’m a jittery weirdo in a coffee shop at noon on a weekday but my member is unusually thick and lengthy. Therefore, nothing else matters. She could smell it on me. The smell of my wang. Her mind would try to resist but her loins would be inflamed by some pheromone and she would have to give me doe eyes. She would be forced to gesture that I follow her into the bathroom where she would “present” to me, bending over against the cardboard ass gasket dispenser upon which somebody has sharpied “Free Cowboy Hats.” Her cooch would pucker wetly in anticipation and I would slowly drive my impossibly thick fleshy snake into her hot meat tunnel and fill her with thick spurts of my manly seed. She would convulse, satisfied that I had given her a son who would also have a huge wang. We would shake hands, businesslike, and part company. Instead I look for something in my tea.
A woman is flying from back East to visit me. A fan. She is fucking crazy, but I’m having her come out anyway. I need it that bad. Plus, Bukowski did it. Had girls fly out to fuck him for a couple days. He also killed a guy with a typewriter and slept on garbage cans– should I do that shit too? But if you write a couple hundred thousand words about fucking fat chicks and jerking off you start to get emails. Girls asking after your impotent, prematurely ejaculating micropenis. It can’t be that small, can it? They don’t want the image to interfere with some fantasy they have. Girls read about your emotional and sometimes physical abuse of other women and think: do me next! Continue reading
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. Continue reading
I woke up and a demonic metal brontosaurus was leaning over me, shrieking, and then murmuring in a woman’s voice. Behind her was Satan, in a long black cloak with glowing red eyes. I screamed and screamed. “Low battery” said the demon. What the fuck? “Low battery.” What– Satan was my coat, his eyes were the reflection of my alarm clock in the window. The dinosaur was my lamp. I must have taken my phone off vibrate, it was telling me to charge it. Weird, it had never done that before. I could hear the neighbors thumping upstairs, thinking I’d been gutted. Their dog was freaking out. I found the phone, turned it off. Started drifting off again. Dreamt I was on a boat in the ocean. Mona was there, her sun-warm skin, her belly. The wind. Sardines glimmering in the sunlight under the waves… Continue reading
I got a legal notice in the mail from Home Box Office Inc., a division of Time Warner International. As a jerkoff with a web site nobody reads, I am required by law to discuss their television show Girls, broadcast on Sunday nights. I hadn’t seen it. But I’d read about it. Girls Girls Girls all the god damn time, feminist sites, the Man-O-Sphere, the New York Motherfucking Times. Nothing is happening on this planet except Girls. We got a show now where losers get drunk and fuck, just like you. How are you not watching.
It’s racist because there are no black people, said the left. It’s bullshit because no one would fuck a fat chick, said the antifeminists. It sucks because everybody in it is somebody famous’ daughter, said people who think that photographing dioramas of fucking Barbies makes you Brad Pitt. Or that anyone remembers who the drummer from Bad Company was, or had even noticed they had drumming. You remember that one song they had about cowboys or some shit. Man, the snare in that. That one time he hit the high hat. Chills. Continue reading
I feel like a lot of shit would bother me less. I feel like I wouldn’t be as concerned about whether it had been too long since I had used a Biore deep cleansing pore strip; the filth and visibility of my pores. I feel like I wouldn’t be so concerned with my meager paycheck and doomed career prospects, because, fuck it, at least I have a huge wang.
You get a text on Monday morning from a girl you left at your house. The text is inventorying the contents of your jack drawer. Notably there is an artificial vagina in it made by filling a plastic cup with water and flour paste, pushing a hole into it, and covering it with a condom. You microwaved this creation while on cocaine and affixed it to your vibrating rubber duck and ergonomic airline neck pillow and it was the ne plus ultra of artificial vaginas; so far above and beyond the not inconsiderable amount of previous prototypes. This is the one that flew. It is has now taken on opportunistic airborne yeast and sat in the sun and become a perfectly formed uncooked dinner roll with a warped cast of your half-stiff cocaine penis in the center. She’s amused.
She had written you a letter. Like out of Bukowski’s WOMEN. Dear so and so, I’ve read your blog and your OKC profile and blah blah blah. We should have sex. Well, yes. Yes we should.
Still. Shouldn’t have sent her that second text this morning. But no. No. Don’t overgame. She’s a very straightforward person. The larger issue is, making decisions about whether you want to hang out with a girl when you’ve been fucking her at night, receiving her unparalleled blowjobs, but not cumming. Not cumming because she told you very matter of factly that your small penis could not get her off. Also because you were fucking her and it got hot, she got into some position that was going to make you pop instantly; you stopped, and she said you should have gone ahead and cum anyway because your dick is too small to get her off. You can’t tell if it’s because of this or just getting past that rubicon; sometimes you’re either going to cum prematurely or not at all. Then you sleep with her all night naked and just keep making out with her in the morning; her little body… and you should have beat off in the shower, but you didn’t, so all day in the office your nuts feel like some swollen half-fermented fruit hanging overripe from the tree ready to fall off. You can feel your heart beat in your nut sac, painfully. So you desperately want to see this person again but it’s just because you’re horny like an animal at your desk and you just keep seeing that ass, that ass, that ass, the way holocaust survivors must see the mule carts stacked with bodies flashing in their mind’s eye over and over again.
Your taxes are not going to go up or down. And if they do, who gives a shit. It won’t be a meaningful amount. You are not barely hanging on by the amount that your taxes will increase. You are not going to get some windfall by the amount your taxes will decrease. They are not going to up the taxes enough that the debt and deficit are lowered meaningfully, nor are they going to lower them so that the debt and deficit are raised meaningfully. All that shit, the money shit, is going to stay pretty much exactly the same.
If you can get an abortion now, you will still be able to get an abortion. If you live in North Dakota, you will have to drive very far to get an abortion. But you already have to drive very far to get an abortion. You have to drive across the equivalent of France to get a fuel filter for a Japanese car, or a burrito. If you live in North Dakota, you probably do not need or want or would consider having an abortion. Why is it such a big fucking deal, the five abortions performed annually in North Dakota. Or in Mississippi– when have you ever heard of someone getting pregnant in Mississippi, and no matter how young they were, how poor, no matter how abusive and drunk the father is, how many babies he already has with thirty other women, how much chromosome damage the baby was going to have from the mother pounding from whatever clay jug labeled “XXX” they drink from in Mississippi– when was the last time you ever heard of someone getting pregnant in Mississippi and not keeping the baby. Any state considering outlawing abortion is an entire state of Honey Boo Boo. Every birth is from statutory rape by a multiple convict, and every six fingered IQ 80 baby is considered a huge blessing from Jesus where you wouldn’t even think about terminating the pregnancy. Why do we argue so much about this. Continue reading
Nikol, here’s a picture of that girl whose ass was eating her panties that she was wearing as a bathing suit, being reamed by a French guy. It turned into an MMF three way where he was fucking her and she was sucking me off but I couldn’t get a boner because of cocaine. There was a weird moment where the dude kind of grabbed onto my back for support. I believe it was his way of saying “hey, would you like to turn this a little gay?” I was able to communicate “no” via body language without pulling my back out from under his hand and causing him to fall over. The whole thing was really very polite. Continue reading