The names have been changed to protect the guilty.

“What???”

I knew what she was talking about, but I vehemently denied it. For good reason. It was a lie.

Amos and Andie were good friends. Well, scratch that. Amos was a great friend and Andie was a fat bitch I tolerated. Okay, fuck, you caught me in another lie. I liked her okay in small doses but I didn’t much like to hang with her because she was a little psycho.

But you can’t be a little psycho, You either are or you are not. Or at least I think so. I crossed over to the dark side eons ago. I don’t rightly remember what it’s like back on the Ken Kenobi’s side.

Anyway, back to the story. You’re a pesky little fucker, yeah?

It wasn’t long until I was getting head in the RV. But, no, that’s not this story. Okay, it IS this story, but it’s not relevant. Okay, okay, getting head is ALWAYS relevent. Boy, you sure ARE a pesky little delinquent. Enough about you being tied up in the closet when your boyfriend’s parents were home. That’s a different fucking story, for chrissakes.

So the kids were in bed and we were playing some sort of game. The game doesn’t matter, but stripping was required. Andie was stripping but, like I said, I wasn’t interested.

Back in the day, she said that she “could have had me.” Um, well, not really. I’m just not a BBW fan, ya see, and you were a B BW, with emphasis on the B for BIG. For the record, NO, you couldn’t have had me. I was just being nice. Unless you had mad BJ skills, which I probably wouldn’t have found out about, anyway. Besides, your hubby was hot for me in that way and like he was anywhere near ABOUT to let you slob my knob before he had a go at it.

As if.

So, anyway, I ended up naked. This isn’t a big feat when I’m drinking. Rabid jackalopes could get me naked with a few shots of rum or whiskey and a stray glance. Really, you’re doing great if I’m NOT naked when I’m drunk. Really. Andie, in her “I’m a blunt idiot” sort of way, said, “Oh, well, it’s not small at all!”

You see, I made a point to tell everyone that I had a small penis. Now, I KNOW I don’t, I KNOW I’m average, and I’m totally fine with that. I’m secure in my masculinity. If you want to see my penis, just ask! But I think it’s funny to take the contrarian point of view and tell everyone how miniscule my dick is. I mean, shit, that’s fucking funny, right? I’m not the macho beefcake turd-burglar telling everyone how manly he is; I’m the skinny, wimpy geek telling everyone to fear his 2 inches of he-love. Nobody expects you to open up a line about how small your dick is. That shit is fucking funny. Laugh. Now!

Why are you still reading this? Is your life a little dull and boring these days?

Why have I known like 4 black dudes with the last name, “Slaughter?” Isn’t that weird. Maybe they’re all the same dude controlled by power-obsessed plankton.

Only my dick is an average 6″ long. Not Holmesian, not miniscule, simply average, just like the rest of my physique. Good thing I’ve got a huge head and a good size brain in there. I got glasses the other day and I had to ask for wider glasses because my head is so wide. I’ve got a big head. Orange on a toothpick and all that shit.

Anyway, Andie was so dumb that she thought I was sincere. Maybe not *dumb*, per se, but naive. No, not naive, she’d fucked enough Marines to not be able to claim naivety. And she’d certainly been around the block. But BBW is not now nor has it ever been my thing.

So we were pretty much drunk. Feelin’ good. Amos and I were totally naked. Marissa was also totally naked. And Andie was too much of a wussy to take off her OSBH (over shoulder boulder holder, in case you were wondering). So we never saw much of her. No loss from any angle.

We were drinking hot chocolate and Malibu. If you haven’t tried hot chocolate and Malibu, then I urge you to find 2 or 3 friends and get naked with them and drink hot chocolate and Malibu. I’m busy tonight, but happy to oblige most nights (pending approval of the significant other). 🙂 I can just about 100% guarantee that Malibu, hot chocolate, and nudity will make for stories you can tell your grandchildren. Or long lost friends on Facebook (assuming anyone reads these, and I’m relatively certain people are long past caring about my rants, so I feel relatively safe). Jesus fucks donkeys! (there, that should stop most of you fucks that are too dumb to stop reading by now)

Just make time for the post-game hummer. It’s totally worth it.

Anyway, so I was naked and lying on the floor and Amos was… well, I don’t know, but the long and the short of it was he was messing with me and pretended like he was going to sneak up behind for a little “hide the baloney.” In my ass. Well, that never happened, but ‘ol Andie thought it was funny and thought I was too drunk to remember and tried to tell me that Amos rubbed his dick on my ass. Which he most certainly did NOT. I would have remembered that.

But why did she make a big deal out of it? Why did she care? What was going on in her head? I don’t know, and I don’t think I ever will. But it was weird. I have a pretty high tolerance for alcohol and I know I wasn’t anywhere near “wasted” or blacked out or anything to the point where I’d break out into some sort of repressed homosexuality.

‘Cause lemme tell ya – there isn’t any repressed homosexuality in me. I’ve had a LOT of gay friends and been propositioned at least 7 times that I can count off-hand… I’ve looked at gay porn, I’ve considered whether I was just hiding it or repressing myself… nope. No tingling in the penis. No chub. Not even so much as a soft-on. Just not attracted to men.

My porn of choice has nothing to do with men. Quite honestly, I have a few things I like and they generally involve the sensual curves of a woman below the belt. Booty. Poontang. Black gold. Texas tea. Oh, wait, that’s the Beverly Hillbilly’s.

And sometimes I think that women aren’t worth the hassle and it would be easier to be gay. But I know that people are people and relationships probably aren’t that much different and a homo relationship is probably the same old bullshit as a straight relationship.

But when I lick that vajayjay, oh, man, lemme tell ya… there’s nothing like it. I get about as much pleasure doing it as the the person on the other end. Well, maybe not AS MUCH, but I don’t get tired of it, that’s for sure, and I can go to TOWN, motherfucker.

It’s like a NY Times study that was done recently. There were men and women. Men that said they were gay or straight were measured for penile blood flow and expansion while watching gay and straight porn. The men, in general, had a very high correlation between what they said they liked and what gave them solid wood. Man says he likes dick, study shows he likes dick. Man says he likes pussy, study shows he likes pussy. Hooray for straightforwardness and not playing dumb games!

Women were different. Women were measured for vaginal lubrication and blood flow as a measure of arousal. Women were “aroused” watching straight sex, man on man, woman on woman, even monkey sex at a rate independent of what they claimed to like.

That’s right. Your woman was just as aroused by you as by monkey sex. I just ruined the next 10 fuck sessions you were planning. Bwa ha ha! [flings poo at you]

The New York Times editorial suggested it was an evolutionary trait, but PZ Myers (of Pharyngula fame) said that the NYT doesn’t know shit from shinola when it comes to evolution and they should just shut the fuck up. I tend to agree.

The editorial further suggested that women like a “safely dominated” fantasy where they’re with someone they trust but can be “taken” by their mate (male or female). I think that’s interesting. So shove it up your cornholes all you dipshits that thought The Fountainhead had a rape scene. I think it’s the same thing.

So Andie was a fattie, plain and simple, and I’m sayin’ it like it is, consequences be damned. And she had a fantasy that I was dominated by her man, but it didn’t go down like that, she’s just thinking wishfully and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out exactly what that was about. I have theories, sure, but I don’t know. And I suppose I don’t care enough to just ask Amos.

I could press the issue, but it’s enough to know that there was some pretty good sex later that night. Amos and Andie were not involved. Just lots of goodness between me and Marissa. Hot, steamy, goodness. In a tight space. (no, not the back of a Volkswagen)