Today I Fucked A Guy With A House On His Cock

December 6, 2011 § Leave a comment


I didn’t mean to do it either. When he was painting me for the photo shoot, he kept asking me what I was thinking about. Just then I was thinking about you, but I didn’t want to go into this story about how you’d left for Italy and lost your mind. Or did you lose your mind, then go to Italy? Whatever it was you did, I was thinking about how much I miss you, because you used to tell me the most boring stories and I always wanted to listen. I was thinking about how, on the night I met you I was bored and only invited you to my place because you had booze and I was bored, and how I didn’t think you were cute. I was thinking how that’s the only time in my life I’ve ever fallen in love with someone without having to force myself to, like if you have to eat a disgusting thing and you tell yourself it’s not disgusting just to make it easier to swallow it without barfing.

This week has been weird for me. In smells and tastes, in bodies and styles, this whole week has been exhausting my head and my cunt. Each of these men only have one thing in common. They really think they’re driving me wild. With one it’s “Your pussy is wet for me.”, and I want to tell him it’s probably wet from the last guy. Or from the ten times I masturbated before he showed up. Then there’s “You like my cock, yes? I can see. I very talented.” He’s not retarded, he’s just foreign. That’s how he talks. And I want to say “Fuck if I know how I feel about your cock. You haven’t done anything with it yet.” And then there’s “Ooooh, right now you’re feeling really great aren’t you? You’re like, ‘Don’t stop!'” That one likes to tell me what I’m like. Every damn thing he does he follows up with “You’re like, <insert whatever he believes I must be thinking>”

You didn’t have sex with me until our fourth night together. I remember worrying that you had some sort of dick issue. But you just wanted to wait. When we finally did have sex, and every single time after, I was amazed at how well even our bodies worked. I can’t recall that anything about you sucked all that much, other than the leaving.

This guy I fucked today, he was autistic. He was nice. And anyway, he had this house shaped birth mark on his giant cock, which he said I was like, “Wow, I don’t know if I can take that whole thing.” It looked like it had a chimney and smoke coming out the top of it. And he kept asking me questions about what I was thinking about and I kept making things up. Even when he was taking pictures of me, I felt like a liar, because he would tell me to smile, then say “What do I have to do to get you to smile? Do I have to pull out my cock for you?” and I totally didn’t want him to, and that’s why I’d smile, but he thought I was thinking about his cock and smiling.

Anyway, when I was thinking about you and he wanted to know what I was thinking about, I told him I was thinking about Pinnochio. I wasn’t expecting the follow up question of “What version?” because as far as I know there’s just the Disney version, but I said “I don’t know.” Even within my lies to him, I couldn’t tell the truth.

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