At the end of the year parties at school, everybody gets their pick: either an attic in the woods, a dorm at school, or some sketchy basement. I was happy to choose the sketchy basement of my pal John and his girlfriend Lisa. They had a nice house down the hill from campus. It was June—college for us lets out late—and it was about 95 degrees. The party was obviously going to be crazy. What I did first was drink five beers by myself in my dorm. I walked down to their house by myself singing something loudly. I wore my black tank top and kahki jeans. I flexed my arms as I walked and saw that, thankfully, two weeks of not going to the gym had not really decreased my muscles. I was walking alone and singing and not caring about the occasional person giving me a funny look because I did not want to feel lonely. I was, after all, alone. Renee had decided to go to her friend’s film screening. I think she was mad at me. When I got to the house I said hi to everybody fairly quickly and was immediately offered a pot brownie. I took it. The last time I’d eaten a pot brownie I’d hated it; I was sick and vomited. I was in a mood to take my chances again. I talked with John for a while about our Semiotics class and how glad we were to be done with it. I don’t think I came across as too wrecked, although maybe that was just me. I spotted a few girls dancing awkwardly in a group to Miley Cyrus. They cackled when one of them tripped. They were also munching on pot brownies. I wearily made my way towards them. I leaned against the wall, throwing the rest of my brownie in the trashcan. I chose to just stare at the girl who had tripped. He hair was died a messy orange—you could still see her original brown hair color encroaching on her head—and she didn’t say much. She had on a denim jacket and wore black fishnet stockings with a preppy gray skirt. Weird, weird fashion sense. She noticed me staring at her and smiled and looked away. I kept staring, occasionally yelling something back at John. She looked over at me again, a little cock-eyed, but still, she smiled again. When she noticed me still staring at her for a third time, she whispered something to her friend and walked to me. “Hi, Amelia.” She said it like it was a diagnosis. She didn't hold out her hand. I shook it anyway. “Like Amelia Bedelia?” “What?” “Didn’t you read when you were a child?” “Um…yeah, but…” “You sure? You’re not illiterate? Maybe kind of a low IQ?” “What?” “I mean, I saw you almost fall on your ass back there. There’s only two possibilities. You’re high out off your gourd, or you need to pay a visit to the dum-dum store.” I tapped her on the forehead. “Pick one.” She just looked at me, uncomfortable. “I’m only joshing you,” I said, giving my best sensitive smart guy laugh. “Come on. Let’s dance.” “I am really smart,” she said. “But I’m not a great dancer. And I’m sure you’re complete shit.” “We’ll see,” I said.
She was an Anthropology major. She came from North Carolina. She was thinking of switching to Social Studies. She had turned twenty-four days ago and had been sick so she had not celebrated, but now she was celebrating. She complained about her friends not wanting to hang out with her and said, as we slow-danced, “I’m so awkward.” I kissed her after she said that. Her lips tasted like Jameson whisky but once I stuck my tongue in she tasted like something sweet and comforting. She was completely taken aback by this and pressed several fingers against the neck of my t-shirt and said "Um. I think..." She trailed off. I knew she would. "I think this is a really special place to be," I said tilting my forehead so it touched her. "At least, if you're you or me." That made her feel better. I lied about my age. I told her I was twenty-three. I don’t know if she would have walked out on me if I’d told her I was nineteen, but she seemed like the type of chick who might. Later, we stood pressed together in the bathroom. I rubbed my palm over her hairy, unkempt bush and dipped two fingers in and out. I was just testing the waters at this point. She was holding my shoulders and breathing in my ear. I plunged my fingers deeper in to her and worked around the sides of her clit and back out, and back in. She whimpered. Her clit was swampy and seemed to keep rejecting me, even as she gradually go in to it. She tightened her grip on me and massaged my back with one hand. I didn’t want to eat her out. I had stuck my tongue in so many vaginas recently. I’d noticed sores on my lips that friends and a school nurse assured me was not an STD, but still. She stroked my cock from outside my boxers. I sort of pressed my hand down on her thighs to suggest that I wanted a blowjob. I really did. I wanted to get head again. It had been a while. She kneeled down and pulled down my pants. I guided her back to her feet and lifted off her jacket and her black cotton shirt and threw them on the ground. I also pulled down her skirt. There was no way I was going to get head from a fully clothed female. That would make me go limp. She giggled as I took off all her clothes. “Wow,” she said. “The full distance.” “’kay,” I said, grinning from the side of my mouth. “Your work may commence.” She briefly peered above my head as if this was something she knew she would regret. She kneeled down and took me in her mouth. Her lips tightened on the tip of my shaft and they still felt comforting. While her lips swirled around the tip of my cock the door opened. Not prepared to give a fuck, my middle finger flew up in the air and I raised my hand. I heard some kind of awkward guffaw. The door closed. I really hoped nobody had taken a picture. I didn’t hear a click. I was bored with this blowjob already. I started flexing my muscles in the mirror. It looked hysterical, me making a face with my teeth clenched and holding my arms low like an ape or Sylvester Stallone during his porn phase (same difference) and I started laughing. Amelia wasn’t that good. It was sexy as hell watching her crouch in her fishnet stockings that strained against her skin, the fabric widening and exposing more of her legs in a way that reminded me of a vagina contracting. This was all that kept me hard. She thought it was a good idea to use her teeth, apparently. I took her face in my hands and pulled her off. She looked up at me, alarmed, as if I’d called in her parents for a parent teacher conference. “What is it?” she said, smiling uncertainly. “I don’t know if that’s supposed to be southern hospitality or something,” I whispered in her ear, touching my cheek to hers. “But you shouldn’t use your teeth.” “I’m sorry,” she said, looking right in my face, shutting her eyes for a split second. I lightly bit her ear and sucked on her cheek. I flicked my hand down over her butt and between her legs. I felt her mound. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Just try deep-throating me.” Down went the elevator to my junk again. She took my cock in her mouth once more and held it there for a few moments, planning her attack strategy. Then she realized there was only one strategy; to stick my cock all the way in her mouth. Which she did, and it suddenly felt ten times better. Her lips touched my pubic hair as she moved fully up and down like she was in a popsicle eating contest. Every time her lips ascended to the tip of my cock, I felt a tingle, and it helped that she flicked her tongue around now and then. So yes, I was about to nut in her mouth. I was preparing to do just that, when my phone buzzed. I’m not sure why I did this, but I reached down to my pants to pick it up and answered. It was Renee. “Hello?” I said. “Hey baby.” There was a lot of noise in the background and I could barely hear her at first. Renee’s voice was tipsy and raspy. “Hey,” she said. “Hey, I’m kind of busy right now,” I said. “Can we—“ Another female voice cut in. It was her friend Phoebe. “Dennis, Renee wants to talk to you,” she said, almost nagging me (Phoebe hates me). “Come on.” Then she disappeared from the phone. “Look, I’m drunk, Dennis, I know, but it’s just…there’s this guy here, Bill, and he’s really creepy. He was hitting on me, talking about my tits and stuff. He has, like, no tact.” “Is he still there?” I asked. “Yeah. He’s still here.” I sighed. “Renee, I want to come over, but I don’t know if I have the time.” “It’s okay Dennis, I get it, I’m drunk, you’re probably hooking up with someone else, just, never mind.” “What? No. Why would you think that? Of course I’m not with someone else. I’ve been sitting in my room smoking pot and playing videogames all night." (This was true often enough that I could convince myself it was true at that moment). A silence on her end. Lots of static. Chirpy party soundbites. “So you mean, you’ll come over?” “Are you at Phoebe’s?” “Yeah.” “I’ll be there as soon as I can, baby.” “Okay.” I considered my lack of a car. I’d driven after a few shots a year ago, been pulled over, and well, I don’t need to go in to the rest. “…But I mean, I’m gonna need a ride.” “Um. Okay. Jared?” She was calling to Phoebe’s boyfriend Jared. A beefy, clueless redneck type of guy, but pretty funny nonetheless. I had no problem with him. There was some background shouting for a little while before she came back to the phone. “Okay, Jared will come pick you up.” “Outside my dorm.” “Mmmhmm.” “I’ll be there soon.” “See you,” she said and hung up. I bet you’re wondering what Amelia was up to this entire time. Well, as soon as I’d said hello, her mouth had slid off my cock like a parachute sliding off a skydiver’s back. She sat against the cupboard attached to the sink and gaped at me. I put away the phone. I looked at my cock, which was shiny with Amelia's saliva. I pulled off a too-big clump of toilet paper and wiped it off, and threw the TP in the toilet. I put my pants on and buckled up, watching Amelia’s Samuel Beckett performance against the sink and trying to keep a neutral face. “Thanks, maybe we can pick up where we left off later?” I said. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Later,” I said. I bolted out that door. I don’t even remember wading through the crowd and leaving the party.
The ride with Jared over to Phoebe’s trailer—yes, she lived in a trailer park—was decent. We shared a bottle of Jack. Here I was, drinking in a moving car again. He played loud Toby Keith music. I think he liked Toby Keith un-ironically. At one point his car went over a bump. He slowed down at looked back out his window. “Hedgehog, I think,” he said. He rolled up the window, accelerated, and we sped onward. “Definitely a hedgehog,” Jared said. I was ready to kick the shit out of this guy Bill. Just beat his ass and then fuck Renee in front him so he could see what he was missing. But he had left by the time I arrived. Renee was fine. She wore a red silk shirt today and a skirt over her jeans. She had a bottle of vodka with her. I drank a little of her vodka and we watched some of the movie running on Phoebe’s T.V. It was Rob Reiner in The Hot Chick. Most people had cleared out. There was no way I was going back to my dorm that night. Once everybody else cleared out, Renee and I unfolded Phoebe’s couch bed and got busy. We undressed each other standing up. When I had Renee down to her panties, I slipped my middle and index finger in to her pussy. Her pussy wasn’t mound-ish like Amelia’s. She had a small, sloping pussy, always with a shaved strip running down the center. She leaned against my shoulder and gasped. She was ready for me. I never had to wear a condom with Renee, because she was on the pill. I had my cock enclosed in this glorious envelope of warm wetness and I moved in and out gently. I guess I felt like I still needed to take care of her, or something, after creepy Bill. I wondered how wet it would feel if Amelia's saliva was still coating my cock and acted as a lubricant for my main girl. Renee whispered to me, “Fuck me as hard and as fast as you want.” She was asking for it, so I did it. I slid all the way out, until the edge of the tip of my cock was the only thing poking in to her clit, and back in, so that my nuts smacked against the hair stubble at the bottom of her pussy. In and out. I was putting myself through an extreme pelvic workout and I felt like I was operating a lever. Renee needled her fingers around my upper back, scratching across the fading back acne that would never fully leave; she panted in to my ear in an act of moan-suppression; the mattress creaked loudly; the sheet inched further and further down my back until it slid off and there I was, bare-assed while I raw-dogged her and her legs jerked around in the air. I heard the whapping sound of skin smacking skin and Renee released a sharply cascading yelp before sucking on my ear. I swear that, at that point, I heard the door to Phoebe’s room open and Phoebe darted past us to the bathroom, peed, and scurried back to her room amid the sound of the toilet flushing, and slammed her door. I think it was Phoebe because I remember the steps sounding feminine. I remember Renee moaning throughout Phoebe’s journey. She was too enraptured to notice that she was being humiliated in front of her friend. I don’t think I was imagining it.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/2j1454/the_adventures_of_dennis_part_4_stains_part_1_of_2