I. The Brownie 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 walked alone and sang and did not care 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 at the time.
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 brownies. I wearily made my way towards them. The floor felt like velvet. I was walking on sparkling light.
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. She was not one to quickly recover; she patted the hem of her skirt again and again, as if it could never be straight. Her fishnet stockings did actually look rumpled, but she wasn’t attending to them. They were tight on her skin to begin with. My cock stirred.
“Careful there, looks like you might break your skirt,” I said. She stopped and looked at me. I felt like I was giving her a stone-faced expression and I probably was, because she didn’t scowl at me or tell me to fuck off. She just stared and cast her eyes down when I didn’t look away.
Her 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. Her skirt unfurled in to a pointlessly gray silk design on her torso that sagged somewhat on her thin body and didn’t quite accentuate her tits. She wore a white belt that was too thick and looked like it would strangle her. Weird, weird fashion sense. She noticed me still staring at her and smiled and brushed her hair away. I yelled something back at John. The brownie had taken complete command of my mental headquarters and I felt like bliss. She looked over at me again, a little cock-eyed, but still, she smiled again. 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? Well, I can tell you’re not illiterate, but—aha.” I nodded. “I bet you stayed back in kindergarten.” “What?” “Listen, 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. “My name’s Dennis. I’d like to dance with you.”
“You’re a complete shit.” “Some have estimated that I’m partial diarrhea, actually.”
Amelia pursed her lips and took one step back. She chuckled and shook her head. “That wasn’t a question, by the way, that I just asked you,” I said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear about that.” “About what?” “Dancing with you.”
Amelia straightened up. Was she an education major? She was attempting lecture mode with me.
“I am really smart,” she said. “But I’m not a great dancer. But I bet I can dance you under the table.” “Under the table,” I said. “Depends on what you mean by table. Amelia could not help but smile at me. She stood still. Watching an insecure girl contemplate how to take control of a situation is remarkably sexy. My cock stirred some more. She took my hand. “Okay, shitbrain,” she said, leading me over to the center of the room. “I’ll see how long it takes me to get sick of you.”
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 had an exceptionally warm mouth. She was completely taken aback by this. When I withdrew, she 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 forehead. "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.
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 held my shoulders and breathed in my ear. I plunged my fingers deeper in to her and worked around the sides of her vulva. Back out, back in. She whimpered. Her clit was swampy and seemed to keep rejecting me, even as she tightened her thighs around my wrist. She pulled me closer 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 sloppy, violent head. It had been a while. She kneeled down and pulled down my pants. I guided her back to her feet and lifted off her skirt and threw it on the ground. She wore a gray bra and panties. What a plain Jane. I practically ripped off her bra. She tensed up as I pressed the hooks of her bra strap together and they dug in to her skin.
“Careful,” Amelia said. “Careful.” “I’m sorry,” I said stroking her cheek. “You make me excited. That’s all.”
There was no way I was going to get head even from a female in panties. I balled her panties up in my palm. They were damp. I pulled them down slowly. One thing I’d forgotten about: her fishnets. They were curled over at her thighs. It mimicked the messy curl of her pussy lips. I set the panties down on the tiles and decided to leave the fishnets on. They were hot.
“Wow,” she said, giggling. “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. They still felt warm 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 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. All this lingerie-vagina-Georgia O’Keefe stuff kept me hard; not Amelia. 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. My index finger took a cruise down the strip of her clit. “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. “Baby, 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 Goldschlager shots a year ago, been pulled over, and well, I don’t need to go in to the rest. “Perhaps one of the fine party guests can, I dunno, give me 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 chose not to wipe it off. If I was to fuck Renee later on, this was like my lube. 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, the one who had hit on Renee. Just beat his ass and then fuck Renee in front him so he could see what he would never get. 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. II. The Puddle
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. I knew her pussy so much better than Amelia’s mound-ish monstrosity. She had a small, sloping pussy, always with a shaved strip running down the center. She leaned against my shoulder and gasped out air on to my skin. 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 if Amelia’s saliva had not fully dried yet. I hoped not. 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 imagined it. Shortly after Phoebe’s door slammed, Renee said in a breathy voice—“Dennis, you’re gonna make me cum…” and trailed off and made a few other minor female noises, like she was trying to push her orgasm out of her mouth. (I've tallied this as the eighth time a girl has announced to me, mid-coitus, her oncoming orgasm. The first had been this freak who was eight years older than me who I was fucking my senior year in high school. There had been seven since her in probably the past eight months. Lots of eights and orgasms. But all of this is an estimate.) I sped up. And I only realized when I sped up how I drunk I felt. I felt sweat forming around my hairline and I felt my cock sloshing around in her pussy. I felt a warm wet trickling on my balls. This. Bitch. Was. A Squirter. How come I didn’t know until now? I started unloading and made a lot of noise while I did, and it encouraged her to open her mouth wider and exercise her tenor a little louder. Were we having a shouting contest? Her vagina to squirted out more fluid, some of which got on my leg as I mistakenly pulled out and sprayed the rest of my load over the sheets, while my knee screeched to a halt against her leg. I guess I’m not sure if I had cum on her leg and was getting my own cum on my knee, or if she had squirted on her own leg, transferring it to my knee. Whatever, it was wet and it felt wonderful as I kneeled there and waited for my cock to pump out the rest. Then I fell on top of her and felt her heart rate slowing down with mine. I felt her pubic hair scrunched up below my waist and the tiny dampness of her pussy-lips a little lower on my waist. I buried my head in her tits, which were the softest objects in the world for the next thirty or so seconds. I licked the side of one tit because I was still a recovering mass of sexual fury at that moment, until the fury disappeared fully and everything returned to normal. Then we both caught our breath, and realized the gravity of the situation. Renee scooched away from me, lightly pushing my head to the side. She was suddenly nervous and uptight. “Dennis, we have to clean up,” she said. “Oh God, we need to clean up.” There was an actual puddle below her crotch. A white distillation of squirt and cum that had formed on the sheets. My observation is that squirt (I know that isn’t what it’s called, but what the hell am I supposed to call it) is clearer and less milky than semen, so it looked like she’d contributed to the edges of the puddle while I’d filled in the center. I turned on the light to get a better look at it. The way it looked in the light makes my description sound even better. Looking at Renee sitting up, naked, just removed from this puddle, glancing down at it with a hint of red in her face, and glancing back up at me, I could tell that I was the first guy to make her aware that she had this particular ability. “Dennis,” she said. “Come on, help me get some paper towels.” I suddenly felt nauseous. I shook my head and dashed in to the bathroom. I threw myself on to the toilet and promptly puked my guts out. It was quick, but it was vicious. I kept my head on the bowl for a couple minutes, spitting and waiting to make sure there was only one load. I though about the ungainly amount of body fluids I’d come in to direct contact with that night. I had probably created some kind of deadly virus already. I wiped off the toilet seat and this time wiped off my cock. I flushed the toilet and walked back in to the living room. Renee sat there on the side of the bed. She had put a t-shirt and her panties on. She looked at me strangely. There was a hint of a smile on her face. Otherwise her eyes had the sort of look you have when you’ve become involved in something that’s really fun but also very wrong. She had cleaned up the puddle. There was only a faint dampness on the sheets. I felt, watching her sit there, while she looked at her buck-naked fuck-buddy newly emerged from the bathroom, like a sort of conqueror, which is exactly what I was. I fell on the bed beside her. I went to sleep to her high, restless breathing. My dreams that night: I was at a conference, wearing a suit and tie. A large audience of spectacled people in suits sat before me; I stood on a platform and lectured. I pointed at vague figures on a blackboard. Someone asked a question that began with “But Dennis…” I replied, “Well actually, as my research continued, I found it was also possible to make a chick squirt!” Everybody hummed in unison and nodded. Everybody furiously took notes. Amelia sat at the back of the crowd. She had her hand raised and I didn’t call on her. I was the head of a penis (mine?) moving back and forth between bright pink walls. I realized I was inside a vagina (Renee’s?). A round, swelled G-spot rose up in front of me and started talking to me in a low female voice. I forget what was said. Then it turned to a male voice. Then nothing. I fell and fell in to a dark puddle. It became bigger and bigger until I realized it was a lake. I could not stop myself from falling. A prolonged female cry sounded in my ears as I plunged in to the water. III. The Solution
The next day, Renee drove me home. She lived off campus, with her parents. She was my only access to a car (well, her and sometimes Jared). When she parked outside my dorm, she said to me, “why didn’t you help me clean up last night? I had been almost dozing off against the window. I’d gotten about three hours of sleep. “I dunno, Renee,” I said. “It was more you than me anyway.” “No, it was not more me than you, Dennis.” Renee laughed incredulously as she said it. I sat up. She wasn’t looking at me. She was looking out the windshield and shaking her head. I lay my hand on her leg. She wore her jeans with holes in them. “I’m sorry, baby,” I said. I squeezed her leg a few times and said, in a high voice, “I’m a real human beeiiinng now!” (It was an inside joke. Don’t ask.) That got Renee to smile. She looked at me and for a moment I hoped we would make out and she’d let me go down on her right then and there, like I’d done once before. And I hoped that, when the moment came, she would draw her legs together and scoop up my hair between them, because my head was upside down in this position, and she would fling herself against the steering wheel, causing it to beep. This is exactly what had happened the one time I’d eaten her pussy in her car. But she didn’t want me to do that this time. She kissed me long and hard and abruptly pulled away, staring out the window. She sighed. “You smelled like someone else last night,” she muttered. I put one hand on her right shoulder and cupped one hand on her cheek. I turned her so she faced me. I got close to her without touching her. “I made it really clear,” I whispered. “I made the terms crystal clear. You agreed to them. I’ve helped you, I can tell. And you’ve helped me. But if you want to go back to fucking a failed quarterback, be my guest.” I didn’t care if she broke up with me then and there. If she screamed and me, pushed me out of her car and sped away. But she didn’t. Renee’s face was a fathom of freckles. Her skin looked rough but felt smooth. She looked her best when she was angry and her second best when she was nervous. This was a case of anger. She removed my hand from her face and shrugged herself away from my other hand. “Time to get back to your dorm, Dennis.” She said it looking at the road ahead. I was glad she’d made the right decision. I got out of the car and went inside and took a nap. When I woke, I felt so refreshed that I headed over to the photo lab. Nobody was there (it was a Sunday), but I was usually able to bribe the janitor to let me in. I didn’t have to this time. The door was unlocked. I took out my prints. I didn’t expect to work very long. But I worked longer than I thought I would. I was developing an older print, from an outdated 35mm negative. It was an image with white light on the top edge and black blotches on the bottom; both parts where the negative had been exposed to the sun and elements. I mixed the print around in the bleach and, under the red lights, was able to see the middle of the print, the part I was looking for. Myself at six years old, walking out of grocery store, hand in hand with my Mother. Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/2qf17t/the_adventures_of_dennis_stains