Jennie or “I’ll Have the Short Stack, Please.” [MF]

*These are my sexual memoirs. Public reflections on a time in my life when I unapologetically fucked absolutely everyone I could. And I do mean everyone.

I often break the fourth wall, because why shouldn’t you be a part of the fun, Dear Reader? Whenever I share my inner monologue as I write these depraved records, it will be set in parentheses (Like so).

I’ll also tag each post with the gender of the subjects, both in accordance with the rules and so you can avoid experiences that make your incredibly masculine and totally never curious penis feel a bit strange and tingly.

Oh, and everyone was 18 years of age or older at the time these events occurred. And I don’t mean in the technical sense either. That cat girl with the vag-dick apparatus is not nine-hundred years old, stop lying to yourself.*

ONE AND ONLY DISCLAIMER OVER

I turned eighteen the week before Christmas break my senior year of high school. I had grown up fast due to my father’s illness and early grave, but bloomed late. I was mature beyond my years and industrious, but bored and socially barren for most of my teens. I’d had a few girlfriends — in the high school sense of the word. I wasn’t a virgin, but I also hadn’t experienced anything resembling true intimacy. Not unless you count sitting in the folding chair theater in our small town with your “girlfriend” on one side and a rotund redneck’s side-belly caressing the other as “intimate”.

I started hanging out with my cousin Rob a lot after my dad passed. (That’s not where I’m going with this. Chill the fuck out, perverts.) He was four years older than me and lived in the city, just a few blocks from the Catholic school I went to. I loved hanging out with his friends hereafter known as: The Group. They all thought I was cool and funny “for my age”. Maybe because I wasn’t an awkward little bitch, like they expected. I thought they were awesome for “a bunch of cunts who peaked in high school.”

The first night of Christmas break Rob invited me downtown to the bar where he worked the door. The people watching opportunities alone were enough for me to accept. 

It was glorious, even with the giant “X”s on my hands betraying my age. Some touristy cougar in a dress meant for someone ten years younger got cut off and hurled a glass across the room, earning herself a trip to the pavement. Four wildly out-of-place goth girls were brooding in the corner at first, but after a few drinks, they mounted an expedition for pretty boy dick, as is tradition. One even came to our table for a bit. 

I was having a great time but The Group kept looking out for the real life of the party: Albert. To hear them tell it, Albert was a fucking legend. Literally the funniest being in existence. I couldn’t wait to meet him. (Not going there either, Christ.)

The first thought I had when he showed up and everyone yelled his name like we were in a goddamn Cheers episide was: This is it? This is the guy? He was easily in his late-30’s, Hispanic or Samoan maybe, very short, fat in the “I used to play football and the evidence is under this blubber” kind of way. Everyone loved him and kept asking him to tell the story about “X”, or the time he did “Y”. He was a human re-run and I couldn’t have been less interested in him or his glory days bullshit. I wondered if he drove a Trans Am like some pathetic Uncle Rico motherfucker. But enough about him.

It was the girl he brought that I wanted to know about.

Jennie was incredibly cute and far too young for him. She was wearing a black t-shirt and those volleyball shorts with the thick waistband, as though they were appropriate attire for a night out, never mind one in cooler weather. She was clearly not one for good decision making. But more on that later. 

She had luminous pale skin, freckles, cranberry colored hair from a bottle that reached her mid-back and carried a slight, wavy curl. She wore dark makeup that didn’t suit her at all. She was short-short, like five nothing, and slightly chubby. She had ample breasts and curves compressed by her small frame. Magnificent ass. A Mary Poppins ass — practically perfect in every way. It was worth making extra trips to the bar for Diet Cokes just to get a glance at it on the way back. She sat quietly beside Old Man Bert and sipped water, with the same permanent marker “X”s on the backs of her hands as me.

I caught her looking at me several times. She might have thought I was cute, or she might have been wondering why some guy she just became acquainted with was staring at her. Though, with those tits, I’m sure she was used to it.

She stood up. Bert grabbed her arm and asked where she was going. It was probably innocent, but it annoyed me. She told him she was going out for a smoke, and he said, “Ok, go ahead,” like she needed permission.

In a moment of pure patriarchal, masculine, pig-headed, male chauvinist, ego-stroking, chest pounding, caveman resolve, I set myself to the task of taking her from him by any means necessary. But I didn’t want to rescue her from her villainous captor, I wanted to be the villain.

The Group decided tequila shots were in order and ventured to the bar, leaving me alone at the table. Jennie returned from having her cigarette and went back to sitting quietly. I would have killed for a phone to pull out, but smart phones didn’t exist then. I could have played Snake, I guess. I stared at one of the TVs, pretending the silence wasn’t awkward. Baby steps.

“You’re Robbie’s cousin?” she asked. Her voice was delicate, almost mousy. No one called him Robbie.

“Oh. Yeah,” I said, as though I had just become aware of her sitting there. I told her my name and stuck out my hand. (The fuck was wrong with me, y’all?)

She shook my hand with a halfhearted squeeze. This was going well.

“Where do you go to school?” I asked, flailing for any small talk, thinking she would answer with a college.

“[Name of local high school],” she responded furtively.

“Like, the high school?” I asked, because I’m a fucking dumbass. She nodded. “I figured you were their age,” pointing to the barbarians throwing back well tequila, “maybe just not twenty-one yet.”

“Nah. Still in high school. I’m a senior though.” (She had to be 18 to get in the door. I knew that, at least. I cared deeply about her legal status, unlike Bert, because I’m a gentleman.)

“So, is Albert your boyfriend or, grandfather, or…” I actually used the trailing “or”. She giggled like I was funny. (I mean, I am funny, just not at that particular moment.)

“We’re… dating?” she shrugged. Rising inflection. Uncertainty.

“How long has that been going on?” I inquired, perhaps too aggressively.

“What? Why?”

“Because dude’s almost forty,” I went low. Good job son. Insult her man. Surely, this is the winning strategy.

“Haha yeah,” she blushed, “but he’s nice and we have fun.”

“I’m sure he’s having plenty of fun being a pedo,” I said, bracing for impact.

“You dick!” she exclaimed but with a wide grin. She punched my shoulder and her tits jiggled in the most pleasant way. Not that I was fixated on them or anything.

“You guys getting along?” Rob was back. He seemed worried about the punch.

“Your boy here says Bert’s too old for me,” pointing her thumb in my direction.

“He is.” Rob replied, no hesitation. She looked down at the table, contemplative. “he’s old enough to be your dad,” he followed up the jab with the right hook. Thanks, homie.

“You’re just jealous assholes,” she snapped, her tone taking on a hint of seriousness.

“Damn straight I’m jealous,” I interjected, “if I knew I could meet girls like you at the nursing home, I’d volunteer more.” She smiled. “Seriously, I’m going to hang out at the VFW and pretend to be his age so I can meet your friends.”

Another laugh. She reached out and pushed my shoulder, “You’re are SUCH a little shit! Is he always like this?” she asked Rob, nodding toward me.

“Yup, pretty much,” Rob confirmed.

When The Group returned, Jennie moved next to me, sitting between Albert and I. After the  shots, he seemed unconcerned by our newfound friendship. He was flushed, pink and sweating his ass off, probably too drunk to care. His chronicles began again to the delight of The Group.

Jennie and I ignored them and carried on our own conversation about college and why she wasn’t going to one. How we both had fathers who weren’t in the picture, albeit for different reasons. How our mothers both worked long hours and didn’t see us much. We all talked for hours until she leaned back and stretched. A few of the guys at the table stared. She hopped off the tall barstool and asked if I wanted a cigarette and, even though I rarely smoked, I said yes. We excused ourselves, but may as well have been invisible at that point. No one seemed to notice as we slipped outside.

On the sidewalk she handed me a Marlboro Light and we talked some more. Her face shimmered in the lights of a cop car down the street. It had gotten chilly and she did the “it’s cold so I guess I should bounce up and down” dance. Not that I was complaining as I watched her bounce along. I searched for her hardening nipples in the strobes, unashamed of my toxic male gaze™.

“I need my hoodie,” she said, rubbing her upper arms.

“You need actual fucking clothes,” I said, pointing at her bare legs and taking a drag.

“What’s wrong with this?” she asked, incredulously.

“Beside the obvious?” I pantomimed rubbing my arms.

“You’re so mean!” she smiled like she had every time I’d given her shit that night.

“You’re the one who came out like you just rolled out of bed, girly.”

“Walk to the car with me so I can get it,” she demanded.

Bert’s car was several blocks away in [Downtown Mall Garage]. A Trans Am would have been more acceptable. He had a stock, midlife crisis Mustang GT. So rare, so original. How the fuck did he even fit in it? I hated him and I hadn’t exchanged a dozen words with the man. I was sure it had nothing to do with my insatiable lust for his girlfriend though.

She opened the door and bent over, leaning in to get her hoodie from the back seat, shapely backside on display. I stepped behind her to stop the door from hitting the next car. (That’s the reason we’re going with, ok? Ok.)

“See if your pants are in there!” I shouted, catching the attention of an older woman a few cars over. I gave her the “what’s up” nod, trying not to look any weirder and failing.

She stood and threw on the hoodie, rocking her hips as she shimmied it down, “I’m freezing!”

“No shit.”

“Let’s turn the car on and warm up before we go back.”

“I can warm you up.” I said, with a cheesy wink and a click of my cheek. She ignored me.

We sat in the car, she cranked the heat, and waited for it to stop blowing cold.

“You never stop, do you?” she asked.

“Stop what?”

“Making pervy comments.”

“Not really. But I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just me. Like Rob said, I’m like this pretty much all the time,” I said, backpedaling like a coward.

“I kind of like it.”

Man battle stations.

We looked at each other, paused for a moment, then leaned over the gear selector and kissed. Then again. And again. Pulses increasing. Breathing heavily. She put her hand on the back of my head and pulled me closer. There was a violence to it. She let out a gentle moan. She tasted like smoke and acrid strawberries and it should have been disgusting but it wasn’t. Her tongue breached my lips. I pushed back with my own. A battle of flesh. I put my hand on her breast. Her moans were delicious. I found her nipple after all and gave it a tug. She grabbed my hair and pulled back, breaking our link. Her mouth open, upper lip trembling, breathing on my vulnerable neck. Her eyes were dark, almost demonic, in the dim light of the garage. And they were regretful. She let out an exasperated sigh, looked away and bit her lip. The moment began to fade.

Torpedo in the water. 

Our staccato breathing leveled out. No. Fuck no. God dammit. Why was this getting away from me? As I leaned in again, she turned away.

“We should get back,” she said.

Impact, starboard.

“Yeah ok,” was all I had to say.

She smoked again as we made our way back. Compared to the enthusiastic conversation we had on the walk over, the new silence was absolutely crushing. We stopped outside the bar and showed our re-entry stamps. I thought about asking her what was wrong, but I knew.

I felt tired and wonderful as I sat back down with those cackling assholes. Knowing I had taken a small part of her from that slob felt right. She sat in the same place but faced Bert. Rob asked us where we’d been and Alexis joked that we had probably gone somewhere to fuck. Albert looked pissed. Jennie and I laughed it off and she told everyone that I just walked her to get her hoodie because they were having so much fun and she didn’t want to interrupt, and that I was a perfect gentleman. She hung on Bert’s arm and kissed his cheek. I was fuming and avoided making eye contact with anyone.

We didn’t last much longer at the bar. The Group had a craving for pancakes from some late-night joint on the north side. I wanted to just say “fuck it” and go home. Jennie had gone back to being a sullen, subservient little doll after Lard Ass had, more than once, whispered something to her. We gathered ourselves and waited for cabs. At least the responsible ones did. Albert and Jennie took off toward the garage as The Group called after them with the location of our next adventure.

After the bar, the diner was too bright, too clean, and I didn’t have much of an appetite. I was concentrating on not sulking like a kindergartener who’d lost a new toy.

We had just sat down when Jennie and Bert arrived. I perked up a little. She looked tired. He looked like a disgusting fertility idol covered in oil and sweat. I wondered if they had argued about the evening’s events on the drive. Albert walked over, asked Rob if he had a minute, and they walked to the front.

“Here we go,” I muttered under my breath.

Rob came back and sat down while Jennie remained at the front speaking to Albert. They didn’t appear to be arguing, but it was clearly serious. They hugged and he turned to leave while she started toward us. A miracle was occurring.

“Bert?” Paul asked Rob with a nod to the door.

“His little brother broke his arm skating,” Rob replied to a chorus of concerned “Oh noes!”.

Oh yes.

“He’s going home. I’m driving Jennie home since she’s closer to me,” Rob said. He looked directly at me while he said it. He knew what I was thinking. We were like brothers. But fuck him.

Jennie sat down and The Group picked up where they’d left off. We ate cheese sticks and pancakes, which were the highlight of the evening up to that point. Paul told a story from when they were all in middle school that everyone seemed to love, but I thought was shitty relative to Albert’s tales. (See? No bias, I swear.)

Jennie had perked up after a few cups of coffee and was laughing, cursing, back to normal. More than once I made eye contact with her and it lingered just a bit too long. In Albert’s absence, she was a different girl, but still something troubled her.

“Everything alright?” I asked her in a lull between topics.

“Yeah, I’m worried. His family means everything to him, you know?” she replied. It was sincere.

“I’m sorry,” and we said no more about it.

Rob called a cab to take us back to his place so I could grab my car and he could take her home. At this rate she wasn’t going to get there until three-thirty, maybe four in the morning. I was looking at four-thirty or later.

We sat in the back and Rob sat up front, because he’s a big bastard. He chatted with the cabbie. After the incident, I had wanted to leave the bar, go home, jerk off, and go to sleep full of regret. Now I wanted the ride to go on and on, if only to spend some more time with her.

(I know. I get it. I was eighteen and full of fucking hormones, you cunts. This is a beautiful memory for me and I’m indulging a little, so imagine Midnight City is playing and suck my dick.)

She put her hand on mine while I was wistfully looking out at the starless sky. I jumped, turned to her and she smiled. Her expression was calm and resolute. I assumed that was because we were getting close to saying goodbye and she had accepted that. I was wrong.

She leaned in and whispered, “You live outside of town, right?” The smell of her was intoxicating in the tight space — Marlboros and vanilla. (I can’t hear the phrase “lilac and gooseberries” without thinking of her, by the way.)

“Yeah. Toward [little town a half-hour away]. I’m going to ask Rob to crash,” I replied suppressing a yawn.

“Hey Robbie!” she interrupted the front-seat conversation.

“Si, chica.” he turned down the radio.

“You mind if he takes me home? It’s on the way for him.”

“You’re not gonna crash?” he asked, looking at me in the rearview. She squeezed my hand before I said anything. My pulse quickened as I understood.

“Nah I’m good, man. Don’t want to put you out.” Again, we were like brothers. I had slept at his house twice a month or more since we were little kids. He was never put out. He knew what I was asking for: his discretion.

“Well, just be safe and call me when you get there,” he said, concerned for my safety, but not because of the drive.

On the way to her house, we talked about anything but what would happen when we hit there. We arrived just after 3:30. I say “house”, it was actually a double-wide in a trailer park that almost straddled the southeast city limit. It looked like a rough area, but not any rougher than the old neighborhood I’d lived in before my father died.

She seemed embarrassed about it though, as I walked her to the door and prepared to say goodnight. We climbed the creaky, weathered steps and she opened the door. Before I could wave goodbye like a little bitch, she grabbed my hand and pulled me inside.

She spun me into the room, pressed herself against me and put her hands around my waist. She kissed me, forcing my mouth open with her tongue. I reached behind her and started pulling up her hoodie. She pushed my hands away before running off, giggling gleefully.

“Come on!” she shouted, running through the kitchen and down a hall.

I winced and followed, “Is anyone else here?”

“Mom’s a nurse. Works doubles on Fridays,” she said as we reached her room, “she won’t be home until the afternoon.”

She turned on a beside lamp with a red shade and turned to me. She reached down, arms crossed, and pulled up her hoodie, bringing the t-shirt with it. I just had time to thank whatever power had allowed this to happen before the bra went. Then the shorts. I lost time. My shirt and jeans were off and I have no recollection of how they got that way.

Her tits were amazing. I could break out a thesaurus and find all the $5 words to describe them, but that would just be the whole book. So, here are the P’s: Pale, Pendulous, Perky, and Perfect. The freckles on her face meandered to just under her collarbones and I was thankful they didn’t blemish the milky-white of her hanging breasts. Her pastel nipples sat perched on top, pointed skyward. Her tummy had just begun to spill over the waistband of her panties — a purple Victoria’s Secret thong. Her hips and ass jutted out from her waist like they were trying to escape gravity. Everything about her felt warm and inviting.

She pulled me close and I felt those warm, wonderful breasts touch my chest. (Ok not chest, more like stomach because I’m 6’1″ and she was struggling to hit 5’0″, but “her tits caressed my stomach” doesn’t sound sexy. Carry on.)

We stood in the red lamplight, kissing. Lightly at first, then with increasing fervor. Hands searching. Touching. She rubbed my hardening bulge. We moaned between breaths, neither knowing how far to go until we’d already done it. She grabbed me by the wrists and slowly, deliberately, guided my hands to her waist. I grasped the thong and she pushed down, bending at the waist, greedily eyeballing the bulge in my boxers as she passed it.  She stepped out of her underwear and sat on the edge of the bed. Then she reached for my waist and grabbed the elastic. She pulled down, down, down, seeing it take shape. Finally, my cock sprang free, bright and attentive.

(*Record Scratch* This is the part where I’m supposed to say I have a footlong turbo-schlong, and that only Russian Olympians and unfortunates with Marfan Syndrome can fit their hand all the way around it. But, I’ve made a promise to be truthful to you, Dear Reader. I’m decidedly average in every way. No six pack. 6″ tops. Maybe 6.5″ if I really crank her up. Decent girth, but I’m not selling you that Grindr “coke can” or “baseball bat” bullshit either, alright? My old man used to say “You can get the job done with any tool if you use it properly,” and I’m pretty sure he was talking about cocks. Love you all. Back to the show.)

She grabbed the base, looked up at me, then leaned forward and took the head of my cock in her mouth. I went blank. My world melted. Time ran down the walls like water from a burst pipe and coalesced into an abyss that was this unending moment. Her mouth was pure comfort, like a fire burnt down to embers on a cold night. She bobbed her head gently, concentrating on the tip, her tongue a warm bed for my throbbing hard-on. She pulled it out and licked along the length of the shaft, then back, stopping to flick her tongue on the tip like some possessed serpent. I pulsed and felt her thighs twitch, closing around my legs as I stood and let her mouth envelop me again. She moaned as she worked, picking up the pace. Twisting her head at the apex of every rise and fall. She was touching herself now. Her right hand around the small of my back, pulling me closer and closer as she went deeper and deeper. Her left hand worked furiously between her legs. She sucked hard and pulled back, letting her mouth and my raging erection part ways with an audible *pop*. She looked me in the eye again and leaned back. Scooting toward the top of the bed. She lay there. Still playing with herself. Inviting me.

I leaned forward, one knee on the bed, and leaned down to her smooth, pink pussy. I had intended to return the favor.

“No,” she pointed below my waist, “that.”

I climbed further up to meet her. She grabbed my cock and guided it into position, just on the edge. Just at the barrier. She was soaking. I rubbed the tip in her wetness, looked her in the eye, and pushed forward with my hips, leisurely, savoring every millimeter as I sank into her. She held her breath. I backed out. Then a slow thrust. Another. Glacial and firm. She turned her head to the side and whimpered. Another. And on. She slapped the bed and grasped the comforter tightly, twisting it.

“Give it to me. Just give it to me.” she begged.

I stopped.

“Say please,” I whispered, having no idea where the fuck it came from. Eye contact again. I put my right hand lightly on the side of her neck, my thumb over her trachea, and pressed gently. “Say it,” I said through gritted teeth. (Where’d this fuckin’ guy come from, right?)

“Please.”

“Again,” I squeezed.

“Please f…”

She cut off as I thrusted hard, taking in a sharp breath, eyes flaring wide. And then again. And again. She worked her arms around my back and dug her nails in. I pumped. Kept pumping. No matter what, I was going to keep pumping hard, pumping fast. She moaned with every plunge, every movement. Louder and louder, until she was practically screaming. She was brutally tight. I was trying not to cum already. I tried to slow down and she whined. I tried to stop and she wrapped her legs around me and pushed into me with her hips, drawing me in with her heels. Crushing me. I couldn’t — wouldn’t — stop. Too hard. Too fast. This wasn’t sustainable. I couldn’t last. She was too much. I tried. I wanted it to go on forever. I wanted to live in that velvet pussy until it killed me. I wanted to stay. I wanted…

But it was too late.

Through gritted teeth I fought it until I finally rasped, “I’m go. ing. to…”

She moaned deep and long pulling me tighter. I was caught off-guard, but it was too late. I exploded, cumming inside her. I felt my boiling seed fill her as my entire body spasmed. She gasped, shuddered, and squeezed me tighter with her legs, convulsing. The only sounds were my grunts and her softening “hmmm, mmmm, mmmm”s. I nearly fell on top of her. My arms were shaking. Her pussy squeezed my cock every few seconds, drawing out more and more cum. I twitched and she squealed. I rolled to the side and she lay there, used and quivering. White, sticky cum oozing out onto her bed. She rolled over, put her head on my chest and draped her arm and leg over me. We began to drift.

The time projected on the ceiling was 4:02. Not long, but successful. Right tool, properly used.

All I could think of in the afterglow was… “fuck. I should not have done that.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/exnlp8/jennie_or_ill_have_the_short_stack_please_mf