EXPOSE: What Americans don’t want you to know about American bachelor party culture

*I am hesitant to write this, as much of American bachelor party culture is secretive and passed down from generation top generation. However, I feel that in the interest of the public good, the REAL rituals and practices of the American bachelor party must be exposed.* ***This is a fictionalized account, however much of what is portrayed comes from commonplace practices at American bachelor parties.***

My fiancé was reluctant, but trusted that I would behave myself. She wished me well and sent me off to my bachelor party with a kiss.

“Don’t worry” my Best Man Chris said “We’ll get him home in one piece.”

I hopped into the party bus and was met by all my groomsman holding shots of Fireball. There was Craig, my childhood friend. Gary, we met in college and have since been inseparable. Tony, my partner in crime at the office… and of course Chris my Best Man. This was my fiancé’s brother. Chris introduced us.

“Ok you silly motherfucker, ready to get shit faced and look at some pussy?!” Gary yelled. The fellas cheered and we downed our shots, then more, then still more. It wasn’t long before we pulled into the most notorious, hottest strip club in the tri-state area, Barb’s Wire. Barb’s was a local bachelor party staple and had the reputation for being an anything-goes establishment.

We burst into the club and immediately ordered table service, drinks all around. Beautiful women swarmed us. There was Crystal, the blonde country girl with big naturals. Esmerelda, the Latina vixen with curves for days. Tasha, the beautiful ebony goddess who could really make it clap. Then out walked Tracy.

Tracy hit the stage and the club went dead silent. Six feet – all legs, sizzling brunette with shadowy eyes and smooth olive skin. You could see the heat radiating from her body. The normally raucous crowd was silenced by her beauty. “All Mixed Up” by 311 began creeping out of the speakers. She hit the floor, and curled around the stripper pole, losing her top along the way. She calmly and confidently walked over to my table.

“You the bachelor?” She asked as she brushed her DD breast against my leg.

“Y-yes I am.” I sputtered

“Come with me.” She whispered “I’m sending you home completely drained.”

Just then, the clock struck midnight. The music stopped and the bartender rang a giant bell. All my groomsmen yelled in unison.

“Penetration! Penetration! Penetration.”

Tracy walked away, looking at me as if to say “Good luck.” The penetration ritual has been an American tradition for some time. While I was prepared to be a good sport, I was not looking forward to it.

My groomsmen picked me up and carried me out to the parking lot. All the strip club customers followed. I was gently placed on the parking lot ground. Each of my groomsmen dropped their pants and started rubbing lubricant on their dicks, stroking and getting hard. The club patrons formed a semi-circle around me. I removed my pants as well, and assumed a bent-over position on the hood of a car. My groomsmen would proceed to take turns penetrating my asshole.

First was Craig. Craig was married last year and went through this very right of passage himself. He passed me a bottle of Johnny Walker. “Take a swig, trust me it helps.” He then slid his hard dick in my asshole and it didn’t feel bad, but didn’t feel good either. The tradition (not everyone follows it) is to recite the following verse while pumping the groomsman:

[inserts dick]

Yon voyage begins

[removes dick]

As each day starts anew

[insert]

For no man is alone

[remove]

whose heart is true

[insert]

On prairie schooner we follow the star

[remove]

For your brothers love you from afar

Craig finished the verse, then stepped aside. Next came Gary, Tony, and finally Chris. All four men penetrated me exactly three times. It was extremely uncomfortable, but being an important tradition, I bit down and endured. My father was penetrated by his friends, and my grandfather before him, and his grandfather you get the idea.

Etiquette is important for the penetration. If a groomsman cums inside the groom, whether intentional or accidental, it’s a sign of great disrespect and has to swallow the cum of the groom once a year for three years. However, if EVERY groomsman cums inside the groom, it is a sign of great respect and means a bountiful and successful future. In my case, no man came inside me.

Next came the passing of the hat. This tradition is more recent and originated in the industrial American north during the Great Depression. A hat is passed around to each bar patron/witness to the penetration. That patron can throw money in the hat for an opportunity to piss on the groom as he lays on the cold asphalt. The money is then given to the groom, with a cut going to the establishment for hosting.

There I was, thoroughly blow out, reeling from getting a train run on me, and one-by-one strangers from the bar proceeded to piss on me as I lay half naked on the concrete. All told we collected $250 after a $75 tithing to Barb’s Wire. After about a half hour of getting pissed on, I was hosed off, towel-dried and given a change of clothes. We proceeded to get fucked up, blow cocaine and get lap dances until 3:00am. I almost shit myself a few times.

No American will ever admit to doing any of this, but we all have on some level participated in some or all of these traditions. If not materially, through metaphor. Don’t judge me for exposing the truth. We are in the information age, it was bound to happen eventually. Be well.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/vh24zd/expose_what_americans_dont_want_you_to_know_about