Diana had written a note, in block letters to avoid handwriting analysis. It said “YOUR GENDER CURSE IS IMPRESSIVE. HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF THE CURSE OF THE WHITE MAN FROM TOWN?” and was apparently a reference to a book I hadn’t read. This, she said, would be copied and slipped into every mailslot and under every door in the trailer park tonight, under cover of darkness, because apparently she was a ninja and could just do things like that.
“Tomorrow morning, they’ll all find the notes. Shortly after that, some friends of mine will show up.”
“What friends?” I asked, handing back the note.
“Oh, you know, the usual… Social Services, Health and Safety inspectors, tax auditors, maybe some police on a drug tip. It really depends on how many calls the two of us get done this afternoon.
“The two of you? What about me?”
Katlyn shook her head. “You’re done, for now,” she said, patting my hand. “You need to leave this part to us.”
“Yes,” Diana agreed. “In fact, you need to be very publicly not involved in any of this. Visible, noticeable. You need a solid alibi, because the tip-offs are the legal part of this. the breaking and entering, destruction of property, and light arson aren’t.”
“Arson??”
“Depends how we feel. You said they had a lot of cars. Maybe the tires get slashed, maybe the interiors get torched. Who knows? The important part is that you can’t be proven to be involved. Chris is going to call you. Go out with him.”
“How do you know he’s going to-”
“Shawn,” Diana said, cutting me off, “I know that you weren’t into love and commitment, but Chris is. He’s falling for you, and you just gave him your virginity. That’s pretty goddamn special, and the fact he isn’t calling right now is probably only because his friends are with him at this exact moment taking away his phone and telling him not to seem too needy.”
“Does nobody just deal with relationships themselves?” I asked, trying to imagine our scene with the genders reversed.
Katlyn scoffed. “Only jerks like you used to be, hun. Whatever you decide to do, you’re not that guy anymore. But you can be a better guy. Or a better girl. It’s up to you. Just give us the go-ahead, and we’ll do the rest.”
i looked from one woman to the other, then down at my hands. “Alright,” I said. “Do it. Even if it doesn’t work, I’ll have the satisfaction of seeing them regret messing with me.”
“Messing with us,” Katlyn corrected me.
Diana grinned. “This is gonna be fun.”
Tag: Gay
You[m17-23] don’t quit Crazy[f17-23]. Crazy has to quit YOU.
First of all, there is one simple rule for Dating Crazy: You don't quit Crazy. Crazy quits You!
I dated Crazy (her real name was Lacey, but the last few years I've always refered to "the crazy ex-girlfriend" or just "Crazy"). She was way way on the wrong side of the Vicky Mendoza Diagonal. I've seen her deliberately miss spotting another cheerleader doing a fall-back from a high stunt simply because the other cheerleader had been #1 on a "rank-all-the-cheerleaders-by-who-is-hottest" poll that went around school. Crazy was #3. #1 ended up in the hospital with a sub-cranial bleed. Crazy waited four years until #2 got married, and then slept with #2's husband while #2 was pregnant and then "accidentally" got caught blowing him in the half-painted nursery. Crazy for #1!
No denying that Crazy was hot, though. Otherwise, why would I ever have put up with her? She was an "all inputs" girl, taking it all the way down her throat as often and as enthusiastically as she took it all the way up her ass. Road head? Mandatory. Fucking while staying at her parents house? Better be prepared for some awkward breakfasts because nobody's going to bring up the subject of who was screaming "fuck me!" at 2AM last night even though everybody knows who was screaming "fuck me!" at 2AM last night. Public sex? Risky sex? Damn straight. Three-ways? "I'd like you to meet Heather, my friend from French 101." Crazy was a ball-sucker extraordinaire. She could make you cum from it. I've never met anyone else who could make a man cum from sucking his balls. I don't think I spent a weekend with Crazy where I didn't cum at least five times- and five would have been a LOW number. I once calculated how much of my cum Crazy had swallowed in the six years we dated- it was well over a gallon, and there wasn't a day when she didn't tell me she wanted more.
Two of my favorite stories about Crazy are the time when I came back from a meeting to set up my internship. We were both juniors. It was January. My birthday was in a couple of days. We'd been apart for a whole week. For Crazy, this was a "situation." Something had to be done. Something big.
When I got to the airport, she was dressed in a trench coat, holding a mylar balloon with "Happy Birthday, #1 Boyfiend" on it. We slogged out into the frigid Nebraska slush to where her car was parked. Despite the nearly empty lot, it was parked far from the terminal. We trudged over, balloon and luggage in tow.
When we got there, Crazy tapped me on the shoulder as I was loading the stuff into the trunk. I turned around to see her unbutton the trench coat and drop it to the ground. Underneath, she was bare-ass naked. I think it was like -5F at the time. Her nipples could have cut steel. She squatted down, took my cock out, and gave me a few quick sucks before yelling "holy fuck! it's cold out here! get in the car!"
Then instead of getting dressed, she threw her coat in the TRUNK of the car and climbed in the driver's seat.
The parking lot attendant got a nice long look at Crazy's stiff nipples and smooth-shaven pussy that night. I'm 100% sure his wife got the fuck of her life that night.
I came twice during the drive home. When Crazy decides you need to cum again, you cum again. She doesn't stop, not even to swallow your first load. It hurts like hell at first, but watching her gulp down two full loads of cum (sometimes even three) is worth it. The first load gets worked up into a kind of froth. You'd think it would act like extra lubricant, but it doesn't. It sort of makes the inside of her mouth and throat a little sticky. Doesn't stop her, though. Post-orgasm torture, some people call it. Maybe for a minute or two, but after that it's a damn fine way to drive home.
The rest of that night was standard Crazy. We fucked. She took it up the ass, several times. She started crying about how everybody hates her, how all of her friends are bitches, how I didn't call on Tuesday and she was sure it was become I was out screwing some skank, how if I didn't get it up NOW I'd never get another blowjob from her in my life. You know, standard Crazy. It was a valid threat- blowjobs were the only time I had five straight minutes without Crazy sounding, well, Crazy.
The other time was a little while after Crazy came in #3 in the "hottest cheerleader" poll. We were driving around looking for a gas station we'd heard would sell beer to under-21's if you flashed titty at the register operator. Crazy flashed like a dozen gas station attendants and got nothing but bug-eyed stares. So fuck it, we were just going to drive around while Crazy rambled on about how much she hated gas station attentandts and fuck them for not giving her beer. Best damn tits in Nebraska should get beer just for being the best damn tits in Nebraska (to which I voiced my strongest agreement, in an effort to ensure continued access to the best damn tits in Nebraska).
Then Crazy yells "STOP THE FUCKING CAR!"
I screech on the brakes and look for whatever had been about to kill us. Zilch. Not another car in sight. All I see is a strip club with…
Oh. Amateur Night Competition. At a strip club. Should be right up Crazy's alley. And having been right up Crazy's alley, I could tell it would be a hell of a ride.
So I turned into the parking lot and find a spot. Crazy was already in the back seat divesting herself of panties and bra. A few minutes and a couple of waivers of liability later, we're in the strip club doing shots with other "contestants." Turns out the other contestants weren't amateurs. They were just strippers from other clubs. Crazy's never been on a stripper pole in her life, so she's getting real nervous as contestant after contestant gyrates and swings like pros. Which they are. But Crazy's got one thing they don't have: She's underage and doesn't give a fuck. That's two things, actually. Oh, and she's way hotter than any of the "girls" who've gone on before. Which would be three things, but it's pretty dim in there so you can't honestly see how skanky some of them are.
So Crazy's turn finally comes, and she gets up on stage. She's supposed to do a two-song set, tittys out on the first set, bare-ass on the second. No self-touching, no touching by patrons, and a bunch of other rules. Scoring is by how many $1 bills get thrown on stage. Crazy yells up to the DJ. "Fuck it!" she says. "Turn up the fucking lights, and I don't need any fucking music!" and then she strips right off. Bare-ass naked with the house lights full on. Then she starts fingering herself and rubbing her clit, right in front of God and sixty drunken Nebraskan rednecks. All hell breaks loose. Crazy get practically covered with cash. The house mom storms out about three minutes into this. Crazy walks out of the club, disqualified but clearly the undisputed winner, butt-naked and clutching handfuls of cash. I follow, carrying her purse, shoes, and dress. Fucks given: zero. Sex that night: fucking insane. (epilogue to this story: Crazy went back the next night, spit in the house mom's face, and got physically ejected by bouncers while I tried to negotiate a night without police reports.)
Crazy never changed the entire time I dated her. Marriage was out of the question. I was willing to spend six years in mortal terror, but a lifetime? Not even a consideration. But it really wasn't my choice. I tried to break up with Crazy a couple of times. Never a good idea. I once made it an entire weekend- and then asked her to take me back because I had no idea how a butcher knife got embedded in the bed next to me. I never even woke up. Never told her it was because I was afraid she's slit my throat, either. I just called back and said "Baby, I was soooo wrong. Can you forgive me?" The next time I tried, she just looked at me and said "are you stupid or just forgetful?" I went with stupid. Worked just fine.
It all ended one day when Crazy and I got home from Wal-Mart and found that the check-out clerk had failed to credit Crazy $1.45 for a discounted item. Wal-Mart was a twenty mile drive from our apartment, but fuck you if you think you can short Crazy $1.45 and get away with it. She screamed about how she was going to rape kill that checkout clerk until her vagina bled into her asshole and she'd poop through her pussy. And that was some of the milder stuff.
If you're wondering why I went along with this, it was mostly for safety's sake. I followed Crazy to these things in the hopes that I could at least contain the damage. My job was to keep sharp edges and blunt objects out of Crazy's reach and maintain a keen eye on the horizon so we could get out of there before the cops showed up. This time, I was successful on the first objective but not so much on the second. Crazy blazed into that Wal-Mart like an avenging angel, rage-bound to do as much psychological damage to that checkout clerk as possible, hopefully make her cry and maybe even drive her to suicide. It's good to have goals in life.
Unfortunately, local cops were already there dealing with something else (I have no idea what). Neither of us noticed them until it was too late. About the fifth incoherent screamfest and seventeeth death threat, the checkout clerk pushed a panic button and Crazy found herself on the business end of a can of pepper spray. The list of charges was impressive, as was the sight of Crazy being carried out of the store on the shoulder of a 6'4" oxen-huge black cop.
Miraculously, Crazy beat the rap. Being insanely hot and having a rich daddy go a long ways towards obtaining justice. The charges were dropped, and the closest she got to punishment was a letter from Wal-Mart telling to stay out of every damn store they had, or would have, in the fucking entire universe. Not in those exact words, but the implication was clear.
I never got to see any of that because Crazy dumped me the next day after getting arrested. It seems that my failure to wade in and fight four very large and very armed cops for her was unacceptable. Note that I was not dumped for failing to talk her out of driving twenty miles to beat the fuck out some register drone, nor did I get any credit for taking away her "self defense club" (a spiked monstrosity that looks like something that Bowser would use to peg his boyfriend while complaining about "that bitch Princess Peach.") Nope. I was either gay or a coward or both because I didn't pimp slap a cop.
Oh, there was lots of post-breakup sex. The thing is, Crazy never really quits you- Crazy just shows up at 2AM for drunken anal sex because she knows you're engaged and wants to fuck it up for you. Which works because you're never going to date anyone half as hot as Crazy, and she knows it. You're fucked for life because nobody- and I mean NOBODY- does a single sexual act (oral, anal, doggie, missionary, in a chair, up against the wall, etc.) as good as she does. Most days, you're just happy to not be afraid anymore. But if Crazy calls, you're like "uh, Honey, there's something I have to take care of down at the office," and fuck you you're cheating on your wife & kids and you KNOW Crazy's got it all on camera in case you ever try to say "no" later on.
Crazy got married a couple of years back. She broke up cheerleader #1's family and married the guy. Three kids without a dad and a wife now a single mom just because some assholes in our high school ranked her above Crazy. It wasn't even her FAULT! None of the cheerleaders knew it was going on at the time. But fuck you if you get picked before Crazy. As far as I've heard, #1's ex and Crazy are still together. She called me the night of the wedding, sobbing hysterically about how she still loved me, and that I'll always be the love of her life, and that she doesn't want me to ever be out of her life. It was like being on the other end of the conversation that Sharon Stone has in the movie Casino, only with fewer mobsters. I hope. Anyway aside from one other time where she texted me while her new husband was fucking her in the ass (at least that's what she said was happening) and blaming me for "abandoning her," I haven't heard from her since.
So with luck, Crazy's finally quit me.
I've been dating a much calmer girl for a while. Things are going great, although it must kind of suck having someone like you because you're NOT particularly hot or sexy. Who knew that the lack of fear is an aphrodisiac?
Coworker + strip club = an unbelievable story
It's a tough story to believe, I KNOW, but hey, sexuality isn't a light switch or an absolute. It's a scale, a scale that has many factors and each one of us have a personal limiter on it. So when I said I was with a lesbian, you have to understand that the label is just a 'general' guideline. Let's not try to put everyone we know inside a nice, neat, little box, mmmkay? Now that we have that established, listen to may tale about Melissa.
For those who don't know her, she's tall, about my height, but not lanky, nor is she thick. She has this amazing athletic-meets-average body type. We've worked together for a few years. Perhaps knowing she was gay made it easy to not think about every little thing I said. Perhaps for her too, since we joked with each other a lot. There was this immediate comfortability factor that was quite evident from the first day. She has light hazel eyes, brown hair that she usually has somewhat dyed blonde, and an amazing smile. Probably why I liked joking with her so much, was to watch that smile almost never leave her face.
[M]y first [T]ime with a trans woman
So, it was a half-assed sort of bachelor party.
I've been in a few weddings, and the thing is, bachelor parties are off the hook these days. Movies always just have guys go to a strip club or whatever, but nowadays people are getting creative, going on paintballing excursions, hunting trips, indoor skydiving, you know… crazy, awesome, memorable shit.
This was not that. This was not even going to a strip club.
This was going to some bars and getting drunk. I'd flown in from out of town for this, and I was in Chicago – one of the coolest, craziest cities in the world – and I was drinking beers with the fellas, something I could have done for a lot cheaper back home.
The one upside was that one dude in our group had the hookup at this club we were at – friends with the DJ or something – and so we were drinking for free.
It was a decent club, too, I'll say that – expensive, and kinda full of douchebags (we were near Wrigley, the douchebag capitol of Chicago), but it also had good music, cute bartenders, and loads of college-age folks on the dance floor.
Fingerbanged a dude accidentally. Second time I’ve been duped this month. Help
Post: https://playboyphilosophy.wordpress.com/2015/10/21/duped-again/
West Hollywood is a fucking minefield.
It all started with a girl that I met on the street a couple weeks ago – Tess. Fucking angel. One of the most beautiful girls I’ve talked to as of late. She came over last week and gave me a handjob and I went down on her but we somehow didn’t fuck.
Just tonight we met again to teach her how to drive stick, but she was tired as fuck and decided to go “home”. I later see what I’m 99% sure is her car parked the same place it was before at a bar downtown. So I’m on the hunt for some retribution sex. I want to fuck someone else and pretend it’s Tess in some fucked up way to satisfy my need to fuck her and fuck her over.
So I head to the place where I’ve had the most success – a gay bar in West Hollywood.
The night kicks off with a fucking perfect little Filipino girl – ridiculously affectionate. We were hugging/cuddling/making out/dancing for a good hour before one of her friends got sick and had to pull her away with the group. Butterflies.
bi guy sucking bbc for the first time
This is a true story about the first time I sucked a big black cock. It was a few years ago now, I was in my early twenties, right out of college, and still lived at my parents’ house. I never told anyone this before, so this is my way of getting it off my chest.
A little background first. As far as everyone was aware I was straight, but for some time I have had a thing for big black dick. I don’t know when it first started, but it had been years at this point. I watched interracial porn almost exclusively, and I would fantasize about girls I knew getting railed by giant black dicks like the ones I had seen in videos online.
It might sound cliché or whatever, but these thoughts eventually turned into thoughts of me being the one to get on my knees, open wide, and choke down a giant black dick. I would get so turned on thinking about it but never acted on it up until this point, chalking it up to a taboo fetish or fantasy.
that night. [mm] [gay oral]
I was bored, I was young, I was disillusioned. Just trying to make my way through a world I didn't understand or trust. I owned nothing.
Casually walking home from, technically, my first real job, after closing at night, disinterested but trying my best, flipping burgers for hours on end. The unlit, two lane road is actually a small state highway, curving and winding its way across the landscape, connecting various cities like a human vein. This town acts like a heart beat, six months long, thirty thousand strong, when school is in session. Ten thousand when they all disperse.
As I remember that day, where once that road ran for a good fifteen forested miles, those friendly comforting woods are all gone now.
That's where he picked me up. Where the city ended and the trees began. The last intersection where the buildings stopped on one side of the street and the other side, the wilderness.
My favourite Hookup Part I (M/M) [x/post from /r/bigonewildstories]
By this point I've had a little experience with guys, no anal and hadn't even sucked a cock yet. I met Shawn on gay.com (before it sucked). We hooked up twice, this is the first time. He was 18 and I was around 20.
I won't bore you with the predictable back and forth from messaging back and forth. I will note that Shawn was "curious" and had no experience. He was about 5'9" (inch or so shorter than me), a bit of a husky build and about 5" uncut. [I've given my stat line in other stories but at this point in my life I was a bit shy of 5'11", 175lbs, athletic and 7 1/2" cut]
Anyhow, when it's all said and done Shawn invites me over to his place. It's about 20 minutes or so. When I get there it turns out he's got a basement apartment thing going on and silence is key. We make a little small talk, both of us clearly nervous.
I don't remember who instigated it but we started to kiss. Almost instantly we had our hands on each others package through our pants rubbing what were really already rock hard erections.
Time I blew my best friend (MM)
This is my first post. And I want to recall the time I blew my best friend.
I use to blow my best friend and his twin brother pretty regularly when we were in our teenage years. Wanna start by saying I'm not really gay I have a girlfriend but I do enjoy dick one In a while. And not to brag but I'm really really great at it.
Let's start by saying my friend is in really good shape. He works out daily and is really hott. Now it been I while since I had his dick in my mouth. His penis is average size, average girth. Just an average penis but growing up I really enjoy sucking it.
So anyways this one afternoon I was at his house he just got home from the gym so he hops in the shower while I'm in his room looking at a playboy magazine. The one that features the hott blonde from Danita Kane's Aubrey O'Day. So while I was looking through the magazine my friend can in the room in all his glory.
One of the scariest experiences of my life. Met a girl who went from “married” to “masseuse” to “prostitute” to “drug user” to fucking INSANE. Help
Blog post: https://playboyphilosophy.wordpress.com/2015/10/11/speed/
I’ve just upgraded from girls with boyfriends to girls with husbands.
But it’s ok – her husband is gay.
Kat was out celebrating the end of the week when I saw her standing there – tall, skinny, huge eyes. Thai.
As I’m walking by, I reach into the group and offer to “cheers” her with a smirk. She returns the sentiment.
Fast forward a couple hours and I see her standing alone waiting for her friends. I walk up and say “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I saw you hitting on another girl a minute ago” “You’re cuter though”
We go from flirting to dancing to kissing and then she tells me she’s on E.
That’s why she’s so touchy-feely.
We dance and kiss as she repeatedly tells me, “I’m not going home with you tonight”.
She then tells me that she works at a massage parlor in a way that intimated she wasn’t necessarily a certified masseuse.
Is she about to name a price?
“Awesome, I’m cool with that. I’m not looking for any kind of transaction though.”
So she’s a sexy-as-fuck drug-using prostitute.