Pool Party

POOL PARTY (August 2011)

Literally impossible to go to the (ironically named) Grace Hotel and not get fingered. Just so slippery…. Whoopsies!

Hey, kids, get stoked! “Pool party, baby, it was a cool party, cool pool party la la la la…”

Clyde and I met at our friend Paul’s birthday party, and a week later he showed up at my birthday/send off party. Before my exile, he followed up with a series of text invites to drinks and social gatherings. Thought, eh, not so much my type but wouldn’t be tragic if it happened. He’s a total bear, albeit a relatively hairless one. More aptly, a big yellow lab—with a scruffy face, drooly tongue, and waggy tail—eager for a head scratchin’ and crotch sniffin’. Most gregarious dude I know: super fun, high energy, easily approachable. An extreme extrovert, he is always out. Not sure what his job description is. Social media maven? Self-promoter? Nightlife impresario-in-training? National man of mystery? He appears to travel cross-country on his motorcycle, getting free stuff for promoting products compatible with his free-wheelin’ lifestyle. Clyde McManus and his big, swingin’ dick.

When Davey didn’t seem like a sure thing, I deferred to facebook and considered the pool party I had been invited to. Though facebook RSVPs are notoriously unreliable, I knew Clyde would make an appearance. Any event that happens, he is there: participating, documenting, connecting. Even if he were otherwise engaged, a few casual acquaintances would also be in attendance and could introduce me to their friends. I am 5’2’’, 110 lbs, and a 34D. Have a perfect hourglass figure. Not to sound immodest: it’s no challenge for me to get fucked at a pool party. The more of a meat market, the better. By the time Davey got back to me, I was already in my bathing suit and see-through overclothes, ready to go. In the vast wilderness of postbac exile, “nightlife” most likely refers to crickets. One Friday evening, my classmates and I went on an impromptu spelunking adventure; the local bat cave was the only thing open past midnight! Back in the concrete jungle, I needed a night out of my cage in addition to a good fucking.

Told Clyde I hadn’t gotten fucked in six months! Detailed the fuck toys that were substituting for real, live people. He reciprocated with stories about toys and carefree group sex. My seduction, it wasn’t subtle. But it sure got the point across! What I lacked in grace, I made up for in expediency. Regardless of how the sex was, a good time would be had by all.

Followed his lead to the steam room. Stroked his cock, a little to the left. Mmmm. His fingers felt so good inside me I thought I would convulse, hit my head on the tile and die. He asked if I wanted to get out of there. I insisted we split a drink before we leave. Making my drink total 1 ½ strong martinis. His fingers were all up inside me as I was trying to polish it off. Mounting his motorcycle in my mini skirt and gripping him with my inner thighs, I slid around in my slippery underwear.

What I remember about the sex is puking on his dick. Before you get your panties in a bunch, I have puked on three penises in my long and illustrious career as a slut. Coincidentally, Davey’s was one. Either none of the guys has noticed or none has cared. What’s a little stomach acid on a penis? Chunks o’ vomit?  Compared to the joy of a blowjob. I’m a trooper: I kept going. All came back for more. One wanted to date me seriously! How does this happen, you ask? Well, all three dudes were pretty big, and in each case we were both probably at least a little drunk. So they took a while, I ended up shoving their cocks farther and farther down my throat, and, like, alcohol is vomit-provoking.

With Davey, it was actually way more specific than that. He stopped me while I was in the midst of blowing him enthusiastically, and was like, “You are too good at that. I’m gonna cum soon if you keep that up. What do you wanna do with my penis?” Omg, soooo many things! That is like the most thoughtful offer any guy has ever given me. His penis was completely at my disposal. All for meee!!! But, like, his cock is beautiful so I wanted it in my mouth some more. I straddled his face and humped it while I continued sucking him, and I cupped his balls with my spare hand. I could feel them tense up and he gave me fair verbal warning. Normally I don’t let guys cum in my mouth, but I figured in the position we were in, it would shoot right down my throat. I liked thinking about my throat collapsing around his cock as it jolted inside me. Like it was my pussy tightening around him, except I could feel it because no condoms! As the cum shot in, vomit shot out. At first I didn’t catch on to what was happening, was sorta turned on as if he came so much it could not be contained. When I tasted the stomach acid, grabbed a towel from the bathroom. Recovery was easy. Pretended to wipe the spit, snot, and tears off my face. I mean, I did that for realz, too, yo. Every orifice runs like crazy while I’m giving head. Who doesn’t love a sloppy blowjob? Barf.

Literally blowin’ chunks.

Anyone got a good, streaming link to the song “Chunks!!” by Interrupt Vector from the Punk Chunks comp? If so, post here.

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One Response to Pool Party

  1. bob says:

    It would be fitting and proper if you entitled this missive “literary excrement.”

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