Movie Review: The Piano

We'll kick off our revival with a movie review. Disclaimer: I WTF-ed through a LOT of this movie. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to even attempt to form this into a cohesive narrative, or just touch upon points that were significant to me. When a movie involves Harvey Keitel stripping his clothes off to clean the piano, yet he bathes in a river with his shirt on, the standards for the aforementioned cohesive narrative shouldn't be too high. 

Okay. So. Holly Hunter's inner monologue introduces the movie to us. (Note: It takes place in the 19th century.) She hasn't spoken since she was six years old, but she makes noise with her piano. She and her daughter, who seems about 7-8 years old or so, are sent to New Zealand because her (Holly Hunter's) father has arranged a marriage for her. The piano goes with them, and they all get plopped on a beach. 

Husband and his friend, Harvey Keitel, come to collect Holly Hunter and her child and her belongings the next day. (Yeah, they spent the night on the beach.) They bring along some Maori to help. Holly Hunter wants the piano, Husband says no, she gives him the Angry Eyes in an effort to argue, and loses. The piano stays on the beach as they go traipsing through the forest while the natives carry the other stuff she brought with her. Back at Husband's house, there are a bunch of older women, and these minor characters made so little of an impression on me, I can't really tell you anything about them, and this is probably the last time I'll mention them.

Holly Hunter and her daughter go find Harvey Keitel at his house and ask to be taken to the piano. He says he's too busy, so they sit outside his door and stalk him for a while. Eventually, he relents, and they go back to the beach. Holly Hunter gets into her musical groove, and Harvey Keitel sprouts a boner watching her while the daughter frolics in the sand. Sure. I like music. I love my piano. I can dig it.

Something happens and I guess I missed some of this dialogue, but the piano winds up in Harvey Keitel's house and he tells Husband he wants piano lessons from Holly Hunter. She initially wants no part of this, but she's a woman in the 19th century, so she has no choice. She and her daughter stomp through the forest, and she leaves the daughter to run in the woods unsupervised and play with a random dog while she goes inside the house. Gooood parenting. 

Harvey Keitel tells her he doesn't want lessons, he just wants to listen to her play in his house while he "does things that he likes". I interpreted this to mean "fapping", though it is not explicitly shown in the movie. Holly Hunter doesn't go for this right away, but he makes her a deal - she can earn back her piano by visiting him and playing. One visit = one key. Eh, alright, I can go for  some piano math. Soon, the deal gets more complex: she can earn multiple keys in one visit by doing stuff such as hiking her skirt up, taking her jacket off, and lying next to him in bed. She agrees to bargain for the piano in this manner. 

While she plays, he does stuff like kiss her neck, touch her back, lie under the piano to look up her skirt, and in one very drawn-out scene, touch her skin through a hole in her stockings. He also does some creeper things like smell her jacket, and (in one HILARIOUS - to me - moment) disappears behind the curtain designating his bedroom, and when she goes to find him, he's naked. She is rather put off by this at first (and rightly so!), but he wears her down.

I gotta be honest, I'm not really seeing the path from Point A to Point B here. Obviously, this woman's already got some issues going on, with the whole mute thing, and even though this movie was two hours long, I thought the romance aspect was a little rushed. Anyhoo, he eventually offers her ten keys for lying in bed with him naked, and they do that while the daughter spies on them. She seems more fascinated than repulsed. I guess that's accurate? 

There's a whole subplot in here with the Maori getting restless, and them not liking some play that was put on, and I guess they're supposed to be a subtle dangerous threat or something. I have no idea. I'm going to ignore it.

At one point, Harvey Keitel realizes that he's kind of made Holly Hunter into a whore, and tells her as much. (Yes, he used that word.) He kicks her out, telling her that she shouldn't be there if she doesn't have feelings for him, and gives the piano back to Husband. She returns to him, and then he knows they're really in luv. Aww. How smooshy. 

Husband eventually grows suspicious. The daughter tells him that Holly Hunter actually isn't teaching piano lessons, she just goes to play. I thought this was just a naive little girl thing to do, but my opinion changed later, and you'll see why. Husband goes to Chez Harvey Keitel and, like the daughter, spies on the people inside. 

And they are getting it on. Seriously. This is one of the most explicit sex scenes I have ever seen outside an actual porn. I suppose I have to give the actors major props - even if they were wearing something to actually prevent the touching of their genitalia (and if they did, it must have been tiny, as I didn't see anything), there is no doubt that their naughty bits were right up against each other. Next moment of honesty: despite the "wow, are they really doing that?" cinematography, I've found other sex scenes to be more *ahem* exciting. 

Husband is not pleased by this. He confronts Holly Hunter in the woods and practically rapes her right there in the leaves because he's annoyed that she wasn't giving it up for him, but the daughter interrupts. At least she was finally good for something. They all go home, and Husband forbids Holly Hunter from seeing Harvey Keitel again.

I guess guilt overtakes Holly Hunter, though it's hard to tell because she doesn't fucking talk. She goes to Husband's bed a few times and touches him suggestively. I thought the first time was implying sex, but then he says later that she doesn't let him touch her in return, so I guess not. The second time, there's one really long bit where she's touching his ass and starts dipping between the cheeks, and he can't decide if he likes it or not, but then stops her. I guess he was afraid of the surprise!finger in his butt? I don't know what that was all about. Weird.

Holly Hunter pulls a key off her piano (and not even one of the stupid ones at either end, she picks one, like, right smack in the middle) and engraves a love note to Harvey Keitel on the side. Really. She brings it to her daughter and instructs her via their sign language to deliver it. The daughter wants none of it, but when you're that age, you can't really disobey your mom, so off she goes. 

Then. Then. THEN. That fucking back-stabbing cunt of an ungrateful child delivers the piano key love note to Husband. I couldn't believe that little bitch. What a fucking whore. Husband is not happy. Oh, and when the daughter found him, he was out working in the fields with a hatchet. I should have known this wasn't going to end well. 

Husband storms home, ranting and raving. Holly Hunter doesn't apologize because, you know, that whole not talking business. Husband starts attacking the piano with the hatchet, and Holly Hunter goes all Mama Bear on him and tries to pull him away. Considering how her actual child just fucked her over seven different ways from Sunday, I'd start showing maternal preference to the piano, too. They struggle for a bit, he tosses her up against the wall a couple times and tells her how angry he is, and then goes for the piano again. When she tries to stop him, he yanks her outside, where it's now raining heavily for some reason.

They slop through the mud as she tries to escape his grasp, but he succeeds in dragging her over to...the woodpile. Uh oh. Oh no. Please don't go here, movie. Husband still has the hatchet, and he puts Holly Hunter's hand on the chopping block. Please don't go here, movie. I'm begging you. Husband asks her whether or not she loves him. FUCKER, SHE DOESN'T TALK. When she doesn't answer (DUH), he OH HOLY MOTHER OF GOD HE JUST CUT HER FINGER OFF I AM NOW GOING TO HAVE NIGHTMARES. The blood splatters the daughter's dress, and while she kind of deserved that, THE HUSBAND JUST FUCKING CUT OFF HOLLY HUNTER'S FINGER. 

Okay, next moment of honesty: I couldn't watch too intently, so I thought it was her hand until Husband tells the daughter to bring it to Harvey Keitel and tell him that if he ever tries to see Holly Hunter again, he'll cut off another, then another. To my knowledge, Holly Hunter doesn't have a third hand (though if she did, she'd be a really awesome pianist!), so that's when I figured out it was her finger. Anyway, the daughter does what she is told (fucking finally) and goes to see Harvey Keitel. When she gets there, she's practically in hysterics and has trouble telling him what happened. Good. You should be crying, you bitch. This was all your fault. He eventually sees the finger and displays his angst by banging his head against a tree and swearing to bash in Husband's skull. I can't argue with that. 

Husband tries apologizing to the bedridden Holly Hunter, whines about how she never gave him her sweet sweet pussy, and then asks her if she's feeling better. 1) For the last time, she doesn't talk, you dolt. 2) YOU JUST CUT OFF HER FUCKING FINGER. (Note: "fucking finger" makes me think of a finger that fucks, and at this point, I think she should rape his asshole with her bloody stump. Bastard deserves it.)

Husband wakes up Harvey Keitel by pointing a gun in his face, but then they have a heart-to-heart about how awesome Holly Hunter is. I must have zoned out a bit here, because it's apparently decided Harvey Keitel can have her. They go back to the beach/boats to leave New Zealand, and the natives paddle them away. It's a narrow canoe-type thing, and the piano is actually balanced on it, which looks pretty ridiculous. Holly Hunter gets it in her head that she doesn't want the piano anymore because it's ruined and asks via her daughter for it to be pushed overboard. They argue with Harvey Keitel about it for a while, but he relents. The guys rowing the boat push it over, and for some reason, there's a long rope attached to it. Impulsively, Holly Hunter decides to stick her foot in the loop of rope and she lets the piano pull her overboard.

Cue long scene of her sinking with the piano and struggling for air. At this point, I really thought the movie was going to end with her drowning, and I actually didn't care either way. I don't know if that's more of a reflection on me or this movie. At the last minute, she kicks off her shoe and swims to the surface. Her inner monologue returns (we haven't heard it since the beginning of the movie) and gives some inspirational speech about how her will chose to live.

The happy family gets to wherever they're going. Harvey Keitel buys Holly Hunter a new piano and makes her a prosthetic finger so she can teach piano lessons. She also decides to re-learn how to talk, but she's shy about practicing in front of people. That's okay, she'll just make out with Harvey Keitel (which they do). More quotes and inspirational lines, and we fade to black. Yeah.

I don't even know what I'm going to judge this movie on. The music was good, Holly Hunter's rack was maybe slightly above average, the minor characters were stupid and pointless, and I guess the plot was all right. Eh, have some random boobs anyway. We deserve them:

Five boobs for mediocrity. 

We're back, bitches!

It's about time we revived this thing! Vlad Pantyhose and I have talked about bringing this blog back to life here and there, but he was super busy with school, and I was busy with school and kickstarting my writing career. It's time to stop making excuses, though, and return to our awesomeness.

To help share our heavy loads (haha), we've made the Shirtless Wonder another regular contributor. He'll add some more filthy-minded posts, all while remaining shirtless, because that's the rule. Enjoy! 

Guest Post: Three's a Crowd, What About Four? Part 2

*Jentastic goes to pout in the corner. The Shirtless Wonder has all the fun. <_< *

Was that it? Far from it. Louise shuffled over to the edge and sat next to me; I remember her stroking my hair, asking if I was ok. “Having fun yet?” I said I was. “Not broken you, have we?” I just laughed. She assures me we’re just getting started before she gets her panties back on and heads for the kitchen to get a drink. I decided to get my shorts back on and follow her, but not before I headed for the bathroom first, leaving Sue and Jean to themselves.

It was now some time after half twelve. Interesting that we’d been at it as long as we had been. But time flies when you’re having fun, or so they say. Pity. I was in the flat’s small kitchen with Louise a glass of water as I tried to freshen my mouth up at least a little. I certainly think it was one of those more surreal moments. Standing in a kitchen in nothing but your underwear, having an almost casual conversation with someone you’d just been screwing while listening to the sounds of it coming from down the hall. You know, just having a break from all the sex…

I wasn’t exactly tired. Just a bit worn, really. Well there was the fact that my neck was still smarting, but you show me someone who hasn’t been hurt while having sex. This was nothing. Good thing too, because I was pretty much ready to go back in at that point. Any inhibitions or worries that I’d had about the whole deal had long since disappeared.

A phone on the worktop rang. Louise answered. The call lasted only a few seconds. Turned out her flatmate wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, rather than the evening as expected. I asked if her flatmate knew about what exactly we were up to, which she told me they didn’t. Not that I had a problem with it. It wasn’t as if we were trashing the place after all. People can be so strange about these things.

So it was back to business. Louise clambers onto my back and has me carry her back through. We get in to find Jean and Sue carrying on fine without us, the former giving her friend oral.

Louise hops down as Jean stops. Sue asked why the phone rang; glad we now had the rest of the day to ourselves. She took a bottle of the oil from the cabinet and lay down between them before she started to dribble the stuff over herself, the other two rubbing it in for her. I would’ve joined them myself but I saw Sue looking up at me. She handed the bottle to one of the others, shuffled back to the edge of the bed and stopped.She asked me to come to her side and drop my shorts as she hung her head over the side and told me she wanted her mouth fucked.

So naturally I did as I was told. She opened her mouth and devoured my cock like she was depending on it, even pulling me right into her so she took it all in, and almost gagged as a result. As if that wasn’t good enough, I saw the others abandon oiling her up and start to finger her, much to her delight. And they didn’t hold back on her either, getting a couple of fingers in each, stopping every now and then to tongue her as well. It was a heck of a sight, that’s for sure. I watched them while they fingered and licked at her and made her moan, they watched me force my dick down her throat and make her gag. It was like something straight out of a porno and between the three of us; probably because Jean had warmed her up for us before we got back, we managed to bring her off before long.

But no rest for the wicked, as they say. Jean was the only one who hadn’t been fucked to completion by then and she knew it. The look on her face said it all. Or in her words: “My turn now!” She gets up, comes over, leads me around to the cabinet, grabs a condom and sticks it on. She clambered onto the bed on all fours and told me she wanted it doggy.

Happy to, of course, but Louise and Sue had other ideas. Though she’d had her fun, I think Sue was a bit disappointed she didn’t get to finish me off before her friend just stole me. I thought for a moment there was actually going to be an argument over this, especially when she forced her onto her back.

But no. Turned out she just had a better idea. She straddled her friend, facing me and told me to lube myself up before getting me to lift Jean’s legs up for her. It was an odd moment of teamwork for sure. I remember seeing Louise scrambling over to the other side and making herself at home on Jean’s face by this point.

Sue held her wide open for me, pulling back on her to get her ass up off the bed for me and telling me to go up her ass instead.

Whoever it was that came up with lube is a genius and deserves a thank you for making things like anal sex that much easier. Jean seemed to love it as much as Louise. Maybe more, though it was hard to tell since she had her mouth full at the time. Sue holding her open for me made getting right in easy, though it was still a tight fit, the lube at least made it easy to get a rhythm going. I was glad Sue didn’t lose her grip at any point while holding her squirming friend still. That’d have been the end of the day’s activities right there. Ouch! It was only made better by the fact that she was watching as well, saying how she couldn’t wait until it was her turn. I caught her looking at me, chewing her lip as she watched. I don’t know any “looks” but I assumed she wanted to do more than just hold her friend’s legs open for me. I put my hands on Jean’s heels and took the strain, watching as Sue wasted no time getting her fingers in, two from each hand and burying them in her soaking cunt. The sound of Jean squealing as she did might have made anyone outside think someone was being murdered. But if anything, it was just an excuse to try and make her louder, which we did as Sue slid a couple more fingers inside and told me to fuck her harder. I did, but I felt pretty sure my dick was going to be stretched a bit longer after all that anal. If only…

By that point, between all the moaning, the tight ass my cock was jammed in and the sight of her being fingered was almost too much for me and I had to hold on quite hard to make sure I didn’t cum early. While it would’ve been easy enough for the others to finish her off, I prefer not go first. I prefer the giving. I locked eyes with Sue as she worked her harder, seeing a twisted smile appear as Jean’s muffled scream finally reached our ears, stopping myself as I felt her fluids running out and onto me before I pulled myself out. Sue reached down and slid the condom off as she joyfully licked the mess from her fingers.

She invited me onto the bed with her and lay me down before going straight for my cock, swallowing the whole thing like she had before; sucking like it was a straw and slobbering all over it in the process. By then I was already primed and ready to explode, so when I looked over to see Louise licking up her own mess from Jean’s face before sharing it with her, the combination of that and the feel of Sue’s blowjob (an awesome one if I may say so) along with everything else up to that point pretty much shot me over the edge. The feeling of her sucking harder on me only made me cum harder in the end. Louise shuffled over to her and waited for her to finish what she was doing.

But rather than suck me herself, Sue decided to share the spoils of the blowjob with her and I watched as a stray drop was licked from the chin before they kissed, the two of them watching me as they did it almost deliberately, letting me see them enjoy the moment before they swallowed the lot.

I decided just to lay back for a while. Now I was tired. And why not? I felt awesome regardless. Each of us had been satisfied and I’d only had to cum twice. Not bad for a foursome, I suppose. Not that I knew any better. But I didn’t care.

I remember hearing either Louise or Sue saying “Uh oh. I think he’s gonna to fall asleep on us.” Which, for the record, I did not. I had no intention of it! Why stop there? It was obvious enough they didn’t intend to call it a day with all the free time we still had, with or without me. So I was in until they were done.

Now sex is good and all, but sometimes you’ve just got to stop and recharge. “Who’s hungry?” Was Louise’s next question. Something you don’t normally expect to hear then. But I suppose you can’t really exist on semen alone, can you?

Guest Post: Three's a Crowd. What About Four? Part 1

To hold you over until Vlad Pantyhose and I can personally get back to the debauchery, here's a super-spicy guest post by our good friend The Shirtless Wonder. Enjoy!

Life is full of surprises. It’s one of the simplest things you learn at an early age. For some more than others. I, myself, like to believe I tend to surprise people from time-to-time by just being me, usually because it’s a side you don’t see or something you don’t hear about.

One such moment happened a while ago between myself and Jentastic when, drunk, I spilled the beans on some of the juicy details of my sex life. More importantly, the time I got involved in what might be the dream scenario of any bloke out there: a group fuck, in this case a foursome, where I was the only guy involved.

Back in my high school days I was generally a rather unassuming person. I had a few friends I hung out with and we kept ourselves to ourselves. People thought little of me. I had my moments; like the time I blew up in some asshole’s face in a fight that sent him off to hospital while all I got was a lump on the head during my second year. Or the time some random girl from the year above ran up to me and punched me in the face. The time I got jumped by a trio of girls and pinned to a wall so one of them could shove her tongue down my throat for some reason. (It was also my first boob grab moment.) I also lost my virginity when I was in high school.

I was nothing to most people, nobody. Someone who was just ‘there.’ Oh sure, some people knew about stuff that involved me. The fight was seen by a few and the snogging was seen by this one guy who, not only tried to turn the whole thing into some sort of insult against me but, in hindsight, also seemed to have a thing for calling me gay. Huh…

But in the end, had someone come up to me and asked me if I imagined any of the stuff that has happened to me since then actually happening, I’d have said “Not in a million years. Period.” But life is full of surprises.

So the day an actually-kind-of-hot-what-interest-does-she-have-in-me girl, who we’ll refer to as ‘Sue’ from now on for the sake of making things easier, came up to me and, after chit-chatting for about half an hour or so says “A couple friends and I are wanting to have a group fuck some time. You fancy joining us?” I found myself lost for words.

My initial reaction was “No way. She’s messing with me.” But you never know. Sometimes you get lucky. Though admittedly I was a little iffy about it, you’d be a fool to turn the possibility of something like this down. So I said I wouldn’t mind, after at least trying to make it look like I thought about it for a moment. Then I asked her about her friends and she told me “They’re just a couple of girlfriends. We’re all bi, actually.”

Naturally I felt a bit excited at this point. The prospect of having such a sexual encounter was how common? Simply to be asked into it by someone you’d JUST met? Rare indeed. So I decided to go for maybe the more selfish question and ask about other men. Or more precisely, others who might be getting involved. She tells me it’d just be me. She felt that if you add more than one guy to something like this, they start getting a bit greedy over who gets what. I wasn’t going to deny it, but to hear I was the only one made me squirm in my seat, my mind already many miles away.

She did, however, tell me that if I knew any more women who’d want to join in, then there’d maybe be another guy added in. It took me about half a second to find the answer. Most of my female friends from that time were either taken, wouldn’t have sex with me unless we were dating or were generally not into any sexual activities that went beyond the usual horizontal mambo.

Now admittedly this is the part where I kind of lied. I didn’t want to come across as overly selfish, wanting the three of them for myself, or afraid at being involved in a situation that involves another dick, so I said I might know someone. So we exchanged phone numbers and she gave me her MSN and, after agreeing where and roughly when we’d do it, we went our separate ways, having agreed to some time the following week. (It was a Friday) I did think about someone who might have been persuaded, but given the odds of it actually working out as well as what I was getting into anyway, I decided not to.

On Sunday, still partly doubtful that this was ever going to happen, I get a text asking if I was free on Wednesday. I hastily replied with a yes, asking where and when. After an anxious few minutes, I get the message that confirmed it. An address, one of others’ flat and a time of “Anytime after 10am.”

Was it ok? I said it wouldn’t be an issue. Damn right! Anything I had planned that day was now of a lower priority. I asked, just to be sure, if there was anything they wanted me to bring on the day. The reply came back and I couldn’t help but crack a huge grin.

“Nope. Just bring your lovely self! We’ve got everything else we need. xx ;)”

It was a very long wait until Wednesday.

And so there it was. Wednesday had finally arrived! Naturally, I was heading there for as close to 10am as I could manage without being too early. On my way there I fired off a quick text just to confirm, a small part of me still finding it too good to be true. But all seemed well, so I made my way to the flat.

So, filled with nervous anticipation, I made my way inside and up to the second floor. I could feel myself sweating a little, mainly due to nerves, more worried about if I was in over my head, was I sure I wanted go through with it, etc. I guess I felt the pressure was on me. I don’t even remember being like this during my first time. Getting to the door and knocking put me at ease, at least.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually I heard someone approaching the door. Sue opened it and let me in, asking me to take off my shoes and even taking my coat for me. It was a pretty small flat. One hall linked all the rooms, two doors on one side, three on another, and one at the other end. It looked and smelled pretty clean too. So far, so good.

I get offered a tea or coffee and told to go into one of the other rooms down the hall. Peering in, I saw, much to my relief that it was just going to be the four of us after all. And at this point you’d probably want a description, so here’s an idea for those who really want one. If anything, at least they all had different hair colour, so it’ll make distinction easier, but I’ll give them names for simplicity’s sake. Sue, who arranged the whole thing, was pretty average in height. Shorter than me, but then most people are, and with short black hair. The other two were a similarly sized brunette who we’ll call…’Jean’ and an actually kind of tall, and fairly leggy redhead, something I noticed when I saw her coming toward the doorway. We’ll call her ‘Louise.’

I offered a tentative ‘Hi’ before practically rushing to the nearest seat as if I’d just walked into an awkward situation, and tried to push my nerves back.

Sue comes in with my coffee and we start with small talk. Mostly just me answering questions, such as if I’d ever done anything like this before, etc. Anyone might have thought we were just friends having a catch up. 

Now I really don’t think I’m much to look at, so I couldn’t help but blush a bit when I realised the attention Jean and Louise were giving me, as if sizing me up. Though that’s probably what they were doing. It’s something I’ve never really gotten used to, being scrutinized. I’m fine once the fun bit starts, but moments like this always get to me.

Anyway, after about five minutes or so, I place my barely touched coffee down and ask for the bathroom, which turned out to be the door at the end of the hall. I go in and so on and so forth, thankfully having finally settled down. Before I opened the door I remember wondering when we were going to start, if they were perhaps waiting for me to kick things into motion.

So when I opened the door to see Sue and Louise standing in front of the door in something like a lover’s embrace and nothing but their underwear and an almost feral look on… Well, it was obvious.

Louise comes up to my side and loops an arm around my neck, running a hand over my chest and even taking a playful nibble of my ear. Sue comes up and cuts us short, taking hold of my belt and leading me down the hall to one of the rooms with Louise in tow.

Jean was sitting on the bed, waiting for us. And naked to boot! And a bed it was. The thing was big enough to sleep three people in it! Though by then I was more worried about what to do, but this is a retrospective, so bear with me. Where do you start in something like this? I didn’t know and still don’t. One thing was for sure, they were set to make a day of it, judging by the number of condoms and bottles of lube and oil on the bedside cabinet.

It seemed the first move wasn’t mine to make. They didn’t even ask. I just remember being sat down on the bed, Jean shuffling over to me saying “Let’s get these clothes off.” and easing me down on my back before pulling my shirt up, feeling her straddling herself on my chest as I lost sight of her for the moment it was over my face. I could feel the others undoing my belt further down, barely feeling them unfastening my jeans and pulling them off as Jean threw my shirt away, sat on my face and put me to work giving her oral. While it’s not my preferred way of doing this, it was a foursome after all. Who’s caring by that point? And though I love to give during sex, it got a bit tricky to focus on that when I felt my shorts being pulled off and feeling Sue and Louise licking and sucking on my cock. Feeling one taking the end in and running her tongue over it while the other sucked on the shaft… I’m surprised, as of writing that I’ve since had better from one person. My eyes went so out of focus I had to keep them shut. I felt I was going to cum right then and there. It certainly didn’t help when Jean pulled my head up as if to pull me further into her, grinding herself on my face as she did. Never mind her moaning; what I felt myself was enough to know it had hit the spot, even if it felt like my head was going to come off.

After a while I feel Sue and Louise stop. As good as it is to give; sometimes you’ve got to get a little as well. I couldn’t exactly move my head from where I was, but it was easy enough to tell when they laid down next to me.

Though I was hardly keeping track of the time, it’s safe to say I’d been under Jean long enough. My neck was stiff to the point of being painful from all it had been taking up to then. She gets off and moves out of my sight, since I was just staring at the ceiling.

I look to the left to see Sue and Louise going at it with each other, kissing, no doubt sharing what they’d been sucking out of me not long before. They saw me watching them and smiled at me, no doubt loving the fact they’re being watched before Louise took the moment to start fingering Sue as I saw Jean come back. She pulls a condom from its wrapper and gets it on my cock, so hard it was almost aching at that point.

She wasted no time with foreplay and got on top of me, taking my cock in hand. I watched her face light up as she lowered herself onto it and took it all in, a real tight fit. If I had to choose one of them to have on their own, it would have to have been her. She knew how to fuck, that was for sure. Seeing her bouncing on me the way she did was almost hypnotic, rolling her hips as she did and taking me all the way in and out each time.

I’d been watching Sue and Louise out the corner of my eye, watching as they made their way to cunnilingus before Louise clambered on top got them into 69. And from the sound of it, they were pretty close to finishing each other off. Then again, we all were by that point. The collective sound of our various moans and groans would have probably freaked out any of the neighbour, had they heard it. Come to think of it, I wonder if anybody did hear us… Oh well. Having sex with an open window was something I got to try later in life. But that’s a story for another time.

How often these three had sex with each other probably had something to do with why Jean stopped fucking me to have me fuck one of her friends. Not that I was going to care. Someone stops fucking you and tells you to fuck someone else, you’re not going to say no, are you?

She gets off, gets me on my feet, and it’s on with another condom as she tells me how much Louise, right then on top of Sue, likes taking it up the ass. So it’s out with the lube to get me, well all lubed up. Sue pulled her open for me and it’s up her ass with me. If Jean’s pussy was tight, then this would have probably been like a vice had I not been lubed before going in. I’d have probably gotten stuck! I can certainly see why there are plenty who don’t like anal, but lube makes all the difference people. Just sayin’.

Jean, enjoying the show by then, certainly hadn’t lied when she said Louise loved anal. She was vocal about it anyway. She wanted it harder and harder I gave. It wasn’t long before Sue and I had her screaming and squirming about as she came over Sue’s face. And I wasn’t far behind her either. I was barely holding myself in check as it was.

Jean asked me if I was going to cum soon, which I told her I was. She asked me to stop and I got out of Louise. Before I could, she had the condom off me and wasted no time getting on her knees and sucking me off. If she’d sucked any harder, I wouldn’t even have had to cum for her, she could have just sucked it out of my balls herself.

I was pretty much there, so it wasn’t long before I felt that all too familiar surge of adrenaline run through me, my eyes almost shutting of their own accord. Almost by itself, my hand grabbed her hair and pulled her right onto me as I shot my load right into her mouth. All I could feel was that and her tongue against my dick as she swallowed the lot, trying not to gag in the process. I let her go and she took a few more sucks before she stopped, giggling, looking up at me as she licked a stray drop from her lips.

Worn as I was, I sat on the bed while Sue and Jean got to work on each other. Apparently they weren’t done.

(to be continued!)

I'm still alive. No zombies here, even after Easter.

I know updates have been a little slow lately. We've still got some good stuff in the works, including some guest bloggers coming up!

To help get more internet publicity for my smut writing alter-ego, I started up an official blog for Thea Landen. For now, it looks like I'll be updating that one more often, with shorter entries of musings on writing, and other things that are relevant to the publication of smut (still humorous, I hope). There will still be crazy stories and asshole behavior posted here, though, so keep checking back! (Here and there!)

Idiot Adventure Volume Three: "Attempting to go where no sane man as dared to go before..."

Okay, I know I suck. It's been a long time since I last updated the blog too and have dragged this last part for MONTHS. Sorry about that. Life is shit, and so is... uh... life...

My walking speed had long ago hastened to a sprint. It's pretty interesting to see how much a scare can get out of you. I ran for several blocks without running out of breath at full speed. The lit streets ended and I went back to the darkness. I tried hiding under a parked pickup truck, but noticed it wouldn't help any if they started looking below cars from different angles. Hiding in a dark alley was out of the question too at that moment because who knows what may lurk in one of them. It could be a dog, another set of cholos ready to kick my sorry ass or whatever the imagination of a scared moron (me) may conjure.

As I looked around me, my apparent salvation appeared. I was at a usually crowded street that had been paved and a bridge over what once was a river but had long become a drainage ditch.

What did I do?

a) Hide under a car

b) Hide in a dark alley

c) Hide under the bridge

If your answer was "c," you're right. I jumped into the former river's darkness and became engulfed by it. I heard the voice of one of them saying "There he is! Grab him!"

I landed on the slope and almost dropped the stick that had saved me before. I managed to keep hold of it and ran towards the underside of the bridge along the slope, trying my damnedest not to trip and end up on the bottom of the ditch. The murky, swampy waters smelled to high hell. I would have barfed from the stench of rotting, stagnant water long ago if I hadn't been so scared of what might have popped in their heads to do to me.

I got to the bridge, but noticed that somehow the moonlight was actually effective in betraying my position. The reason? Everything was painted white. It's only logical that a dark, human shadow would contrast against the dirty whiteness of the paint.

My solution was run up the slope and press against the surface of the cement in an effort to diffuse my silhouette against what seemed to be trash bags.

The sounds of the feet of my pursuers against the slope and the tripping of one that sent him right to the bottom indicated that they were closing in. I pressed myself against the cement and turned to try to locate them. The one on the bottom decided to get out of that place. It was the logical thing to do. Who knows what manner of infection he could grab from his contact with that rotting matter floating on the water. My pursuers were down to two.

They had entered the underside of the bridge.

"Do you see him?" one of them asked the other.

"No. Maybe he got out," the other responded.

"I don't think so. He should be tired after that run" the first one responded.

He was half right. I was tired after all that walking and the overkill that had been that long run. I was out of breath, my legs were hurt after the kicks on my shins, my sides were a mess too and to top it all, I had lightly sprained my right ankle when jumping down onto the slope.

The second one pointed to the bottom of the ditch. "Take a look. There are dry parts there and more shadows on the other side. There are bushes too. He's gotta be there."

"Little fucker's dead..." the first one said while chuckling.

The two of them walked down the slope and crossed over to the opposite slot.

"Now's your chance to get out of here, kid..." a raspy voice said next to me as the air around my face filled with an alcoholic stench.

I turned to my right, towards what I thought was a trash bag. It was actually an old man INSIDE a trashbag, stuffing the thing with old newspapers to protect himself from the cold.

"If you get out now, they won't notice, but if you take too long shitting your pants, they will come back! Get out of here and run! Run, you dumbass!"

I did as the old man told me. I almost wet my pants from the sheer scare of finding out I wasn't alone. I climbed the little wall that stood erect above the slope I was standing on. No surprise I sprained my ankle. I just jumped in without being able to see what was below. I had been really lucky. With the moonlight, I could perfectly see thin metallic bars where I could have impaled myself.

Another rush of adrenaline at thinking about that possible outcome filled me with a renewed wish to get home and helped me ignore the pain that by then stung like hell on most of my body.

I walked lightly around the street and onto the bridge that had almost saved my sorry hide while tightly gripping my only means of defense.

Fifteen minutes later, the distance between my home and I was short. I was coming into the usual streets so a slight sense of relief came over me.

The slight calm came with a price. The adrenaline wore off. I felt pain on most of my body. Torso, abdomen, legs, all of them were pulsing with pain. The only thing getting better was my sprain because of the constant walking.

From behind a car, four guys came out. They were smoking tobacco. Their clothes were also much better than mine, which pointed to their upper middle class background.

"Gimme all you have. NOW." one of them demanded as the other three laughed.

They were just a bunch of teenagers. I was slightly older than them and they threatened me. My pain quickly faded and was replaced by rage. Not just anger, pure, unadulterated rage. Rage at being threatened by a bunch of middle class twerps that fancied themselves cholos but wouldn't cut it when thrown in with the lot of them. I had been alternating between running and walking from dogs, REAL cholos that wanted to kick my dumb ass, jumped into a ditch and had been chased by three robbers willing to do who knows what to me. All of that to get threatened by four little assholes that fancied themselves badasses.

"FUCK"

"THIS"

"TO HELL!!"

Those are the equivalent of the words that I screamed in my head. I swung my stick at the one that had made the threat and hit him on the face. He flinched and I immediately kicked him on the stomach. Another one, a taller, but much thinner grabbed me by the neck, trying to put me in a chokehold. Instinctively, I clawed him with my relatively long nails and opened painful wounds on his arm as I kicked him with a mule kick. The other two that weren't attacking me slightly backed off, but I again swung my stick at them and hit one of them on the wrist. When he flinched, I grabbed him by the neck and jumped at him, sending him to the ground, hitting his head against the sidewalk we were on. The fourth tried to kick me and succeeded. His foot made my chest hurt more than I could take without letting a squeal out, but despite that, I grabbed his leg and bit him. My teeth against his skin pressed and tried to get to his bone. His shin was much bonier than I initially imagined. He hit me on the head with his knuckles, causing a sharp pain, but also increased my anger. Lifting his leg was much easier than anticipated with my left hand, so I punched his balls with my right... one, two, three times. He began crying and squealing, pleading for me to stop.

As I rose to my feet, I saw the one that threatened me looking at me from the ground, having finally managed to catch his breath after my kick. He was sitting with a scared look.

His face looked disgusting. Not because of being on the ground, but because of how cocky he had acted and made that threat with his friends. The image of his smug face, with that ridiculous smear of a mustache he was beginning to grow made him look even worse in my eyes. A pubescent boy that can't even grow decent facial hair had threatened ME. Someone that hadn't once crossed his path, was not looking for a fight or provoked his ire in any way.

I lifted my broomstick and swung it against his head once, opening a cut on his forehead by hitting him with the tip. He began CRYING! That is something I have ALWAYS hated about teenagers with nothing to do. They pick fights over NOTHING. If you're going to pick a fight, pick it like a man and if you win, you can gloat. If you lose, LOSE like a man and keep your fucking trap shut or accept you loss and raise your hands in defeat.

I walked past him while cursing those four in a faint voice. The truth is that my sides hurt like hell, so I didn't feel like doing more than muttering.

After minutes of walking, I arrived home. I opened the door and went inside. I took my clothes off and went straight into the shower. Warm water fell on my back and head. I could feel the typical sting of water making contact with an open wound. I had a small cut on my scalp. I washed it and continued with the rest of my body.

Once I got out, I looked at myself on the mirror. I had bruises EVERYWHERE. The ones on my shins and sides were already black. The kick I had received on the chest was turning black as well. All in all, I HAD gotten a thorough beating. Luckily my face and arms were relatively unharmed, so the evidence of my damage wouldn't be easily visible. I got out of the shower and went into my room. I put on some clothes and went to bed.

The next morning, my dad saw me playing videogames on the living room.

"You weren't here when I left last night. At what time did you get in?"

"I don't know. I just went into the shower and then to sleep."

"Well, there was a scuffle eight blocks from here. They called the police after some nut job beat four kids who were hanging out late."

I chuckled and felt my nerves light up like a Christmas tree with pain.

"Maybe those little fuckers deserved it..."

He looked at me for a long while. I pretended not to notice, but his piercing stare was such that I couldn't concentrate and I got killed in the game. He didn't say anymore, didn't pry anymore and didn't mention this to my mother, but for a long time, every time I went out, he regarded me with a stare.

As an adult, I can't help but be thoroughly amazed at how lucky I was to even make it out in one piece. The memory of all that pain has never EVER faded from my memory. It's burned into my memory and that experience with dealing first hand with what goes on in the streets first hand has proven to be a VERY valuable experience. It taught me a VERY important lesson in self preservation, adaptability and the limits of my own body. But that's just the relatively unimportant stuff. What it really taught me was to BE CAREFUL. To NEVER take anything for granted and NEVER again to jump into something without assessing the possible consequences.

As for the broomstick that I picked up, I still have it and never plan on parting ways with it. It may be silly sentimentalism on my part, but I felt that such a fine piece of wood should stay in my hands.

Jentastic vs. the Bag of Poop

I've always sort of been a medical freakshow. Anything that can go wrong will, and has. Last year, I had all sorts of weird things going on that couldn't be directly attributed to my already-diagnosed chronic health issues. After upping my medications didn't work, my gastroenterologist (who is an awesome guy) decided that it was time for more testing. I shall let this song from the phenomenal musical episode of "Scrubs" explain the situation:

Yup. Stool sample time! I vaguely remember having done one in middle school when I had a parasite, but that was well over ten years ago. I set out for the doctor's office to get the equipment, planned on heading to my parents' house to knock one out (I had to pick up some other stuff there anyway), drop it off at a lab on my way back home, and be done with it. Nope. No such luck.

At the doctor's office, I picked up a prescription for the kit. I didn't know I needed a prescription for jars to poop in, but I guess it makes sense that I'd need specific instructions. There was a lab nearby where I'd gotten some bloodwork done before, so I went there next. The lab tech took the prescription, gathered the necessary materials, and told me I'd need to collect samples from three different times, with two containers each (the little plastic containers were filled with various liquids). Then one of those times, I'd have to fill a third container. Okay. Sure.

I proceeded to my parents' house. My father never fails me and I found a box of latex gloves, from which I grabbed four pairs. My piddly apartment was not outfitted for poop collection at that time, so I took a spare basin as well. Back at home, I cut a large garbage bag into strips, lined the basin with the first wide strip, and stuck it in the bathtub for when the spirit moved me/my bowels.

An hour or so later, it was go time. I ran into the bathroom, realized that I was worried about splatter, stripped naked, and squatted over the plastic-lined basin in my tub. This was one of those life-defining moments where I pondered how, exactly, I had wound up in that precise position. My life sucks. I did my thing, and then it was collection time.

The creators of this medical equipment should be shot for how ineffective it is. There was a plastic spoon attached to the inside of each lid, but it was TINY. I didn't want to dirty any of my actual eating utensils, so I sat there, spooning poop into a plastic jar scoop by tiny little scoop. It took at least 20 minutes to collect a sample and dispose of the leftovers. My life sucks even more.

This process was repeated twice more that evening and the next morning. To my credit, I kept the poop in the plastic bag the kit came with and stashed it in the cabinet so Husband wouldn't freak out. I also double-bagged all the garbage bag strips once I was done with them. I should also point out that I wrote my name and the date on each jar before I filled it. Sometimes I plan ahead.

It was time to make the deposit (har har har!). I had a prescription for another medication to fill, so my plan was 1) drop off the prescription at the pharmacy/grocery store, 2) drive two towns over to drop off the bag of poop, 3) return to the pharmacy/grocery store to get the pills and some needed food, 4) profit chill out for the rest of the day. I thought it was a pretty good plan.

So obviously, it was going to get fucked up. I drove to the store and wondered if I should leave the bag of poop (brightly labeled with the biohazard symbol) in the hot car or carry it in with me. I chose to leave it in the car. Naturally, there was a clusterfuck at the pharmacy when this woman with her forty screaming children didn't seem to understand that she actually needed a prescription for insulin and the pharmacists couldn't just give it to her. Super. I worried about the poop somehow spoiling out in the heat.

I finally gave them the prescription, went back to the car, and drove to the nearest lab location. I went inside, and despite the fact that NO ONE was in there, I was directed to have a seat in the (empty) waiting room. I was tempted to plop the bag of poop on the chair next to me, but I was well-behaved, and I kept it on the floor at my feet.

A lab tech finally came out from her cigarette break high-stakes poker game open heart surgery whatever it was she was doing and ushered me into a room. I handed her whatever paperwork I had and began neatly lining up the containers of poop on the counter. She asked for my insurance card and I gave it to her. "Oh, we don't take this insurance."

Whut.

Thanks to the one good bit of legislation our idiot former governor passed, I was back on Daddy's health insurance. And Daddy's insurance was a damn good plan. It was like the Cadillac of health insurance. And this bitch was telling me that she wouldn't accept it, or my bag of poop. In thinking back, I realized that I hadn't been to that lab company since switching insurance. Fuck.

I must have looked completely distraught, so the lab tech said she knew which labs took my insurance, and she had a list of locations/directions. I piled the poop back into the bag, and she came back with a photocopy and handed it to me. I looked at it, and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

The lab was literally across the street from my goddamn house. If I opened my curtains right now, I would be able to see it. What. The. FUCK.

I thanked her, and my bag of poop and I got back into the car and went back to the pharmacy/grocery store. I left the bag of poop in the car again, and picked up my pills and groceries without incident. Upon returning home, I brought the groceries upstairs, put them away, pooped again (I was sick, remember?), and then WALKED THE BAG OF POOP ACROSS THE STREET. As Husband pointed out, I should have just walked over there a few times to poop in their lab and saved a lot of hassle.

To satisfy your curiosity, the well-traveled bag of poop revealed I had c. diff in my colon. It apparently can pop up after a heavy dose of antibiotics, but I hadn't had any for at least 3-4 months before that. I told you, medical freakshow. Anyway, the angry little bacteria triggered a flare of my Crohn's Disease, and my colon then tried to eat itself, but once I was properly medicated, it was all good. I'm still trying to figure out who the real winner was, though.

Classy Hussy: The Most Important Organ

I know, I know, I've been slacking with my posting lately. I've been busy with school, I have a complex knitting project, I'm working on Pornbook II...whatever, you don't care. On with the story.

Following graduation from college, something unexpected happened: I went through a bit of a "dry spell". I'd started my first teaching job, which drained me of nearly all of my energy, and I legitimately could not find any suitable cock. Sure, the 8th grade science teacher in my building was a hottie, but he worked allllll the way on the other side of the building, and I only ran into him a couple of times in the copy room. One day, another teacher in my department called in a sub who was seriously cute, and we chatted and exchanged a phone call between classrooms, but even though I begged that coworker to request him again, nothing ever came of it. So, the depressing, dirty details: I had sex once in July 2006. And on New Year's Eve 06/07*. And that was about it.

(*I will admit, however, that that is a fascinating story. But not the story I'm going to tell now. All in good time.)

June rolled around, still with a depressing lack of sex. During my last two years of college, my alma mater had been in talks with an international organization to host their 2007 annual conference. My advisor/professor had told all of us that even if we'd graduated by then, we should make an effort to come back up and volunteer. I agreed to do so, and made plans to return to college dorm life for a number of days.

Then it hit me: There were going to be a TON of people, of all ages and from all over the world, at this conference. Surely, I would be able to get laid. It would be almost embarrassing if I couldn't. Satisfied with my new mission, I eagerly awaited the conference.

The anticipated date arrived, and I showed up, checked in, went to pick up my roommate (Hussy-In-Training), got my keys and meal card, and was immediately put to work. My first assignment: go to the gigantic room that would eventually contain the vendors, and wrap tables with festively-colored plastic tablecloths. Okay. Sure. We were told it was a two-person job to hold them tightly and tape them down, so we were partnered off.

When the hundred or so tables were properly wrapped, we all gathered around in the hallway. I made a joke about how I was a hot, sweaty, disgusting mess (it was the record hottest June in that region, of course) and heard laughter. While I knew most of the others on the volunteer squad, this guy who had enjoyed my self-deprecating humor was a stranger. An attractive stranger. Hmm.

Alas, I did not see this attractive stranger the next day. Or the day after that. Damn! Just when I was starting to lose hope, he showed up towards the middle of the week. And not only did he show up, he made his way right over to where I was sitting at the information table. We chatted, we flirted, until someone else he knew saw him and whisked him away. Hussy-In-Training, was sitting next to me, and we had a good giggle. There were a lot of people in the lobby, so it was hard to keep track of his whereabouts, but we eventually saw him making his way towards the exit. Before he left, he backtracked and returned just to say good-bye to me.

"I'm in," I said to Hussy-In-Training.

"What? How do you know these things?"

"Trust me, I know. I'm in." Hussy-In-Training, young grasshopper that she was, still had much to learn. (And I would teach her some of it. I'm a terrible influence.)

The next day, the head of our volunteer team sat next to me for a bit, and I grilled her for details. Stranger had been a teacher and was planning on going for his doctorate, but had to take time off to care for a sick family member. She and her husband had met him at the gym, because in his free time, he had gotten into semi-professional weightlifting. Ooooh. Since he was good at lifting heavy things and only lived an hour away from the festival, she'd asked him to come by for a couple days.

Now, the moment of truth. "Is he seeing anyone?" I asked.

She smiled at me. "Nope. He's single." Score!

Towards the end of the week, there was an party planned at one of the wineries not far from the college. She said that Weightlifter had been invited, but she wasn't sure if he was going to come. As it was a nice event, I put on a cute top and a skirt, and was delighted to see him waiting for the buses that would take us to the winery. I strutted right up to him and made a cute comment about how he had finally gotten a nametag like the rest of us (taking note of his last name, as I figured I should probably learn it), and made sure to touch it, since it was pinned to his chest. He said he was glad to see me again, but then some unattractive girls he'd gone to college with spotted him, and they ran up to him and distracted him with their nasal screechy yammering. Normally, such things do not deter me, but at that precise moment, one of my friends (also on the volunteer squad) demanded my attention for something I don't even remember, and I went to deal with him. As a result, I did NOT get a seat near Weightlifter on the bus and spent the entirety of the ride openly sulking. I NEED BETTER FRIENDS.

Well, in light of what happened next, maybe that statement about needing better friends wasn't true. We all disembarked from the buses and everyone went their separate ways in the rather large winery. Everyone on the volunteer squad had put their cell phone number on a contact sheet. Everyone on the volunteer squad also knew how much I wanted to fuck this guy, as I am not exactly shy. So what happened during the first part of the wine party was pretty awesome.

We stalked him. We stalked the shit out of him. We had an informational network of which the CIA would be jealous. Never underestimate my determination. I was up at the main tent listening to one of the musical groups performing when I got a call that Weightlifter was down by the lake. I grabbed my friend and we crossed the field down to the area by the water. As we were walking down there, we saw Weightlifter and Unattractive Classmates walking in the opposite direction. Damn! From across the field. I waved to him, and he pointed to his empty wine glass, indicating he needed a refill and he said he'd be back.

I sat on some rocks by the water and sulked some more until another call came in. He was still at the bar. I got up, went back across the field, and "accidentally bumped into him". I did not let him out of my sight for the rest of the evening (except when I had to go to the bathroom, and believe me, I peed quickly).

We drank wine and made conversation and drank more wine. Unattractive Classmates meandered by, but it was clear who he was interested in. We chatted with them for a little bit, and took a couple pictures before they found better things to do than unsuccessfully try to disrupt my game.

In our barside conversation, we talked about where we were originally from. Weightlifter told me that he was attending a weightlifting competition in a town not too far from mine in another month. "Oh, you'll have to give me a call when you're down there!" He agreed to do so. This was going well. Another divine intervention: he said that the volunteer coordinator had managed to get him a single room for the night so he wouldn't have to drive home after all the wine. His room was in the same building as mine, on the same floor (but in the opposite wing). Clearly, God wanted me to have sex that night.

We got rather tipsy, and when it got dark, we boarded the buses to return to the college. This time, we did, in fact, sit next to each other, and snuggled a little bit. My hand was on top of his hand, while his hand was on top of my leg, and I whispered flirty little things directly into his ear. We held hands as we walked back to the dorm, and he gave me his room number before we parted ways. I went to quickly change out of my nice-ish clothes into my pajamas, high-fived Hussy-In-Training, and walked down the hall.

Upon entering his room, I hopped up onto the bed and he sat down next to me. Despite knowing exactly why I was there, we continued our polite conversation for a while longer. At one point, he reached out and brushed his fingers against my thigh. "You have really soft skin," he said.

It was the best segue I was going to get. Then came the classiest line this Classy Hussy has ever uttered in her entire life: "So are you going to lose the gum and hit the lights or what?"

He laughed and told me that he appreciated how direct I was, and followed my instructions. And then we fucked like crazy, with little regard to the open window and anyone who may be walking by. I admit, the thought had crossed my mind that maybe the weightlifting/giant muscles were compensation for something else and I was going to have to hide my disappointment, but I was delighted to find out that it was not an issue. Dude was hung. Sweet.

We explored nearly every position we could possibly think of, mixing in some oral action for a good variety. The aforementioned muscles were amazing to hold on to, and were also useful for introducing my knees to my ears as he lifted my legs onto his shoulders. It was a good night.

After we were *finished*, we cuddled for a little bit. When an appropriate amount of time had passed, I gave him a kiss, bid him a fond farewell, and told him I'd see him in the morning. Jentastic does not like being touched when she sleeps.

Hussy-In-Training made fun of my "sex hair" when I returned to the room, but she was pleased with my success. I told some of the other ladies on the team in the bathroom the following morning that I'd accomplished what I'd set out to do, and the younger, more innocent ones stared at me in awe and congratulated me for landing the hottie, as they had not yet realized their full potential as owners of vaginas. I told you I set a good example.

(I later found out that this one girl said to someone else that she didn't believe that I'd nailed him. Whore. I sent Hussy-In-Training out after her to inform her of the evidence of the sex hair.)

Weightlifter had to leave that evening. We managed to eat lunch and dinner together, and we walked around the campus during one of my breaks. It was nice enough. I escorted him to his car when he was leaving, gave him a hug and a kiss good-bye, and he assured me that we'd get together in another month.

I returned home from the conference feeling better than I had while driving up. I got home, unpacked my stuff, and then got a phone call from Dr. ManDiva. He asked if I wanted to go out that night, and I told him I was tired from the drive. Dr. ManDiva does not readily take no for an answer, and I finally relented. I kept him on the phone while I was getting ready, and I told him about my exploits with Weightlifter.

As I was filling him in, I wandered over to my computer and saw that I had the most evidence indication of social interactions of our generation: the facebook friend request. I squealed in excitement, and with my friend still on the phone, I went to go check out Weightlifter's profile.

Dr. ManDiva will back me up on this one - I almost cried. Weightlifter appeared to be functionally illiterate. Oh dear. Things only got worse as I read on. Under "favorite books", he had written "i dont read books, only music and magazines". Eeek. This was...this was not good. I closed the window and tried to push away what I had just seen with memories of his naked body.

Time passed, and we chatted a bit via AIM. Conversations with him reminded me of what my high school band teacher had said about those who go for degrees in musical performance - schools don't care how smart you are as long as you can play your instrument and you have a pulse. I fought to ignore the prolific use of "ur" from someone who was five years older than me, and assumed correctly that "there/their/they're" was simply out of the question. I don't remember seeing any evidence that he knew punctuation existed. Despite these near-painful interactions, we still made plans to get together when he came down for his weightlifting competition.

As I was young, poor, and getting ready to start grad school, I still lived with my parents. (That was probably partially responsible for the dry spell.) But as luck would have it, they were planning on going away on vacation the weekend of the competition. Again, I remain firmly convinced that God wanted me to have sex, and who was I to go against His wishes?

I drove to the next county over and prepared to watch the competition. I instantly regretted not bringing a book, as it was not all that exciting. Weightlifter saw me and came over to talk to me for a little while before it was his turn. He came in fourth. No medal for him.

He walked me out to my car, and I gave him directions back to my house. The plan was for him to take the arranged bus back to the dorm where the competitors were staying, shower, pack his stuff, and come over. It seemed like an excruciatingly long wait, but he eventually arrived.

We went out to dinner at one of the few restaurants that was still open at that time. I don't know if it was because he was tired, or because my perceptions had been colored by his inability to string together coherent words in a written medium, or because we knew we were just passing time again before the anticipated sex, but it was a little awkward. We finished dinner and went to the bar where Dr. ManDiva worked and hung out there for a little while before returning home. More idle smalltalk, a little TV-watching, and we headed upstairs to get down to business.

I'm not going to lie, the sex was still phenomenal. It's funny how you're willing to forget that proper nouns are supposed to be capitalized and that apostrophes actually exist when you're being pounded into a mattress. We thoroughly exhausted ourselves once more, and as space was limited, I relented to spending the night in the same bed with him.

I had to work my shitty mall job the next day, so we got up, showered, ate breakfast, and then prepared to leave. I told him how to get back to the highway to get home, and we said our good-byes. He called me when I was almost at the mall to tell me he had a great time and we'd talk again soon.

And then it just sort of fizzled out from there. We never saw each other again. In December, I made plans to go back upstate to visit friends and crash on Hussy-In-Training's floor, and we sort of tried to coordinate a meeting...but it never happened. It's probably for the best. Though he had managed to alleviate my sexual frustration (and how!), I was becoming frustrated with him when we had our clothes on, and that's really not good. Don't get me wrong, different people are useful for different things, and it's rare that you can find one person who can provide everything you could possibly need...but after that, I developed a stronger appreciation for the most important organ:

The brain.

(I know that's a sentence fragment and I don't give a shit.)