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I quickly discovered appropriate cum dispensers–tissues or printer paper–once I realized masturbation was there to stay, and when I realized how good the feeling of these newfound wet orgasms felt. I thought it was so cool feeling those little sacs of fat when I got my hands on a real set of boobs. I remember the girl lying on her back, looking at me curiously, and smiling.

I continued to smile and talk about how cool I thought her make-up and black clothes were. Her asshole muscles were weak, and a minute later she was screaming (in pleasure I hoped). No girl had ever asked me to take a shower with her mid-fuck, but I said okay anyway. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, however, and we got up headed to the bathroom.

After a half hour of feeding her this shit, we took off. In my bathroom, I scrounged through the cabinets in a horny frenzy. Although I had seen K-Y jelly at the supermarket here and there, I never had the balls to buy it for nights like this because I was secretly worried about what the store clerk would think of me. Luckily, my other roommate had some after-shave gel. I didn’t want Tracy to see my failed attempt at finding an adequate lube. I was ass-fucking her missionary at the time, and when I pulled out, I heard a slow rumbling farting noise. It was kind of like hearing a motorcycle four blocks away slowly coming to a stop. She got in first and turned on the shower immediately.

Before Penthouse Letters, I began masturbating in the fifth grade to imaginary images of looking up a girl’s skirt.

Whomever I had a crush on at the time would wind up as my jerk-victim.


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