WARNING!! Story contains male on male oral sex If this is not your cup of tea then don’t read this story!
(Fuck world is an alternate ‘time line’ just like ours but with one major exception, in fuck world there are no STD’s or aids or any other type of disease that might be harmful to a person that has sex with multiple partners who exchange bodily fluids.) Safe sex is an orgy in a bank vault.
It was Sunday and I stopped by my local sports bar to watch the game. I enjoy watching my team with other fans rather than sitting home alone. I grabbed a stool at the bar next an older gentleman that I had never seen in there before. I’m an established patron if this particular watering hole and it’s a small place, so I know most if not all of the regulars.
Now when I say older I’m talking relative to me. I am twenty-nine and I would guess that he is in his late thirty’s or early forty’s. I nodded hi to him and all I got in return was some irritable mumbling.
I usually arrive at the bar about an hour before the game even if it isn’t an important contest and in my team’s case none of their games in the last four or five years could be classified as important.
I’m a Miami Dolphin fan. My dad was a Dolphin fan and therefore by extension I became a Dolphin fan. The difference is that he became a fan back in the early seventy’s when they had their undefeated season. It was good to be a Fins fan back then during the time they were kicking everyone’s ass.
When Marino became quarterback the Fins were still a team that was in the playoffs almost every year, but since Shula and Marino left, Miami has mostly been mediocre at best. Things this year look promising, but then again, I have said that before only to be sourly disappointed.
I looked at the guy next to me. He seemed upset and about half hammered. He was drinking shots of Wild Turkey and chasing it with beer. Three of those and I would be on the floor. Cheryl the cute little bar maid whispered to me that he was on his fifth round. She figured a couple more and she was going to have to pour him into a cab.
Me, being the social type, decided to strike up a conversation. What was there to lose. I had an hour to kill.
I stuck my hand out and said. “Hi, I’m Bill Hanson.”
He looked at me like I had just interrupted his conversation with the president of the United States. Then some small recognition entered into his eyes and he limply took my hand and mumbled, “Tom Williams.”
“I haven’t seen you around here before Tom. Did you come to see the game?”
“The Dolphins and the Bills.”
He snorted and responded. “That ought to be a fucking barn burner.” He quipped sarcastically.
Well at least he knew something about football.
I sipped my beer and waited to see if he would continue the conversation or if he planned to let the Turkey drown his sorrows. After sever moments of listening to the talking heads on the TV he said.
“Yah know what I think?”
Ok, I thought, Tom here is going to expound on some deep philosophical question and solve some of the world’s most pressing problems.
“What do you think Tom?”
“If it weren’t for pussy ... the female half of the human race would not have survived. They would have been killed off hundreds of years ago.
I laughed. “I assume you’re married.”
“Twenty one fucking years.” He moaned. “Yesterday she walked up to me, looked me in the eye and said. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore.’ Right out of the fucking blue. I had no clue. I actually thought things were going pretty well.”
“Ouch!” I commiserated.
“They should warn us.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The fucking government! They should put a fucking label right above their hole. ‘Caution Pussy is hazardous to your health.’ Not may be, not could be, but IS ... hazardous. The label should also read, ‘Pussy is linked to insanity, heart attacks and depression. Pussy kills.’ That’s what it should fucking say. Shit, they do it with cigarettes. Not that we stupid bastards would swear off fucking as a nasty habit. You think they could make a patch to keep us from fucking pussy?”
While I was pretty much in agreement with Bill’s assessment of the vagina, I still thought there was at least one or two out there without teeth. That brought to mind the vision of an old lady without her dentures. I shook that nasty assed thought from my head.
I could commiserate with my new friend. My wife dumped me a little over a year ago and I still wasn’t quite over her. Despite my loss and Tom’s opinion, I didn’t think that more than ninety six percent of adult cunts were dangerous. That left around four percent that might have redeeming value. Now under aged vaginas is another matter entirely, not so much because of the pussy but because of the law.
I smiled at his wit and gave him my best optimistic theory. “Maybe you just got a bad one. You know, like an under cooked chicken wing.”
That seemed to cheer him up.
“Chuckling he said. “Oh fucking youth, their invulnerable.”
I sure didn’t feel invulnerable when Sally ripped my heart out. My problem was, well that is incorrect. ONE of my problems is that I still wasn’t sure why she left me. It seemed like the sex was good. My size didn’t seem to be an issue. I was above average, at least that’s what Wikipedia said, and when I sometimes bottomed out in her she told me it hurt.
According to her friends there wasn’t another guy waiting in the wings. Of course, they might not be telling the truth, but I never saw any evidence of infidelity.
At one point during a particularly intense argument she let fly with a scathing barb about my seeming lack of ambition, but I chalked that up to just anger in the heat of the moment, because I was making good money and the powers that be were singing my praises. The last thing she said to me was.
“Dale, if you don’t know why, then I’m not going to be the one to tell you!” Then she stomped out.
That was the last time I saw her. She went home to Denver and I stayed in Ft. Lauderdale. We had the good sense not to have children and we rented, therefore we had little property to split. So in a puff of smoke, she was no more.
I still remembered how bad I felt that day and that was after only three years of marriage. I could only guess at the pain my Wild Turkey loving friend was going through.
“Did she say why?” I asked.
“She hinted at some kind of personality conflict in the bedroom.” He shrugged.
“Personality conflict? After twenty-one years? What the fuck does that even mean?” I asked amazed that I had become this emotional over HIS problems.
“Beats the shit out of me.”
“Why now? She must have known this problem was an issue before now. I mean twenty-one years for God’s sake.” I was feeling indignant for him. It was an odd feeling. I rarely got emotional. Everyone always said that I was the most emotionally stable person that they knew.
Tom looked at me through squinted eyes. It was like he wasn’t sure he was talking to the right person.
He shrugged again and said. “She said she didn’t want to leave until the kids were out and on their own. The last one left for college two weeks ago.”
I felt my annoyance at Tom’s wife fading. It really wasn’t any of my business anyway.
“Well,” I said. “Look at the bright side, better now than ten or fifteen years from now. I mean you’re still relatively young and healthy. I assume your libido is strong, besides there’s always Viagra.”
He snorted. “Shit son, I’m already horney enough, if I took that shit I would probably be in jail for raping half the women in this county.”
The conversation paused. I thought about my sex drive, according to Sally she could have done with more sex, but she wanted me to initiate it.
Tom ordered another round and bought me another beer while he was at it.
“No,” He mused. “I think I’m going to swear off women and find an apartment next to a couple of gay guys and they can take turns sucking me off and every once and awhile I will fuck their asses for a change of pace.
.... There is more of this story ...