"I don't want to go to that stupid Praetorian party tonight."
"But it's the big event in town. A fundraiser for sick orphans. 8000 people show up every year."
"I don't care. It's boring to just stand around and watch people get drunk and act stupid."
"I do that every night."
"That's why I've been talking about divorce lately."
"Bah! Come on! The theme is Greek. We're all going to wear togas."
"You don't have a toga."
"I do too."
"Don't tell me you're using one of our good, high-thread sheets."
"We can always wash it."
"Fine. Fine. Go get drunk and stagger around. Wear our bed linen to the stupid Praetorian party in honor of sick orphans. I don't care. Just don't fuck any girls."
"What if I get a blow job?"
"Only if she's fat."
"How fat?"
"170 pounds or more."
"Nice! I'll look for a 6 foot 3 volleyball babe."
"No. She has to be 5 foot 4 or shorter."
"Why?"
"Simple. A fat girl won't expect you to fall in love with her. And I know you. You don't like them fat."
"Yeah, but... it's still a blow job."
"I don't care what you do, physically. I just don't want you to become emotionally involved with another woman. That's cheating."
"Let me get this straight. Because there's no chance getting my dick sucked by a fat girl will lead to my falling in love, or her getting her hopes up, it's ok?"
"Yes. It's no different than masturbating. You don't fall in love with your hand."
"What! That's crazy!"
"No it's not. Getting a blow job without emotional involvement is the same as jerking off into someone's mouth."
"And I do have to jerk off sometimes. It all builds up like piss and shit. You got to get it out or you'll get sick."
"That's why men and women are so different. Women see sex as something more elevating than taking a morning dump."
"It's necessary and it feels good to squirt it out."
She sighed and changed the subject. With arms akimbo, she asked, "When are you leaving?"
"Not sure. Ronald is going to come pick me up sometime before 7:00 pm.
"Fine. I'm going to the gym. Have fun. Don't wake me up when you get home. I hate it when you stagger into the house past midnight, climb into bed stinking of booze, wanting to fuck."
The old lady exited the scene in her workout shorts and tennis shoes. She still had a nice ass at 40. The front door opened. She said goodbye.
"Goodbye."
The front door shut.
I hurried to the laundry room, stripped off all my clothes, and threw them into a pile on the floor, right beside the empty hamper. I raced to the linen closet, yanked out the best white, king-sized sheet I could find, draped it over a single shoulder, and fashioned the thing into the formalwear of the gods. A toga.
The doorbell rang.
I opened the door.
There stood Ronald, likewise in a white toga. 6'3" and more than 300 pounds. A full head of black hair. He looked good, even though he only had a few years to live. Inoperable brain tumor and fuck chemo. He was smoking a cigarette. Something was odd about his outfit. He was wearing a black belt around his obese waist.
"God damn, Johnny. You look like a balding Hercules with hairy shoulders in that toga. How'd you make it look like the real thing?"
"Threw it over my shoulder and tied a few ends. Got lucky I guess."
"Shit. I had to put on a belt to hold mine together. The biggest sheet I could find was queen-sized. I needed just a tad more material."
" I'm wearing a queen too. But you're a bigger man."
"You wearing any underwear?"
"No. You?"
"No."
"Got a cigarette?"
"Yeah, smokes and a 6er of cold ones are in the car. Let's go!"
We drove across town in Ronald's 1994 Caravan, drinking beer, smoking, shooting the shit, and laughing out loud all the way.
"Old lady said it was o.k. to get a blow job from another girl, if she's fat."
"No shit?"
"No shit."
"How fat?"
"170 or more."
"Shit, find a girls' basketball team."
"There's a height restriction. I asked. Can't be taller than 5 foot 5."
"Well, the good news is the fat girls will come to you if all you do is smile."
We arrived at the packed ballpark parking lot. Guys waving orange glow sticks directed us to a parking place. On foot we crossed the lot with tickets in hand. The noise of the event, the lights, the commotion, the smell of beer and cigarettes, the band playing in the outfield, the toga-adorned bodies packed together, some dancing to the music, others circling or standing in groups, the empty plastic 12oz cups littering the ground, the carnival games, at least 8000 people, and at least 40 green porta-potties lined up side-to-side in a long row along the left field bleachers, sheriff's officers in pairs, watching over the situation.
"This party is going to get wild."
"Yeah."
"Let's grab a few beers and walk around."
"Alright."
"Wow, did you see the tits on that girl?"
"Which one? I've seen a shitload of cleavage already."
"You have a point. This toga thing was a good idea."
"All the proceeds go to sick orphans."
"Yeah."
And so we circled about the perimeter, getting eyefuls for several hours. Each time we did a round, we stopped for another beer at the beer stand. Every two rounds or so, we stopped at the porta-potties, waited in line with a crowd of people holding their knees together to keep the piss in until it was their turn to enter and open up. It stank of piss, shit, and beer, and loud music. One girl jumped at her turn when one unit's green polyurethane door swung open and banged shut, but she didn't realize two girls had gone in and only one had come out. She came running back fast.
"Oh my god! I thought it was empty! I just looked in and saw this girl's bare ass and a tampon string hanging down from it! I'm going to be sick!"
"You should have given the string a pull."
So we walked around some more. Rather, we staggered after a while. Drank some more beer. Ran into people we knew from here and there, here and there.
"Hey Ronald! Where you been man?"
"Hey Johnny! You seen Larry lately?"
"How's work?"
"You still writing those crazy, fucked-up stories?"
"I saw your ex-wife the other day. She was with some really old dude. He was driving a new Jaguar."
"Was that my first ex or my second one?"
"You have two ex wives?"
"Yeah."
"You never told me that, you old dog!"
It all blended into beer, circling around, pissing after waiting in line, being dragged into the dancing mob beneath the band by women we've never met, circling, pissing, drinking more beer, laughing, smoking cigarettes. Ronald disappeared. It had to be past midnight, and I was wrestling with consciousness, leaning against a post for balance.
"Hey!"
It was a fat girl. Blond, giant swollen tits, 5 foot 4 at best. Young, and at least 180 pounds. Her pretty face made up for her apple-shaped body.
"Hey."
"I couldn't resist your smile."
"Being drunk makes me grin."
"Do you want to dance?"
"Sure, but I might have to lean on you to keep my balance."
And so we danced. I found the energy and balance somewhere. Can't remember what we talked about, but I jumped around a lot. We made a lot of eye contact and exchanged many smiles, yelled into each other's ears to get past the music, but we still couldn't hear anything. Then the slow songs came, and we embraced tightly. I sprang a hard-on and it pressed through the fabric of our togas and into her swollen, soft belly.
Next thing I knew, we'd abandoned the band and had found a secluded place behind the row of porta-potties and the grandstand. It was dark back there and it stank of piss and shit, and beer, and muffled music. Through the thin polyurethane walls we could hear coughing, banging, vomiting, farting, and pissing.
The fat girl dropped down and disappeared from sight just after getting spit all over my face. She'd not only tongue-fucked my mouth like a maniac, she'd even sucked at the end of my nose, earlobes, chin, and eyelids with her eager, thick lips for a while. I leaned back against the grandstand as the hem of my toga was lifted up out of the way. I felt cold air rush against my exposed thighs. I grunted out, as if in pain, to the shock of having my flesh so abruptly vacuumed up, but I quickly adjusted. If only my hand were so engulfing, hot, and swallowing! It seemed I had entered the vagina of Aphrodite. I didn't hold on for long before cutting loose. Her wiggling a finger into my ass really sped things up. My violent eruption came just as someone plopped down and farted just a few feet away, on the other side of the polyurethane. Despite the force of my spewing, the fat girl didn't budge or let up until all the swelling had subsided, until even the residue had been forcefully suctioned into her stomach for digestion.
The hem of my toga dropped and the warmth came back over my thighs.
The fat girl stood up and smiled. "I really wanted to do something nice for you. No other guy has shown me so much attention in a long time."
I still couldn't remember her name, or if we'd even exchanged names in the first place.
I almost said, "I love you." But I didn't, even though I was very drunk.
She stood on her tiptoes and pecked me on the cheek. "Thanks for supper Hercules!" As if with dainty step upon billowing clouds, she turned and ran off giggling. So light on her feet did she seem, and full of glee.
Post a Comment