My Freaky Night With Tori

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Nice Move


I pulled up to the front of the sorority house and waited for Tori, my date for the evening. We had never met, but I was optimistic after her girlfriend who set us up showed me Tori’s Instagram pictures and told me about her love of South Park, her hatred of singing shows, and her past as a high school dance team captain. My phone buzzed.

“Be right out wefhbqwu”

The random string of letters must have meant she was excited.

When meeting a girl in person for the first time, a brief moment of anxiety always sets in right before face-to-face interaction. Sure, she looked great online, but filters and strategic camera angles can be deceiving. What if she was hiding something via the veil of social media — like a lazy eye, or a weird facial mole, or an absorbed fetal twin fused to the back of her head that shouts racial slurs at passersby? Then, the bright red doors of the sorority house swung open.

My worries dissolved instantaneously. Standing in the doorway atop a cascade of white stairs, she looked like a goddess descending from the heavens. She closed the door behind her, shouted, “FUCKERS!” and made her way to the car. I was puzzled by the sudden outburst.

“Is everything alright?” I said.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Oh…no reason.”

I held open the car door for her and inspected the back of her head as she climbed inside. Nothing but hair. Check.

I struck up conversation as I pulled away from the sorority house and headed for the sushi restaurant. She told me she majored in pre-med because of her love of helping others, but she soon discovered she lacked the steady hands required of an employee in the field, and made the switch to psychology. Then, I decided to show off my sophisticated and expansive musical taste.

“Hey, have you ever heard of Chumbawumba?” I asked.


I was unfamiliar with the Pig Fuckers, but they sounded pretty hardcore, so I threw on my heaviest Metallica. She seemed to dig it, because she started thrashing her head so violently, it looked almost involuntary.

We arrived at the restaurant and took our seats. She reached across the table, rustled my hair, and said she liked how fuzzy it was. I continued to pick her brain.

“So you like the Pig Fuckers, but what’s your favorite band?”

“What what what what.”

“I love Macklemore, too! If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?”


I laughed. This girl had a random yet brilliant sense of humor. I never had a first date where the back-and-forth flowed so smoothly. We talked for a while about her friends and family. I gathered she had some sort of falling out with her father, who she referred to as a “bowl of ass.” I continued to keep the discussion focused on her.

“What’s your favorite holiday?”

“Bitch faggot.”

“You’re right, that was a lame question.”

We had reached the first hiccup of the night. Luckily, the food had arrived just in time to take her attention away from my conversational misstep. She seemed to be enjoying her plate of California rolls until the waitress checked up on us a few minutes later.

“How is the food tonight?”

“FUCKING SHIT,” Tori exclaimed.

I looked sternly at the waitress.

“You heard her. Get her some rainbow rolls instead.”

I was startled by Tori’s forcefulness, and also extremely turned on. There’s something undeniably sexy about a woman who isn’t afraid to tell it like it is.

“You’ve been so sweet to me all night,” Tori said, her cheeks blushing.

Next thing I know, dinner is finished, and we’re making out in my car outside the restaurant. She asked if we could go back to my place. I was about it. She was so eager to get there, she said, “Go go go go go go go go” sporadically throughout the drive.

We reached my room and I laid her down on the bed. Then, we commenced the freakiest, dirtiest sex of my life. I was on top, delivering my signature short, but powerful, thrusts. I asked if she liked it. She backhanded me across the face and shouted, “MEXICO!”

I put her on all fours and started taking her from behind. I pulled her hair and smacked her ass. She called me a “Retard Bucket.”

Then, she pushed me flat on my back and climbed on top. She was riding me, when suddenly every muscle in her body clenched up. But this was no orgasm. This was something different entirely. Her vagina clamped around me with a pressure so violent, it felt as though a third hand hidden inside her uterus had reached down and grabbed me by the shaft. I moaned in ecstasy. Seeing the deed was done, she collapsed on the bed next to me, both of us breathing like dogs locked in a hot car.

“That was incredible,” I said.

“Shit Butler.”

The next day, I saw my fraternity brother on campus. I had to tell someone all about my life changing night with Tori. I ran up to him and spilled the details.

“Dude, that’s fucking insane,” he said. “What’s her name?”

“Tori. She’s in Chi-O.”

“Tori…like, Tourette’s Tori?”

“Ya know, I didn’t catch her last name. But that’s pretty. What is it, French?”

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