I try my best to be a humble man whenever possible. I don’t want to be that guy who brags about how much he pulls or how he has the craziest sexual conquests in his fraternity chapter, but there are exceptions. The story I am about to share with you is one of those exceptions.
Before transferring to the biggest party school on the face of the Earth, (Arizona State University, Forks Up, Fuck U of A), I attended a small liberal arts college outside of New York City to play Division III basketball. I know what you’re thinking, and yes: it is glamorous playing sports at a school with a population of roughly 1,400 students and a student section of maybe three people. Needless to say it made me a real ladykiller.
Just kidding, all of the girls at the school were huge feminists and thought that all athletes are dumb, aggressive rapists.
Despite this, my first couple months at the school I got laid a decent amount. The problem with attending a small school, though, is that word gets around fast. Everyone — EVERYONE — knows who you’ve slept with almost immediately. It’s like high school all over again. Because of this, I had pretty much met every potential fuck buddy only two months into the school year. Then winter came, and the campus became drier than the Arabian Desert.
For around four months, I didn’t see, touch, eat, or encounter muff of any quality. I hadn’t experienced a dry streak this bad since my early years of high school, and it was quickly driving me insane. Fortunately, I found an escape plan: I decided to transfer back to my hometown of Tempe, Arizona, a place where a man with some looks and charm could sail the Southern Ocean for a lifetime (and hopefully avoid the Red Sea).
Fast forward to the second to last week of the spring semester and I was ready to pack my things already. However, there was one more social event before the semester came to a close. Every year at the school, there is a formal gala for the students; it’s similar to a fraternity formal but everyone is allowed to attend. While there, I bumped into a girl from the swim team who started to dance with me. Before you know it, we are getting it on in the middle of the dance floor. Although I was enjoying the moment, I quickly froze and realized that this girl had told me about the boyfriend she had been dating for 7 years in some previous conversation we’d had months prior. So, being the gentleman I am, I kindly inquired, “Don’t you have a fucking boyfriend?”
She looked at me, grinned, and responded:
“We are in an open relationship!”
I was in! No more would I have to rely on pictures of Emilia Clark, teen lesbian porn, and the occasional MILF clip here and there. This would be my last hurrah before making my journey to the promised land in the Southwest.
We go into her room and instantly clothes are flying off . She was three years older than me, so I was excited to see what her years of experience would bring to the table. Right before the fun was about to really begin, she stops me.
“So here’s the deal,” she said.
“My boyfriend and I agreed that we are allowed to sleep with other people, BUT there is something we have to do.”
I didn’t know whether to be excited or completely shit-your-pants terrified, but I nodded and she went on.
“In order for us to have sex, you have to agree to do one of three things:
1. We have to film the entire thing.
2. I have to be on the phone with my boyfriend the entire time.
3. I have to Snapchat him throughout the whole experience.”
I was in shock. Every man has to make an important decision a few times in their life, and this was unquestionably one of those times for me. With only moments to decide my fate, I figured one of these choices has to have the least amount of risk. I decided to definitely cut the sex tape option; who knows where that could end up. I also figured the Snapchat route could go poorly, as I don’t want the world to see how small my package is (it’s aptly nicknamed “Los Lonely Boys”).
So I gave in to her demands and, before you know it, she dials her boyfriend’s phone number and we start to get to business.
As fucked up as it was, I have to admit: fucking a girl while she’s on the phone with her boyfriend is pretty empowering. This is what every homewrecker in history, from Yoko Ono, to Angelina Jolie, to Monica Lewinsky… wait, those are all women.
Anyways, I felt a little better knowing I couldn’t hear her boyfriend on the other end… but she literally was riding me while moaning her boyfriend’s name through the phone. Guess that’s what this was all about. It was a surreal experience, but I was so desperate for a nut that I didn’t care. We finished the deed, and we never spoke of it again.
I would later find out that this girl and her boyfriend had quite the relationship history. They met when he was 21 and she was 14. You read that right. If anything, I was saving her from a fucking child predator. I also found out that her boyfriend is a tech whiz from Stanford who makes 100x more money than I ever will. Scrolling through Facebook a few weeks back, I saw photos from their wedding in San Francisco. Hats off to the newlyweds, and I wish them years of happiness. But I pray to God that their children never find out about any of this shit..
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