Happy Birthday, Brady!

The tinkle of broken glass and drunken laughter fills the air as you reach for the closest empty bottle of Bud Light (buy American!). DD’s hand closes around yours, sending a jolt of desire through your body. He flings the bottle off the balcony at someone he could only assume was a filthy Mexican living in this great country illegally, but really it is just a shitty faggot neighbor who likes to self-tan. DD kisses you roughly and pulls you into his bedroom. He wastes no time in unzipping his Levi jeans and pulling his thick cock out of his American flag boxers. He shoves it down your throat, making you swallow every inch of his country sausage. He pumps away mercilessly, then pulls out and beats you while calling you “Rodney King.” You go back to work on his sweet member as he pulls on his pointy white hood. DD increases his pace as he slams himself into your wide open mouth. He tilts his head up to look at the poster of George W. Bush he has fixed on his ceiling for just these occasions. He winks at it, rams his cock past your lips two more times and pulls out, telling you to get ready for the fireworks. He spurts all over your face, somehow ejaculating red, white and blue; he yells “party in the U.S.A.!”

To My Friend On Her Birthday

Happy birthday, Lila! I love you this much:


His choppy hair brushes your eyelashes as you tenderly kiss him. You move it out of the way so you can peer admiringly into his eyes lined with makeup. He gets a little annoyed because he spent over twenty minutes flat ironing it to its asymmetrical perfection this morning. You get the point and move down his torso, pulling up his black and white striped shirt. You gently kiss his navel, but he shies away because the safety pin piercing he gave himself last week is still quite sensitive. With great difficulty, you undo his studded leather belt with your teeth then begin the arduous task of removing his skin-tight black jeans. After some time and not a little sweat, you peel off the leggings that were beneath the pants. You eye the throbbing bulge of his crotch hungrily and tear off his pink and white women’s-style briefs. His erect cock bursts free and wags at you as you notice his completely shaved pubes and balls. Look at this fucking hipster.

So Wrong

You throw your head back in ecstasy and moan like a wild man. You haven’t gotten a blowjob like this in ages. You lick your lips and grind faster as you work your way toward release. Shoving your pulsing member as far as it will go down the willing throat, you scream as you fill the mouth with your white hot love. You slump back on the bed, sated, while your partner puts the dentures back in her wrinkled mouth. You have never loved your grandmother as much as you do right now.

Goodnight, Moon

This is my effort in response to Brady's short story:

You catch my eye across the restaurant. I nod toward the restroom and you follow me into a stall, locking the door behind us. You waste no time removing my pants and swallowing my cock all the way down. You gag, but I grab you by your hair and won’t let you up for air. You keep gagging, and then you spew vomit all over my junk and my shoes. Is that celery?

Bedtime Story

We were discussing erotic stories and what we don't like about them. I said that I hated when the author created characters and inserted them into existing fictional environments where you are obviously supposed to pretend you are him. This brought my friend to write a short story in the second person (something we find particularly irksome). Here it is in all its concise glory:


You walk into the room and sit down. I approach you and put my hand on your leg. I tell you to close your eyes. You smile trusting me completely. I slowly rub the cool cylinder against your skin. I tell you to open wide. I place the thick barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger. Story over.


Isn't that fantastic?