Ramblings From an Apathetic Adult Baby

From Justin Gawel: Eccentric Dirtbag

Monthly Archives: September 2012

Erotic Fiction: The Fool Triumphant [2/2]

–We rejoin our hero on his figurative precipice, about to dive into the graphic description of last night’s sexual encounter in which no detail is too trivial to not mention.

 

“She invited me up to her place,” Milton continued, “It didn’t matter that it was below freezing out or that her heat had been turned off at her apartment; I had enough warm wang to thaw an igloo.  One look at my demeanor, or the demeanor of my penis, and you would know that Milton Honeysnickle was ready to jam his beef log in some of that stinky, Kellenberger cookie.”

 

The orcs destroying the sleepy town of Djallenfjord in the group’s game of Dungeons and Dragons would have to wait to be vanquished; this traveling party had more pressing things on their plate at the moment; Milton carried on with his tale of conquest, “We go back to her room and I rip her clothes off with such force that they’re reduced to mere rags, suitable for nothing more except maybe cleaning clogged drains in pubic schools.  I plunge my face into that bushy badger’s nest she was sporting and I start licking those meat curtains like I’m devouring a Subway Cold Cut Combo.  Each stroke from my tongue is more aggressive than the last; rattling that clitoris like it’s a die in a Yahtzee shaker in a game played by Parkinson’s patients during an earthquake.  She was almost there, but I stop, because my forceful licks are starting to break skin.

 

The group is in awe at this point; Milton has them at full attention.  He knows they are hanging on to every moist detail of his story.  “I took my mouth out of her pube forest and stood up.  My steel girder of a bulge was testing the strength of the button on my jeans and when I tried to remove the pants the button shot off into the corner of room and lodged itself in the skull of her roommate’s cat.  I froze momentarily, worried a dead animal could kill the mood, but she quickly reassured me, “Hey, when you’re done lodging things in that pussy I see something of yours I like to lodge in my pussy.”  She had given me the green light and I wasted no time pulling out my junk as I imagined myself lighting a cigarette and saying a cool-guy tagline.

 

Nerdenkrantz’s misgivings had been silenced, as he too sat, rapt with excitement hanging on every word out of Milton’s mouth.  “My wang blazed a trail through her thicket of dark stringy hairs and before long my battering ram was knocking down the doors to the infamous Kellenberger lady bits.  At this point I just start using that battering ram of a dong I’ve got to just fully hammer her slop hole.  Like a pneumatic nail gun; I’m just firing and reloading over and over again as the bed frame and walls begin to rattle causing picture after picture to crash to the floor covering the dead cat in a layer of broken glass and precious Kellenberger family memories.”

 

Milton leaned forward and drew the crowd in, “Now this is when it’s kicked up a level,” he teased, “After about five minutes of that I bend her right leg up and start going at it, essentially hitting the NOS on my sex drive. She let out a little yelp, like a dog that had been accidentally stepped on, as I can tell my thrusts are shaking her internal organs like she’s on some unsafe carnival ride.  Well, guess what, bitch, you are on an unsafe ride and his name is Milton Honeysnickle.”

 

“It was after then I pulled her leg back farther to try to get even deeper.  It was here that I thought her leg felt like ligaments were popping, but she didn’t care.  She was too busy trying to repress her screams to keep from straining her vocal cords while still attempting to keep herself conscious through the extreme g-forces being exerted on her.  I heard a cracking sounds and worried that her leg was breaking, but I realized that it was just the box spring starting to splinter under my domineering force.  Good work, Sealy, way to not make a box spring that couldn’t handle my Saturday night.”

 

“She was nearing, yet another, bone-rattling and mind-shattering orgasm and she repressed her pleasure shrieks long enough to get out an “Oh God, oh God,” to which I simply replied, “Hey, baby, I’m here, but you don’t have to call me God, you can just call me Milton.”  She nodded as if she understood, but I doubt anyone could hear much over the sound of me furiously entering and exiting her while my jackhammering of her flesh cavern continued.”

 

The room had become hotter and the boys clenched their fists in an attempt to draw their attention away from their arousal.  “As I neared my big finish,” Milton progressed, “The decision to pull out wasn’t made out of worry that she would get pregnant; it was more of a concern for that the monstrous power of my load might damage her cervix or possibly even her small intestine.  I wanted to go for round two in a bit and that was going to be tough if I she had a bunch of internal bleeding.  I decided blast my cock cream into the closest thing I could find, which happened to be a blanket that looked pretty old, very handmade, and looked to contain the most sentimental value.  Since I couldn’t find anything else, and I didn’t want to risk anymore structural damage to the room, I pulled out a few thrusts later and released my floodgates into this personal item of Kelly’s at a PSI pressure level that was enough to rupture a sewer line.

 

“Was she mad,” Nerdenkrantz wondered.  “No,” Milton responded, “The blanket was destroyed beyond recognition, but that’s what two gallons of hot goo shot at a dangerously high velocity can do.  She probably didn’t even realize it; she had never experienced anything like that before in her life and if she didn’t care about a dead cat I’m guessing she wouldn’t care about a ruined blanket.  For the next twenty minutes she just lied there while I made a sandwich and ate it while I took a dump in her bathroom.  After that she was able to gather the strength to actually sit up in bed, which revealed that she had acquired massive rug burns all over her back.  It was a learning moment for both of us as we both could recognize and appreciate that Milton Honeysnickle creates a lot of friction when he fucks.”

 

“Was that it, man,” Nerdenkrantz asked, begging for there to be more to the epic.  “Well, after that, we stayed up until about seven in the morning and did the deed about three more times.  We both fell asleep very satisfied at that point; then I woke up at her place around noon and took the bus home.”

 

The group remained stunned, still trying to wrap their minds around Milton’s experience.  They slowly moved into their Dungeons and Dragons game for the week and the rest of the night went smoothly and predictably.  However, from that point forward Milton was no longer the butt of any verbal jabs or cutting remarks and the group began to go back to picking on each other for other reasons.

 

Of course Milton’s story was completely fake since in actuality he had spent his Saturday night going to a small house party, drinking a fifth of vodka, and attempting to give a very clammy and non-consensual back rub to the host’s seventeen-year old sister who was up visiting college.

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Erotic Fiction: The Fool Triumphant [1/2]

The perpetually awkward and overly self-conscious Milton Honeysnickle had never been very successful in dating world.  At age twenty-two he had nothing to show to his name except a few half-kisses he tried to force into whole kisses and a certain right thigh of Ms. Amelia Chalmers that he had befouled during a rather vigorous dance number during his Junior Prom.  The incident was the last time that Amelia spoke to Milton; no matter how hard he tried to convince her that it was a “crime of passion”.

 

Five years, zero women, and a load of furious beat sessions removed from that event and Milton was halfway through his senior year of college with no prospects on his horizon.  His band of friends in college were all initially uncomfortable with the fairer sex, but all except Milton had managed to get down to brass tax, so to speak, with a lady at some point during their college experience.  Even Nerdenkrantz, the rascal of the group, had stories from a Spring Break filled with  “orgasmic delights” as he described that, after hearing his tales, could all be accurately described as “mildly consensual”.

 

In reflections like this that Milton wondered if his high school guidance counselor was being one hundred percent truthful when he said that majoring in mechanical engineering will have you “waist-deep in white bitches.”

 

The ridicule had started about a year ago from the group.  While, initially, the group, aware of their lacking erotic experience, had shied away from poking fun at each other’s celibacy, but as of late, and with the late blooming of several of them, the ribbing of the sexually inactive had begun.  Typically, it would happen on Sunday night during their weekly Dungeons and Dragons game.  It had started gradually, but as of late the frequency of the insults directed at the less “seasoned” group members had increased, particularly at Milton who had the least amount of experience points in the sexual realm.   His friends became ruthless, letting every insult from “Unfit to Wield His Magic Missile” to “Level Fifteen Super Virgin” rain down upon the hapless Milton.

 

Week after week Milton took the abuse.  His friends, aware of Milton’s sensitivity about the issue, continued to prod him, getting more and more of a reaction out of Milton each week. “Play the victim and you will be the victim,” they said as they departed each Sunday night while they left Milton alone in his basement to speculate on the quantity and the quality of handjibbers they’d be receiving from their respective ladies upon returning home.

 

Sunday rolled around and the jesting began at Dungeons and Dragons; first because their party encounter a group of very silly bards that spoke only in insults and riddles, but second because the group had begun making fun at Milton rather early in the night.  Uncharacteristically, Milton kept his composure.  The group, not used to the lack of response, was stunned while Milton calmly took their abuse, picked up the die, and assumed the floor.

 

“Your little quips, your yuks, your japery, they no longer affect me.  You see, gentlemen, I met a girl, no—I met a woman last night.  And after some conversing we journeyed back to her place and I gave her a taste of the ol’ Honeysnickle and she lapped it up like she was a ravenous and unrestrained mother grizzly.”

 

The room went silent.  They wanted details and Milton knew it.  His captive audience was holding on his every breath and, briefly, he debated reverting to saying “a gentleman never tells”.  However, unlike the general public, within this company that line is a red flag that there was no raunchy details to divulge. In all likelihood that line is employed in this company to signal that there was no erotic conquest to reveal and that the story content of the previous night includes a disastrous interaction with a girl coupled with a description of late night nachos and a fat jerk-off sesh; which, and I think you’ll agree, are hardly the topics gentlemen should be conversing over.

 

Vindication was necessary; Milton knew the insults wouldn’t stop if he didn’t give them any bread to go with that Bit-O-Honey he hooked them with.

 

“I may have been a little late to the party when it comes to sex, but, and I assure you, my entrance was well received.  Well received by the tight pink goop chute of a Ms. Kelly Kellenberger.”

 

“Pfff, really, Kelly Kellenberger?” Nerdenkrantz dismissed skeptically.

 

“Fine,” replied Milton, “if you’re don’t believe me I guess you guys don’t need to know—,” but before he could finish his thought the group protested that he finish the story.

 

“Alright, easy, easy, I’ll get you junkies your fix,” Milton answered as he took a swig of his drink and settled back into his chair.  “It started as just an impromptu exchange.  She had just broken up with her high-school boyfriend after being with him the first three years of college and she really wanted to talk about herself.  She was leaving the party and we exchanged numbers, out of politeness I thought.  However, it was but not an hour later when I received a text that read, “Hey, you’re hot and my friend totally wants to jam that dick of yours in her fuzz box.”  Now, even though part of my brain told me it was a prank I could still feel my weiner perk up, but it wasn’t until she texted again with, “P.S. I’m my friend, ” that my sleeping giant in my pants was fully roused.”

 

 

 

—Will Milton seal the deal?  Will his friends actually believe his story? What conquests will their Dungeons and Dragons party encounter?  Who is Milton Honeysnickle’s real father?  Tune in next week and find out!

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