The Over-Educated Nympho

I’ve met many guys who have named their cocks. Sometimes the name is normal, or at least not weird, and sometimes the name is very very weird. I shared one of my favorite WTF stories as the Friday Fellatrix on The Fellatrices blog, a site dedicated to all things blowjob. I figured I’d mix it up by throwing in something funny among all the hot and sexy.

Check out my latest post, Marco? Polo!

For those of you have encountered many a strange wang name (or named yours something special), please share it with us in the comments over at the Fellatrix site.

After a lot of anticipation (intimidation, fine, shut up), I finally had sex with The Marine tonight. Or attempted to have sex. No, it wasn’t the Superdick specifically that halted our efforts, it was The Marine’s lack of proper protection.

Dude. They teach this shit in Boy Scouts, and I’m sure they teach it in the marines: ALWAYS BE PREPARED. That means if you have a super-sized schlong, you buy super-sized condoms. DUH. You can’t make the square peg fit in the round hole either, Mr. Midvale School For the Gifted.

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I think all the naked time is getting to me. Clogging the brain. Blinding me. I can barely function as a normal human being. Of course this also happened when I went long periods without getting laid, so go shut the hell up.

And now I have to go to work? Seriously? I’m sorry Mr. Boss Man, but if you want me to get any work done you’re going to have to pry the cock out of my mouth and I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THAT YOU DON’T DO THAT. You know how animal mothers go all ape-shit crazy when someone goes after their young? I’M THAT WAY WITH COCK. LEAVE ME AND ALL THE PRETTY COCKS ALONE.

Last night I came home at two thirty in the morning with two perfectly defined hand prints on my ass. How can a girl expect to concentrate under these circumstances? IT CAN’T BE DONE.

When you start dating or sleeping with someone, it seems natural that you would take each other to your places. Apparently I am freakishly protective over my apartment, because I have no desire to bring back Jazz Man or The Marine to my apartment.

Maybe it’s the clutter, the messy kitchen, my two clit-blocking dogs, or maybe I just like to keep certain things private. Like fundamental parts of my personality.

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Call me a dirty whore, but I love it when a guy cums on my face. I think there is nothing hotter or more animal than a guy hovering above me with a hard cock about to shoot his load. When he cums on my face I lick it all up, and if any goes on my tits I rub it all over my skin. I’ve been that way since I gave my first blowjob at fifteen.

As Jazz Man made clear, not many girls feel that way. Last week he gave me a very long and impassioned speech on how much he has wanted to cum on a girl’s face, but has rarely been accommodated. I politely waited for him to finish talking (the poor guy obviously needed to vent), and then I said, “I’ll do my very best to make up for what you’ve been missing out on.”

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Within minutes of walking in The Marine’s apartment on Wednesday, he gave me a present. On our first date I had mentioned that I love collecting weird little things for my desk at work, and I could tell he was storing that information in the “ways to make Vix happy” mental filing cabinet somewhere between close the door when you pee and always have chocolate in apartment.

So yesterday I was delighted when he handed me a cute little box covered in cartoon elephants and lions. It said ANIMAL KINGDOM in bright letters across the box.

“What is it?” I asked, assuming it was a toy of some sort. Then I read in the corner “bubblegum flavored.”

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This evening I went over to The Marine’s apartment to “not watch a movie.” Without being cramped into the front seat of a car, we were able to have a lot more fun. Now let me just say–

Wow. The Marine has the biggest cock I have ever seen in my life. When he pulled down his boxers my jaw dropped to the floor.

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The other day I got a letter from my apartment complex saying that my lease will be up soon and I have ten days to decide if I want to keep it. The rent hike they listed for short- and long-term renewal was insane. It was over a 30% rent increase, which they had the hairy balls to state as “a reduced rate for new complex-wide upgrades.” A 30% rent increase? On top of the high rent already? Surely the upgrade is a second bedroom, right? Or it comes with a live-in maid/cook? Or a SEX SERVANT IMPORTED FROM THAILAND?!

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I’m sick. I’m fucking sick. I felt a sore throat early this morning when I was coming back from Jazz Man’s place, but I assumed it was because I was really tired and had enjoyed a much-needed mouthful of cock all night long.

Sleeping for only two hours didn’t help, because I felt worse when I woke up. At work I felt crappy and looked pouty so my boss sent me home.

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Tonight I went over to Jazz Man’s for an evening of food, laughter, and sex. There was one talk in particular we needed to have. He got serious. I knew exactly where this was going. I had been wanting to talk about it too.

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Tonight I went to the bar where I knew Jazz Man would be playing. I arrived late, but Jazz Man was not there. Unusual, considering he is typically on time if not early. I sat alone at the bar and hoped he would arrive soon.

I ordered a drink and waited.

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Last week my parents decreed that Saturday be a family day. This wouldn’t be a big deal if my brothers and I didn’t live all over Texas, which is one big-ass fucking state. We are all driving to the city where Big-Little Brother lives and spending the day together. It would be as lovely as a field of sequin-covered leprechauns except for the fact that I’M TRYING TO GET LAID. Tonight, specifically.

It has been seven months of diddly fucking squat plus two weeks of playful teasing, and I refuse to let a game of Monopoly with my family jeopardize my shot at multiple orgasms with a guy whose tongue is capable of uncanny ability.

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