Truth is stranger than fiction. In the following, the names have been changed.
A hard pecker has no conscience. Office relations slump after a horny boss cannot adhere to three related dictums: Do not put thy rod in thy staff. Do not fish off the company pier. Do not ride the working stock.
Chasing another man's wife is the second cause of stabbings in Southern beer joints. Second to insulting another's bird dog.
My best friend ruined three marriages with three beautiful, nice women, because he could not contain his wanderlust. He calls them Plaintiffs 1, 2, and 3.
I am Ross, cursed, and perhaps blessed, that my pecker, Little Flipper, not only gets hard for the right reasons, but, shall we say, for unusual reasons.
I am nearly forty, once divorced, no kids, slender, athletic, with still a head full of hair and all my teeth. I speak, among other places, at quarterly meetings to a large industry group. These meetings are held at nice resorts in the central and western U.S.
Many beautiful women frequent these resorts. A few are present to attend our meeting or another. More are on vacation with friends or family.
Twelve years ago this past August, I watched a televised game at one of the several bars in the hotel. Vic, a black guy I had met at a meeting in the last quarter, sits next to me. I am familiar with him from his football days. An outside linebacker at a major university, he is drafted, but does not make the pros. Then Vic starts work for a company in our industry.
Twelve years ago, at age twenty-six, Vic is nicely climbing his company ladder. Later he becomes a Regional Manager. Vic attends these things to smooze existing clients and pick up new ones. He attends the full time, three days and nights.
We discuss the game, and eventually his playing days. He still works out almost daily, and claims to still be the same size-6'4", 250 pounds. With sideways glances, I notice that he is muscular, cut, with a small waist, large chest, and powerful arms but not over-developed like a bodybuilder's. He has coal black, flawless skin, and dresses sharply. His handsome face is smooth, hairless. Vic wears a diamond stud earring, which I later notice is not worn in business day time. A shaved head tops him off.
The thought crosses my mind that Vic is likely a lady killer.
Three girls enter, roughly late college or early career age, and sit to our right, 20 or so feet away.
I am a good looking guy, but have never done well hustling women in bars. I watch them. The blonde has perfect features, a dark tan, and is stunning. Little Flipper is on alert.
After a few minutes, Vic wishes me good luck with my speech. He strolls to the ladies. He extends his huge hand. The blonde grins and shakes it. Vic sits down. I leave.
The next afternoon, I encounter Vic at a pool bar. We talk. I am angling to ask how he made out with the blonde. Before I can, the same girl, in a wet bikini, wrapped in a pool towel, sits on Vic's other side. From the body language and whispers, it appears each has made a good friend in the last few hours. Like a limping coyote looking for a piece of meat, I tell Vic goodbye and retreat.
Three months later, at the next quarterly meeting, I see Vic from afar, but do not talk to him.
At the next quarterly meeting, I encounter Vic in the main bar, watching a game. We catch up on industry happenings. We work for competing companies, but have different jobs.
I remind him of the stunning blonde, which I watched him hustle six months earlier. It takes a moment, but he finally recalls her. I ask how he does so well with women. The expected reply is that he is a former football star, good looking, young, and black [rare in these parts].
He looks around. No one is near. He pulls out his billfold. He shows me a photo. Vic is naked. His right arm is resting on a black horse's left flank. His left hand is resting on his hip. Vic's limp cock is almost as big as the horse's. The pic is shot from close to the ground, upward, with Vic looking down at the camera. Being a photography buff, I foolishly ask who took it, and why that angle.
Vic likely has not been asked these questions about this photo before. It throws him off his game, but only for a moment.
"Being well endowed like this helps a lot. What do you think of the photo, Ross?"
This is the first time that a man has shown me a photo of himself naked, and of course, the first time I have been asked to comment.
"How do you tell them up front what you are packing? Do you live by the adage, 'When in doubt, whip it out?'"
Vics smiles weakly at my attempt of humor. "No, I depend on bullshit and being sincerely interested in the lady to get things going. But girls can tell that I'm hung. "
"How?" I ask, really curious.
"Attitude and confidence mainly. And the way I fit my clothes. Some girls don't want a big cock. But most do."
I do not comment. Toting around 5 1/2 inches, how I fit my clothes is not impressing anyone. A few years earlier, with this insight, I might have inserted a sock in front of my briefs.
"Maybe I can get you in a threesome with me and a girl sometime Ross. Would you like that?'
"I can barely handle a twosome. But, if they look like that blonde you picked up in Scottsdale, hell yeah!"
"Would you be my stud pleaser? Would you do that for me, Ross?"
"What is a stud pleaser?'
"For an expensive mare horse, usually a quarter horse in these parts, and mostly thoroughbreds in other places, you control the breeding. A male horse with good blood lines is brought in to breed the horse. Depending on the depth of bloodlines, the stud fees can vary, but are always expensive.
The mare is monitored to determine her peak breeding time. Before the stud horse enters the stall, another male horse, called a stud teaser, is brought near the mare. The sounds and smells of the stud teaser, excites or prepares the mare for optimal breeding. This goes on for a short time. The stud teaser is never given the opportunity to mount the mare. Then the teaser is led out. The stud horse is brought in, mounts the mare and does his thing."
Butterflies in my stomach are swirling. A new challenge is proposed, but Little Flipper votes that he is all in. Vic is a super salesmen and good at reading people. He reads me. But I am not ready to admit I understand.
I ask "What happens to the poor stud teaser, and his unrequited desire for the mare? Sounds cruel."
"After the stud finishes and is led out, the stud teaser is brought to the mare. He licks the dripping semen off the mare."
I'm slow but I ain't stupid. I give him a look that says, really?
Vic laughs. "I am making that part up. That likely does not happen. Probably the stud teaser has to rub up against a fence post or tree to get some relief."
I add, "Or find some shameless hussy out in the pasture that is not too choosy and is closer to a 2 than a 10."
Vic gives me a long, serious look. He gets up. I am turned a little sideways to the table. Vic stands directly in front of me, a little too close, violating my space. He leans and squeezes my shoulder. "Think about it. Good times."
Since then, I have stud teased in eight threesomes for Vic, the black stud horse. Six times he lines up the girl, always a different one. I bring two to him that he finds suitable.
Vic attends these seminars roughly twelve nights and days a year, spread over four meetings. I attend often one night and one day, but sometimes more.
Vic sometimes wants the girl to himself. At least a couple of times that I am aware of, he wants, and gets, two girls to himself. If Vic makes a presentation, or covers for a sick colleague, he may be too busy to think about romance. A couple of times, he thinks he is in love, and takes a vow of chastity. At the next meeting, both times, the black stud horse is prowling again.
Vic does not tell the girl that she will be in a threesome with me. He is cagey. The girl does not always allow it, regardless of how handsome, studly, and persuasive Vic is. But all eight threesomes have been, shall we say, memorable.
Vic prefers girls between 5'1" and 5'7", 120-130 pounds or so. If anything, they should carry a little extra weight-no super skinny types. Average breasts or busty, he has no preference. He does not prefer one hair type or skin tone type over another. He claims to date black girls back home, and his one marriage was to a black girl. But he hustles only white girls at these meetings.
Vic prefers the "clean" recently divorced type, who perhaps has had a limited number of sexual partners. He wants to be both their first black and super-hung guy. But if the girl is attractive enough, he makes an exception. If a stunner, she can come directly from a Black Panther Party grope session.
However, until three years ago, there is one type of girl that Vic had not encountered, at least at one of these meetings.
Our company usually has an office in the city where these meetings are held. That office provides an intern to assist me and sometimes others in conference room set-up, registration [securing as much information as possible on attendees-email addresses, phone numbers, etc. is a big deal], and operating the PowerPoint.
Anne first helped us in this city as a sixteen year-old intern. This was unusually young. Anne is from a wealthy, successful family, and used connections to get the internship, despite her young age. She is ambitious and thinks interning will help her on her chosen path.
This was her fourth year to intern. We small talk. She turned nineteen two weeks earlier. She will be off to college next month. I remember her boyfriend Patrick, who hung around last year. Patrick is maybe 5'7" at best, scrawny with curly hair. He struck me as a rich kid, too. She says they are still together, and would attend the same college. Patrick seemed slightly effeminate. But to be dating Anne, he must be a short pile driver.
Anne is petite, about 5'1" probably in bare feet, about 110 pounds, with above average-sized breasts. She has beautiful features, and olive toned skin. Her medium length dark brown hair is in a twist, behind her head.
Her expensive jewelry outpaces her standard intern attire of khaki pants and royal blue golf shirt.
Anne is proud that she finished third runner-up in the Miss [Her State] pageant earlier that year. Given that most winners are tall girls, she did well to finish that high, but I choose to not remind her. As I write this, I wonder what her talent was.
I ask if she will lead cheers in college, as she did in high school. Her college does not allow freshmen cheerleaders. Hopefully she will her sophomore year, but she reminds me it is very competitive-many girls try out.
As she is setting brochures in front of each chair, Anne starts glancing up often to peer outside at a gaggle of people in the hall. I notice Vic is in the group, talking to a friend of mine. All drift off except Vic and my friend.
Anne gives up multi-tasking and stares in Vic's direction, her head cocked to one side.
I feel the old butterflies. Little Flipper is on red alert. I think perhaps she is familiar with Vic from his football playing days. She says her whole family are big football fans.
"Would you like to meet Vic?" I ask.
She turns to me, surprised, and chuckles. "I already know him."
I am stunned. "How do you know Vic?"
"My first year to intern, he hit on me. Another older intern with us told him I was sixteen. Vic throws up his hands, as to surrender, and starts backing up. 'Sorry, girlie. I didn't know. I apologize. I am out of here!'"
My mind is racing. I make some bad joke about jailbait. Then we talk again about tomorrow's meetings. As we part, I want to know something, but not be obvious in asking about it.
"If you are staying here, traffic in the morning should not be a problem."
Anne looks at me, a little wary. Even still young, she was used to being hit upon. She did not want to admit whether she was staying in this hotel. Perhaps I was working up to asking her to the bar for a drink.
She smiles. "No, traffic will not be a problem."
Interns sometimes stay two or three to a room. If Anne is staying here, and another girl registered, I will never know. Perhaps Anne registered under her name. Since she is from a wealthy family, perhaps she has secured her own room.
It is worth a try. I call the Front Desk and asked the room number for an Anne [Italian last name].
They give me the room number. Hot damn!
I call Vic on his cell. "Vic, do you remember a beautiful intern you hit on here a few years ago. Then they told you she was sixteen?"
"I sure do. That girl is a stone, cold fox! At first I thought she was Minka Kelly, that brunette on Friday Night Lights. She looks just like her, only younger than Minka."
"Well, she just turned nineteen. She is staying here." I give him her room number. I could probably make a made a hundred bucks, if I had charged Vic for her name and room number. Then I remember that with our mutual friends, that even if the black stud horse gets lucky and could introduce a stud pleaser, that Anne and I have mutual friends. It just would not be worth the risk. I don't think.....
Around ten that night, Vic calls. His voice is low. He asks me to come to Anne's room.
I panic. Surely, surely, Vic has enough sense to not tell Minka [I mean Anne] about our threesomes.
My heart pounds. I practically jog to Anne's room. I knock. Vic comes into the hall and closes the door behind him. He is clad in shorts, golf shirt and deck shoes. Vic still is rock solid from lifting weights. Bowling balls bounce off of him.
"What the fuck, Vic! Surely you did not tell her about us! I know several people she knows!"
Vic holds up his hands. "Calm down, Ross. Think about it. What is she going to say? That she is shacked up at the conference with a thirty-five year old black guy? She won't talk."
This makes sense. Like the nuclear theory, MAD-Muturally Assured Destruction, keeps one country from firing its nukes at another country. Airborne nukes will wipe out, for both countries, all of its mares, stud horses and stud teasers.
Vic is nervous, pacing. I have not seen him like this. What is wrong, I ask. In my panicked state, I have dark thoughts.
Vic wags his head as he speaks. "You will not believe this. But this girl is a cherry, a virgin!"
"You mean was a virgin, don't you? If she has been in that room with the black stud horse, the word is was. "
Vic shakes his head no. "It's not for trying! But I could not get it in! I am not gonna rape the girl! She is small. And she has not been bored out. But mostly I think she is just too tense."
I am catching on. And getting hotter by the millisecond. This somewhat fit with our usual deal, except for the virgin part.
"So, what did you tell Anne about me? Did you tell her about my oral skills?"
"Yeah, I told her. I think I convinced her that you and I had together with other ladies. But she may not really believe it until you walk in the door. I told her your oral would relax her. "
"Where are you going?"
"Man, I am going out for half an hour to maybe look at the stars. I will give you some time alone with her. Maybe I can find a closet. I don't want to run into someone and talk business."
Duty. Honor. Country. Life was tough. But, sometimes someone has to do the hard things.
Vic squeezes my shoulder. His look is like he might give to some punk running back who just broke off a good run on him. Vic squeezes my shoulder. He leans down and whispers in my ear, black stud to stud teaser.
"Do your best Ross. Make it happen. I really, really, want this girl."
Vic keys the door. I slip in. The place is a damn suite. How many female interns that were originally staying here have been shussed out? I am in a short hall.
"Anne?", I murmur softly.
"I am in here."
I walk into a bedroom. Anne is propped up on pillows, on her back, a sheet pulled up to the base of her neck, her arms topping the sheet. I slowly walk over to the bed. She pats a place besides her, for me to sit down. I do.
Her eyes are red. She has been crying. I think it best to not say anything, and let her talk.
Moments go by. "We tried to do it. But he just can't get it in. I told him to force it. But he will not. The thing is as big as a baseball bat."
An enterprising, feisty red head who works for the Apparel Mart squeals when she remembers she has a cloth tape measure in her purse. She announces 9 ¼ inches. She measures from the base to the tip, the cloth stretched across the top. Most ladies are even more impressed by its width, or girth.
Anne gives me a tentative look. "I forget that you already know how Vic is built.'
I smile. "You don't mind me doing the oral? You want Vic, not me."
She looks noncommittal. "The main thing is that Vic wants you to do it. You know that Vic does not do oral. We might as well give it a shot. Who knows, maybe it will help me relax." Not a full throated endorsement.
"How in the world are you a virgin? You've been dating that guy for years. If not him, why not before now, on the side, with someone else?"
"Patrick and I give each other oral all the time. But he has never pressed me to go all the way. "
Curly haired little Patrick will regret he does not press, once he figures the black stud horse got there before him. And he may rightfully suspect he may only plunge half as far, if that, in Anne's treasured tomb.
"Why don't you reason that it was lucky that you were too tense, or whatever, with Vic, put on your clothes, and get the hell out of here?"
Anne stares at the wall for moments. Finally her eyes drift to me
"I want Vic real bad. I mean real bad, Ross. I'm not sure, but I think I may have been saving myself for him."
Again, I remember someone has to do the tough things. As Garrison Keillor says, life is a slog through a swamp. Then you get sick and die.
"Do you know about Vic's rules?"
She is expressionless. "Yes, he told me."
"What do you think?"
She bites her lip, and hesitates. Finally, she gives me a sideways glance. "Strange. But it makes Vic even hotter...like he is ... you know... your black master." Her voice has a new husky quality.
Black master. I am not sure I like the reference. I will talk to Vic about that.
I take off my shirt and slip off my sneakers. My Bermuda shorts stay on.
"Do you have any lube? A vibrator, perhaps?'
"I'm afraid not."
I grab the sheet. I am ready to pull it back. "May I?"
She really wishes I were Vic. But she is a trooper. Another challenge, to prove myself.
I pull the sheet down. She adjusts her hips and opened her legs a little more.
God, she is beautiful. Flawless, olive toned, skin. Her dark hair is down, spread on the pillow. She is propped on three pillows. Her slightly larger than average breasts are perky, the nipples perfect. Her flat stomach is toned. A good sized necklace surrounds her waist, which rests close to her belly button. I have never found a decorative purpose for these, except to draw a man's, or for some, a woman's, attention to very kissable, lovely, stomachs.
Her expensive earrings, necklace, bracelet, and even one ring lay neatly on the side table. Vic always carefully, gently, slowly, removes the lady's jewelry before a good fucking. He kisses one ear, then removes the earring. He kisses the other, and removes the second earring. Usually the girl turns a little, and he releases the necklace. The black stud horse is letting the girl know that when things start rolling, things may not be this calm.
I lean down and kiss her on the top of her stomach, at the base of her breasts. Per Vic's rules, I am only allowed to touch the girl from the point where I kissed, and down from there.
her flirt and dance with men. She has never gone beyond a seductive dance, and a kiss, when she had enough alcohol in her. We typically go home and have the most erotic sex.
