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*Warning, this post contains graphic material that may not be suitable for sensitive readers or those under 18 years of age. Read at your own risk*

In my Most recent attempt to get over Donut I stumbled upon the worst sex of my life.

Brutus, The Bar Owner, Beef Cake. Congratulations to you sir! Brutus is the first man that I have had sex with (more than once) that was unable to give me an orgasm. That’s quite the accomplishment.

The first time I had sex with Brutus was in the back of his bar, in his “liquor room”, on a stool. You see, I told Brutus that I “wasn’t that girl” (and resisted his weenie for a good five dates before this).

I obviously was.

He slipped his ding-dong in me that night for the first time. Three thrusts later, he pulled me off the stool and bent me over it instead. He spit on my ass and then stuck his half-soft, average sized, jewish peenie in my butt. A few more thrusts later he pulled it out and jerked himself off.

When it was all over I pulled a liquor wrapper off my dress and we walked back into the bar like nothing had happened. To Brutus nothing had.

He does this all the time.

I whispered in his ear,

“If you throw me out now I will cry.”

Brutus ignored me. I said it again.

Brutus still ignored me.

Then he walked away and forgot I was even there. A half an hour or so later I regained my composure and said my goodbye.

Now wait a second, first I must back up to the very beginning. I don’t want you to think for a second I was shocked by Brutus’ brute behavior. I knew he was a scumbag from the get-go (just my type!).

Brutus had a chiseled jaw, arms full of tattoos and the sexiest, highlighted mullet I had ever seen!

He was a guy I casually ran into around town for about a year and totally had the hots for. I knew he had the hots for me too! There was chemistry, a spark. Or maybe it was just because he always comped out my tab when I was hanging out his bar.

Anyway, (the first Thursday night after Donut broke it off with me) the first time I walked into Brutus’ bar alone he immediately noticed and started flirting with me. He invited me to the patio for drinks and introduced me to his friends. He asked me to stay until closing.

I did, then we went to another bar for some more drinks. I drove us. Around two am I dropped Brutus off at his bar.

That’s when it happened!

Brutus went for it! I don’t mean the kiss either. He literally tried to get me to give him a BJ. I was sooooooo disappointed! I let out a huge sigh and said,

“Ahhh, man! Really? Sorry buddy. Find someone else to blow you, I’m not ‘that girl’.”

I thought to myself, “Man THIS sucks! A guy I’m into and he’s one of those! Ugh!”

Brutus spent the rest of our relationship (?) trying to prove to me he wasn’t just in it for sex. He failed horribly. Anyway, back to the story:

At least a week from my first sexual encounter with Brutus came and went. I never heard a word from him. I wrote him a horrible email calling him all sorts of names. At the last second I didnt send it. Instead I sent him a text that read,

“Game over?”

Two minutes later my phone rang.

Brutus apologized for not calling and told me he wanted to see me again. We made plans.

We continued this for a couple months, roughly once a week. Every time we saw each other it was pretty much the same.

I would show up at his bar. We would leave and grab dinner (sometimes we wouldn’t). We always ended up bottomless, either back at his bar (after closing, when everyone gone for the night) or in my car.

He would pull out his semi-hard-Jew-dog and either place it in my butt or in my mouth for a few thrusts and then jerk himself off while I played with his Matzo-balls.

Eventually I started complaining.

One night in my car, in the parking lot of a restaurant (we had just finished eating a very late dinner at) Brutus pulled his pants down as so I could work off my dinner.

I asked half way through this particular blow job if I could straddle him. He annoyingly obliged. Once I was on top, I could feel my 80’s Wrestler losing his:

*Uh-hemm*, function.

I told myself just to ride the pony!

Up until this point in my life I could always manage to squeeze out an orgasm in a minutes time this way.

To hurry myself up I asked Brutus to talk dirty to me. This is what he said,

“You like my cock in your mouth, baby? You wanna suck my big cock? Do you want me to fuck your face?”

That’s when I gave up.

I got off (of him), fingered his furry asshole and licked his sweaty, sour matzo-balls while he jacked himself off again.

I didn’t see him for about three weeks after that. When we finally met up, it was at an actual restaurant and not his bar.

Thats when it happened!

Brutus invited me to HIS HOUSE!

I was SHOCKED!

You see, every time before this one night, I had gone out of my way to pamper. I’d shave my girl parts, I’d wear cute lingerie, I’d do all the things I could to prepare for the night. This particular night I had just started my period and had decided I wasn’t going to lick anything. I was going to get my dinner and bail.

But now none of my lack of pampering mattered,

I HAD TO GO!

I mean, I was going to HIS HOUSE!

Countless days and nights I had spent thinking and discussing with my girl fiends all the different scenarios of why he hadn’t taken me there and what he must be hiding, I was intrigued! Was I going to find out he had a wife? Did he really live in a swamp? Did he have a real-life wrestling ring in his living room?

After dinner I followed him home. Half way there he cut another car off on the freeway to exit last minute and lost me. I pulled off to a gas station and called. He gave me the address and I made it there, eventually.

Brutus now had extra time to prepare for me. One would think maybe he would put on some music, do some quick cleaning up, pour me a drink, change his sheets, shower etc. Nope. He didn’t do any of that.

Actually, his house was a wreck. It stunk like dog. He had three nasty, yelp-y, little dogs running around. He barely noticed I was there (once I did arrive) and was walking around with his attention on everything BUT me.

Who cares!!!

I was finally going to get REAL sex in a real bed!

I hadn’t gotten off since Donut! {STOP for a second. That was a full on lie. While dating Brutus I was also sleeping with (you guessed it!) another DJ. Hey, a girl has to get her rocks off somehow!} I explained to Brutus that I was on my period and asked to take a quick shower. I removed my little cotton friend, put a towel down on his dog hair/dog drool ridden bed and was ready for action.

Brutus offered me a back rub, he had been telling me since the beginning that he was the best at back rubs. He put on some strange, Italian, opera music (the kind my X father in law used to play) and stripped down. He told me to lay on my stomach then placed his hands on my ass and began annoyingly squeezing my cheeks while asking me,

“Do you like that? Ya? You like me squeezing your ass?”

So I lied,

“uhhhh, ya?”

I was gonna get some!

Brutus then began lightly squeezing my back in fast, tickling motions. I don’t know what the fuck he was doing but it wasn’t massage.

He pulled me to a sitting position and then started fucking my tits. He started to get close to the finish line. No way was I going to let that happen!

“Uh, wait, aren’t we gonna…I mean, I wanted to.. WHAT ABOUT ME?”

Brutus looked at me confused.

“What? You keep saying that, but I don’t know what you want.”

“I want to you to make love to me.” I said.

….and *Bloooooooooooop!* Erection completely eradicated.

“*Sigh*, listen, I’ll have you here again this week, OK? We will do it this week. OK?” He promised.

Then Brutus got up and started fussing with his stinky dogs. I made mention of the smell which really angered Brutus. He put the dogs on the bed and was making baby talk to them.

Then, he decided one was getting out of hand and he put the dog outside his bedroom door. The dog whimpered so Brutus let it back in.

Then, Brutus decided the dog was getting out of hand again so he put it in the backyard.

Brutus turned on the sports channel.

I was uncomfortable and debating if I should leave then or not. The bed was disgusting and watching Brutus tongue his dogs was even more disturbing. I started to say something and Brutus cut me off asking me,

“Don’t you ever just stop talking?”

Then he was up again.. Checking this, doing that..he went to check on his dog. He noticed his back gate was open and went on a dog hunt.

When he got back I was dressed and said my goodbyes.

I drove home disgusted and throughly disappointed. I couldn’t get the smell of dirty dog off me for days.

That’s about where it ended.

Or more like where it SHOULD have ended.

We had “the talk” via text a few days later. A few days after that I received a text from Brutus that said,

“You want to come down to The Lit Fart for some meaningless sex? I’ll make you get off hard!”

(See! I told you they all come back!)

I replied,

“Of course I do. Be there in an hour.”

Now, do you want to tell me how this ended?

Yup!

You guessed it!

The three B’s:
1. Butt
2. Bj
3. Balls

This time though he added an extra insult to injury. Right in the middle of it all, he asked when my last STD test was.

Five minutes later I was walked out to my car completely unsatisfied and ashamed, per usual.

In retrospect, if I had ANY fucking brain, I would have told Brutus this from the get go,

“Brutus here is my bank account number ************. Put in the amount you think I’m worth. If I like it I will come down to that damn Lit Fart once a week, do whatever you want, and leave without talking. You won’t even have to buy me dinner. Just make that deposit once a month and everyone will be fine.”

But I’m not smart like a whore. I’m a dumb slut.

The next and last time I saw Brutus was that Saturday before Halloween.

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There IS a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow! For roughly two whole months I was able to think about something other than Donut! 🙂

If you enjoyed this story, BUY the BOOK!

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16 thoughts on “I’m A Dumb Slut Because Smart Whores Get Paid.

  1. Pingback: Wendi Time | It's not my fault.

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  4. Pingback: Brutus & the Lit Fart | It's not my fault.

  5. Is any of what was written truth? I mean, how could someone so apparently smart (as evinced by your writing ability) be so dumb by pursuing a guy you established early on was disappointing?

  6. Pingback: The Immaculate Deception | It's not my fault.

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  8. Pingback: Cowhide Fever | It's not my fault.

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