*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*
Ahhh, New Years Eve. An hour until the ball drops.
Tonight, I was out for my evening run, thinking. I was the only person out, the streets were empty. I know that tomorrow night the side walks will be riddled with the usual fatties trying their hardest to keep their New Years, weightloss resolutions. Each day there will be less and less until once again I am the only jogger left.
I know first hand how easy it is to be distracted by Donuts.
Speaking of Donut, tonight, I’m sure my little sticky bun is working his usual shift at his shitty job, hating life and wishing he were someone else. He will probably go home, jerk off and drink himself to sleep. I just hope that when he glazes his maple bar he’s thinking about me.
I’m sure tonight Brutus is throwing a big event down at the Lit Fart. Right about now he has some dumb slut sucking him off in his office. I’m OK with that because I know, no girl will ever do for Brutus the things I did.
Brutus may have been the worst lay of my life time but I am certain, I’m the best lay of his.
I’m gonna tell you why.
A few weeks into my courtship with my Mullet Man, I pulled into the parking lot of the Lit Fart. I was wearing one of my token mini-dresses and six inch heels.
I clicked my little muscular, skank legs inside and took a seat at the bar. The bartender recognized me and served me my regular piss water in a bottle aka Bud Light.
There was a Beatles Tribute band playing that night. They were wearing horrible wigs and the most absurd 1960’s themed costumes I had ever seen.
They were rediuclous in all ways.
I hate the Beatles.
Brutus said hello and then wandered off to do his usual OCPD shit. I sat there, drank my urine juice and did my best not to “Boo!” between songs.
An hour or so later Brutus whisked me off onto our official first date.
He led me to a tiny, red Ford Fiesta.
Brutus told me it was a rental. He liked it though, because of the “great gas mileage”. I’m not sure if he was joking.
We headed out to downtown Long Beach for dinner.
“I want to be straight with you.” Brutus began. “I’m really busy right now with my restaurant. It dominates my whole life. I just don’t have a lot of time for a relationship. If this were ten years ago and I met a cool, hot blonde I’d say to myself, ‘Let’s do this!’. However, right now, I just don’t have the time.”
“Look, Brutus.” I said. “I have two young kids and a career. I don’t have a lot of free time either. I’m just looking for someone I can hang out with, consistantly, roughly once a week. I can’t take on anything more than that right now. Though, I’m not going to stick around for a fling. I don’t want to get involved just to be told several months down the line nothing will ever come of this because I have young children (stupid Donut did that).”
“Some men let their ego’s get the best of them.” He said.
Brutus is smart.
“I’m open to the possibility of something more down the line. Who’s to say a few years from now my work load won’t be different. I don’t know what will happen in the future. I can only speak for right now. I just want to be clear.”
“We are on the same page.” I agreed.
Brutus put his sexy hand on my leg.
This got me wet.
After parking we walked into the restaurant.
Brutus took the initiative to order for me. I love that in a man. Especially when he is educated enough to order well and has good taste.
Brutus was both.
Then, he pulled me toward him and put my hand on his dick.
It was hard.
I rubbed it.
The server came with our Sangria. Brutus encouraged me to caress him, more.
He loved PDA.
He made sure the server saw what I was doing under the table. He liked to show me off.
“You do that well. Do you like to rub my cock?” Brutus asked me.
“Of course!” I chirped.
“Tell me you like to rub it then.”
Brutus is such a flirt!
Then, Brutus decided to tell me a story.
“You, rubbing my cock like that, reminds me of the asian girl at the massage parlor.” He said.
“You know, I work for a spa, right?” I asked Brutus. “Not that kind of a spa, though.”
“Oh, they give great hand jobs at your kind of spas too. I was in a nice hotel and I had a woman rub me down really good. It was taking me a long time to finish, though. I felt bad because she reached her face down near my cock to get some more oil and I accidentally released myself all over her face and uniform. I made sure to give her a good tip. Imagine walking around all day with a strangers load on your clothes and a blood shot eye.”
Brutus’ stories are not as good as mine.
“I like to tell that story to women just to see their reactions. To see if they will freak out.” He added.
I’m sure my reaction was disappointing to Brutus.
Brutus and I had something in common. We both liked it better when the other wasn’t talking.
We had what you call: A clash of narcissism.
Finally Brutus had all the teasing he could take.
“Let’s get back to the bar!” He said with a smug smile.
Brutus was hot.
Once inside the closed bar, he turned on a dull light. Then, he sat on a couch and unbuttoned his pants.
“Come here.” He ordered.
He started stroking his Jew stick. Once he was erect, he grabbed my head and pulled me towards him. I started sucking on his salty spud sacs. I gently put my finger in his ungroomed anus.
After a few minutes, Brutus told me to get up. He pulled down my panties, lifted my skirt, and bent me over the arm of the couch.
He sucked out the spit from his tongue and dispensed it onto my dirty asshole.
It was lubed up good enough for Brutus.
Brutus holo-accosted me.
He was marching through Germ-any.
I was getting close.
“You better get ready to finish up. I’m about to cum and when I do you are gonna be kicked out, Bub.” I warned.
I’m not sure Brutus understood me, because before I could have any of my own pleasure, he pulled out his partisan and resumed his old place on the couch.
The sensation to orgasm was gone. He had destroyed my consentration camp.
Brutus wanted me to go down on him.
He wanted me to put his dick in my mouth after it had just left my gas chamber!
So, I did what any cheap slut after half a pitcher of Sangria would do.
I took it like a pro!
In my mouth.
I could smell it.
Then, I could taste it.
I was eating my own shit.
I was shit faced.
It was horrible. I wanted to die. I couldn’t even finish him off.
I did do one thing though.
I kissed him.
He didn’t even mind.
A few days after this particular date I was texting with Brutus:
Me: I want to do some nasty things to you, you hot Stud!
Brutus: Like what?
Me: Definetely not what I did to you the other night! I will never do that again. Unless it’s your birthday or Christmas. That was disgusting.
Me: That was the grossest thing I have ever done. I tasted shit for days. Did you ever clean that couch BTW?
Brutus: What? No, you didnt . No, I haven’t cleaned it yet.
Me: Oh God!
Brutus: Always ATM (ass to mouth).
If you enjoyed what you just read, become active in the authors warped community:
*Don’t forget to “LIKE” the “It’s Not My Fault.” Facebook page!*
*Leave a comment below*
*Follow this shit on Twitter*
*Stay updated on Google+*