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Tonight I’m gonna tell you about the first time Sam and I had sex. We had been hanging out for about a month and that particular night I was to tend bar at an event for my hairy marshmallow man in his electronic cigarette store.

“You’ll make some tips,” he promised, right after having informed me that he didn’t plan on actually paying me a wage.

I didn’t really care much. My grandfather who I had lived with after my divorce from Dumb Beans had recently passed away and my shitty remaining family threw my kids and I out on the street the day he was buried. I had been out of work and living in an extended stay hotel for months.

Needless to say, I was lonely, depressed and in desperate need of a night out minus children.

Plus there would be free booze!

You see, Sam is what you could call a bottom feeder. No way would he have ever scored a catch like me in a million years had I not just hit rock bottom.

I was still a babe back then, a perfect size 2.

See!?!

Let me be your lesson, never date a fatty unless you are willing to turn into one! I put on 30 pounds in the two years I was with him.

Now all I do is sit around and eat donuts.

Errrrrrr….Marshmallows. 

Whatever.

Anyway back to the story.

Halfway through the night, probably after wine glass number six, I made my decision.

With my lips now stained red from the cheap grape guts I had recently guzzled down and my heart full of their liquid courage,  I approached Sam’s scrawny and sickly looking male employee.

“I’m gonna do your boss tonight,” I chuckled.  “Yup! Tonight he is getting some of this.”

“Uh, kay?” the snarky little jerk replied. “Hey Sam, come get your chick! I think she’s had too much to drink.”

Sam looked our way,  shrugged his shoulders and went back to the conversation he was having with one of his guests.

I walked over to the bar and poured myself another.

Eventually Sam made his way back to me,  just as the party was coming to an end.

“Tonight is your lucky night!” I promised my processed food prince. “I’m gonna rock your world.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, his voice sounding completely monotone.

“That’s right, I’m gonna give you the best night of your life,” I drunkenly promised.

“I don’t know,” he began,  pausing to take a hit from his e-cigarette and still sounding noticeably unenthused, “That’s a lot to live up to.  You think you are in the condition to accept the challenge?”

“Ha ha ha! There’s no challenge,  I’m amazing in the sac,” I assured him.  “I might even let you put it in my butt.”

As was the usual,  Sam left his rarely paid employees to clean up the entire mess by themselves before driving me back to his place.

Though I had been there once or twice prior to that night, I had never actually made it into his bedroom before.

Once inside,  I followed Sam into his room and onto his king sized bed.  I kissed his hairy face and then began to pull off his pants.

It didn’t take very long because Sam was a sagger. Those babies sat halfway down on his swollen thighs anyway. I’m not sure if he did it because he thought it made him look cool,  or if it was because he wanted to trick himself into believing his waist was only a size 42.

Once the jeans were gone, he removed his socks and that’s when I saw them for the first time.

Giant raptor claws.

That’s right!

The tips of Sam’s toes contained what I can only describe as what would have once been present upon a prehistoric beast.

I’m serious!

I don’t think those things had been trimmed since he was in high school!

His feet were blue and veiny, which only made it worse. The lack of natural pigment gave the illusion that they could have easily been the fossilized remains of a raptor, had he only been scaled down to size. -Oh wait! Ha ha ha ha!

Whatever.

I didn’t care.

I was horny, drunk and determined to get my rocks off, even if it meant possible dinosaur bestiality.

So, I did what any half-retarded bimbo would do in my situation, I pushed my marshmallow man down onto his bed, prepared to do the splits and hoped he could stay puffed!

I hiked up my skirt,  slipped off my panties and climbed candy mountain. Riding his belly eerily reminded me of the motion from a cruise ship, bouncing and swaying all the while becoming more and more bored and disappointed.

Finally I faked an orgasm just to make it end.

But Sam wasn’t finished yet, he was ready for a marathon.

If by marathon I mean the best 38 minutes of my life.

Actually,  if you combined all the sex we had together after that, for the entire duration of our relationship,  they probably wouldn’t even add up to that magic 38 minutes he gave me the first night.

I humored Sam,  I had to.

I mean I couldn’t lose the challenge. I continued to bounce on top of him until I thought my hips would pop out of socket. When the pain became unbearable, I rolled off in defeat.

Sam was proud. He felt he had won the challenge and celebrated alone with four corn dogs and two of those giant cans of Spaghettios.

I passed out.

A few hours later the bellowing sounds escaping Sam’s mouth woke me with a startle. I was not yet used to his snoring.

Almost immediately I could feel a piercing sting in my girl-rella.

DAMN IT!

The alcohol must have diluted my sense of smell that evening, because there hadn’t been any detection of Sam’s foul body odor, but still I could feel it coming…

Yes, you know what I’m talking about. 

The three worst letters a lady can hear:  UTI.

Or was it?

Well, that’s another story.

6 thoughts on “Lucky Raptor

  1. Oh Lord, I will never be able to get the imagery you’ve created out of my traumatized brain! NEVER be so vivid to someone with an overactive imagination! I’m picturing in my mind a Sasquatch with Velociraptor claws getting it on with a hot blonde with an amazing rack. Now I have to go bang my head in the refrigerator door to get the image out of my mind.

    Ha ha, funny story! I love your sense of humor.

  2. Pingback: Free Willy and the Hillbillies | It's not my fault.

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