Baron Munchausen, the Shaggy Dog, and the Little Green Men

(Author’s note: This was literally me doing a stream of consciousness ramble for about three hours real-time. I don’t anticipate a win for it, but it was a fun sort of experiment and it let me get back to my first person, unreliable narrator roots. It clocks in at about 3000 words, and I had a blast writing it. I hope you enjoy. ~Whysper)

Alright. A deal’s a deal. You bought me the drink I asked for, now you get to hear the story. Personally I think I’m getting the better end of the bargain because they charge almost eight bucks for a shot of Maker’s Mark, and asking for an Old Fashioned on a Friday night just earned you the hatred of literally every bartender this side of the Mississippi, but I warned you before you bought it, so on your head be the consequences.

Did you know that up in the Yukon Territory there’s this tradition called a Sourtoe Cocktail? Yeah, it’s a shot of whatever booze you want with a mummified human toe in the glass.

No, you idiot! If you swallowed the toe they’d run out pretty fuckin’ quick. Some idiot from New Orleans did that back in 2013, and the asshole’s been persona non grata up there ever since. Can you imagine how hard it is to get your hands on a mummified severed human toe? I mean it’s not like you can just order one from Amazon, and SysCo sure as hell doesn’t stock ‘em-

Oh, sorry about that. Yeah, I was telling you the story. So this was about ten years ago, back before Trump was anything but a big orange faced bully ranting about Obama’s birth certificate; back before the ‘Rona was anything to worry about. What I’m saying is that this was the before times. Sure we were still up to our necks in Iraq and Afghanistan, but things were moving on a reasonably even keel, and it seemed, at least for a minute, that things were gonna be ok.

Beth and I had gotten together, but we hadn’t made things totally official yet. Mainly I was still trying to extract myself from that ridiculous long distance polycue that I’d somehow found myself tied down to. Listen son, if the pussy isn’t right in front of you, don’t commit to it. I don’t care how horny you are. Long distance only leads to confusion and an intimate knowledge of your hand.

Sure it was fun. I enjoy phone sex. For my money one of the best things in the world is getting someone off with just your voice. Let me tell you Ericka, that was one of the girls, well she came like a rocket when I described bending her over and fisting her. She was the fat girl, not the one that came out as a trans man or the bodybuilder who was already a trans woman. Damn, that reminds me of this cute little trappy t-girl that was working in janitorial at the hospital when I was there. The perkiest little hormone titties you’ve ever seen, and hot damn she could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch. What was her name again? Bailey? Veronica? No it was definitely something ambiguous, not traditionally feminine. There was also that black girl. Hot ass little short stack with her hair straightened and dyed whiter than my dick, why one night I-

Oh, right, back to the story. Like I was saying, Beth and I weren’t official yet, and I was in that weird phase in between relationships where I was strangely attractive to women. You know what I mean. You’re with someone so you’re confident, which women are drawn to, but you’re also ‘safe’ which in turn leads to them lowering their guard around you, the end result being that if you’re opportunistic enough you get a lot of action.

Shit, back when I was with Jessie I had women throwing themselves at me. What, you don’t believe me? First off that was 25 years, fifty pounds, and a full head of hair ago, and let me inform you that I am one charismatic motherfucker when I have the confidence to be. I’m witty. I’m romantic, and while I’m no Brad Pitt, dogs don’t bark at me when I walk down the street. Plus the fact that while I’m no John Holmes, I’m packing eight girthy inches, which according to that black girl at the hospital qualifies me as having ‘BWC’. The fact that I was essentially living in a commune where I was one of the three people who actually owned a bed didn’t hurt, but lemme tell you that it’s a fucking head rush to have a lesbian hippie grinding on your crotch telling you that even though she’s gay she wants your hog. Sure she was high, but neither of us was wearing underwear and when she got off of me after I told her I couldn’t because I wouldn’t cheat on Jess, my shorts were soaked with her pussy juices. She noticed my erection and said that I wouldn’t be able to resist her for long and started singing Blondie off key at me. Well of course I had to grab her and turn her over my lap. I paddled her until her ass was a nice bright pink, but that was just more of a turn on for her, and then she hit my kryptonite and called me Daddy.

My friend, Becky was not a small woman. I’m not saying she was fat… far from it. She was just six feet tall, all lean muscle and teardrop tits, the kind you don’t notice if a girl ain’t wearing a bra. I ended up grabbing her by her white-girl dreads and yanking her down onto her knees, pulling out the aforementioned hog, and stuffing it into her mouth. Watching her jill herself while I skull fucked her was easily one of the hottest things I’ve ever witnessed in my almost fifty years.

I lasted almost five minutes of her going ’glark glark glark’ on my cock but when her eyes rolled back and her legs started spasming it was more than I could handle and I pulled out and hosed her down with one of the biggest loads I’ve ever produced.

What? No I didn’t fuck a lesbian straight. For all her protestation to the contrary she was bisexual. Although, truth be told, I never actually fucked her. She ended up marrying one of my buddies, Bret. Good kid. He hung drywall for a living. I was her best man, and her sister was his maid of honor. They have three of the most adorable little girls I’ve ever seen. Still send me pictures.

What? That’s not story enough? You want to hear the story? Well, I’m going to need another drink then. Yeah, we can switch to beer.