I presumed it would be over soon.
Apparently not.
Nothing was gonna make this guy cum.
Not sure where his real dick was but it certainly wasn’t getting any action.
How does a man wearing a strap on dildo ejaculate?
I was about to find out.
All of a sudden he did this big flip.
So now he was on his back, me sitting on dildo.
A little painful but I felt sure we were closer to the final stage.
Hit me, he said.
Huh? Punch me.
Where??
In the gut.
I give a half-hearted punch.
His mid section is like a flesh toned rock formation.
Hurt my hand and he barely felt a thing.
No, really punch me.
Hard.
So I did.
Really hurt my hand this time, but at least he registered something.
Keep doing it he commanded.
So I did.
Repeatedly.
Then he closed his eyes, threw back his head, started making this pathetic whimpering noise which lasted about 4 seconds during which time I noticed his microcock dribbling fluid like a faulty drinking fountain.
He then lay back for a micro nanna nap, awaking to lift me from his artificial manhood and reaching to finish me off.
It’s ok, I said.
You sure?
Positive.
Then he makes me a cup of tea.
Served it in the tackiest tea cup imaginable.
Complete with image of Charles and Di.
Another fairy tale gone wrong.
As I sip my Earl Grey, he tells me that he really enjoyed what we just did, but if I didn’t mind he wouldn’t give me his number because he prefers more masculine guys.
I hide relief and indignation.
Who are better endowed, he continues.
I choke on tea.
At least I’ve got my own.
But you’re cute, he says.
I put down my tea and hold up my pinky, squinting at as though measuring something in the distance, then glare at his crotch.
Then I remember roid rage and resist urge to make uncharitable remark.
Instead, I thank him for tea and for impaling me and leave with as much as dignity as possible, tripping over sleeping Lola on the way out.
Really need to get some real action.
Perhaps there’ll be a somewhat, um….larger….selection on Mardi Gras weekend.
Hope my bandaged hand won’t be an encumbrance.
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