“Mama isn’t gonna like wake up or anything right?”
“No Darby, we aren’t going to wake my mom, because we aren’t going in the house. We’re going next to the house. In the driveway. In my car. In my pussy.”
Kali paused, before adding, “And if you’re lucky, I’ll let you put it in my ass.”
I couldn’t wait to arrive to Mama’s house.
Once we got there, I got out and observed our destination:
Mama’s house.
And then I slapped myself on the forehead, and fixed my gaze to the real destination:
Mama’s driveway.
Kali shepherded me into the backseat of her car and then lightly dashed up the stairs of her mom’s house. She disappeared into the house briefly, without turning on any of the lights inside.
I continued staring at the doorway.
One minute later, she came out of the house like a ninja. A ninja with a box of condoms in hand.
I moved the bag of snacks and our giant Sapporo beer bottles to the front seat, so she wouldn’t step on them and then welcomed her inside. She spoke only once the car door was shut behind her.
“How about those beers?” she asked.
We opened the bottles and then clinked them together. The conversation was short and pointless. We took about 2 or 3 sips of beer each, and then placed them haphazardly on the armrest for the front seats. And then it was time to get dirty.
Me and her worked together to pull my pants down and around my waist. I didn’t feel like taking my shoes off would be sanitary nor necessary, so my pants just hung there right above my shoes.
And when my cockadoodledoo came out, Kali’s mouth became a Hoover vacuum and started sucking all of the carpet between my legs. And by “carpet”, I mean “penis”.
It struck me after she kept going, well beyond the 5 minute mark, that she was actually enjoying sucking my penis. As if there actually exist girls who like sucking penis out in this world. As if that’s not a myth.
I remained hard and receptive to all that she was willing to give. And then sometime after 1o minutes passed, she finally made the motion to put a condom on me. And ladies, that is one of the best things in the world. Putting a condom on yo’ man. Get that shit tight, boo boo butter.
And that would be the first of three condoms used in the backseat of that car. Kali’s car. Actually, probably Mama’s car. And those were probably Mama’s condoms that Kali brought out. She just went in there and said, “Mama, can I borrow some condoms please?” and Mama’s all like, “Sure honey, they’re in the cabinet, right next to my anal plug.”
The routine was this: we would fuck for awhile, and then take a break. But not just any break; a “blow” break. (That’s the break where she’d blow me.) The condom would come off, get inserted into her mouth, stay there for awhile, and then get redressed with another condom.
Somewhere during the second condom, I dominantly spun her around for the doggy doggy woof woof style, and that’s when it caught my eye. Her back was totally tatted out. But there was one tattoo that stuck out. One on her lower back.
“West Los Angeles” it said. In like, street art style.
Uh, okay. I guess?
That was also where I worked. So the whole time I was blasting her from the back, I was thinking about my workplace. And work tomorrow morning. Actually, work in… a few hours.
The third condom was when things went up to 11. Things just got whoopity doo dah. I’m not sure why exactly, but I do remember experiencing the words coming out of my mouth, kind of from a voyeuristic vantage point, and then feeling like a mega-weirdo. Those words to her were, “CALL ME DADDY.”
Now, I don’t know if she asked me to call her that, or if I had the word “Mama” in my head, or if I just “became Daddy” on my own terms. Normally not a thing. But guys, I was fucking sauced. Like beyond drunk. I didn’t give any thought to the beers on the armrest in the front.
Once her legs went up around her ears, and her vagina just stuck out at me like, “HERE, PUT SOMETHING RIGHT HERE,” I was like “I hope you like to be squished in the corner.”
I lay on her body, crushing her with my weight, and pounding her body deeper and deeper into the tiny space between the cushion of the seat and the door. This was my ultimate form. And we had no more condoms left.
The end was nigh. I closed my eyes, let my eyelids roll back into my cranium, and let mother nature do her thing.
The end came in the form of a white and gooey explosion.
And the only reason I knew it was white and gooey was because, after I blew a load, she took the condom off and SUCKED ALL THE FALCON SPIRIT OUTTA MY TOTEM-POLE.
It was a true team-building exercise. We had so much to be proud of. All that we had achieved, we had achieved without waking up Mama. All the more incredible, because that tiny vehicle had been shaking like a motherfucker.
I rolled off top of her and sat there breathing heavily, trying to cool down in this sweaty atmosphere. I was exhausted, and my body was burning. A cold beer would be—oh my god I have cold beer.
I looked to the armrest, but the beer was gone. What in the shit—had I…had I imagined the beer? I mean, I may have been drunk, but I wasn’t hallucinating.
Then I looked down at my feet and learned of the sad tragic fate of our two large bottles of Sapporo.
Our fury-tacular fuck frenzy had shaken the car so much that, well that, combined with me putting the beers in the least stable place to set anything inside the whole vehicle, and the beers had fallen off the armrest and they fell down and landed inside of the pants around my shoes.
The bottles weren’t inside the pants anymore, but they were so fucking drenched that I knew that could only be possible if them shits fell straight in there.
My pants felt like they had just been rescued from drowning in a pool. A pant pool. Where pants go to swim. And my pants forgot his floaties and a big sexy pant lifeguard jumped in and gave him zipper-to-zipper and resuscitated him back to life. And my pants were like “thaaaaaanks mister” and the big sexy pant lifeguard winked and blew him a kiss and my pants pissed all over himself because he was so excited by that exchange. That’s how wet my pants were.
But not only were they wet, the were cold. Wet, and cold with beer.
So I don’t wanna put those fucking things on. Like hell nah, fuck that.
But what else could I do? Sit there and wait for those things to dry out? It was 4 AM. We were outta condoms. And beer too, as I had just learned firsthand.
I reached down, filled with dread, and cringed as I slid the pants up and around my waist. Everytime they slid higher on my skin, I would cringe harder and harder. When they came up fully, I realized the sensation that it felt most similar to:
Wearing a wet rag. You know when your mom forgets to buy you diapers when you’re a kid, so she just uses a wet dishrag in it’s place? And then you shit and fart and vomit in it and she just runs it under the sink a bit before reusing it as your diaper? Yeah, that’s what I felt at that moment. Me and my wet pants.
“Well, I should probably—I’m sorry, we—my wet pants and I—should probably get going now.” We started to make out as a consolation prize.
And it’s only at this moment now that I’m typing this that I’m realizing that that funky taste in her mouth was most definitely my man juice. I just snowballed myself—again. But you know what? That’s fine. Because that’s the way things gotta be sometimes. Sloppy and shameless.
Work was a disaster the next day. But despite that, I didn’t mind.
Do you wanna know why that is? Come in closer, and I’ll tell you why.
Just between us?
That night was a STRONG candidate for best date of 2018.
Is that not everything you need in a date? Lights, cameras, action… and getting some action. Oh ho. Action got GOT. Woo-hoo! Check me out baby. Papa’s got a brand new BAG.
(Just don’t tell Mama.)
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