Sex in a Port-a-Potty, Accidental Anal, and the Pimp of Pamplona
I'll let this first bout of love in a hopeless place speak for itself. Enjoy.
It was the last week of summer and a few of my boys and I decided to go to a 3 day music festival that features all Canadian bands. I'm usually not into sh*tty Canadian rock music, but I decided that this would be a prime opportunity to get completely sh*t-housed before I started my final year at Uni.
We arrive at the campsite where the festival is taking place and I immediately notice two sl*ts eying me from their tent while smoking a J. Since I was with my boys, I decided that it would be best to crush a some beers before I try to slay some puss.
Fast forward 4 hours and me and my boys are completely f*cked; one buddy is passed out in a pile of his own vomit, another is showing his hammer to a group of unknown broads, and I'm starting to fiend some random p*ssy. I start walking with the only other bro that is still conscious and clothed and we start looking for some chicks to ransack.
Enter random chick 1 and random chick 2.
As soon as I see these sl*ts, I could see their eyes widen like a young boy seeing his first set of boobs. We start talking about how f*cking awesome me and my boys are, and how mangled we have gotten when an instant stroke of genius hits me: “Why the f*ck am I talking to these broads when I could be f*cking them?” I stop the small talk and motion for Chick 1 to follow me to a more secluded area. She takes the bait and within seconds her tongue is tickling the back of my throat and she is grabbing my horn. Since this girl is obviously ready to f*ck, I look around to scope out a nice and classy location. Since my tent was 200 feet away, I decided that it was too far to go to and we would have to find another area to bang. I look around and I see a row of Port-a-Potties / sh*t shacks / portable pissers and decide I'm going to bang this sl*t inside one.
I take her by the hand, throw open the door and she gladly follows me inside. Since I'm not a complete f*cking idiot, I strap on a rubber and start f*cking the brains out of this broad in a cramped, sh*tty, portable bathroom. The entire time I am getting my dick wet, I am laughing to myself how f*cking ridiculous this entire situation is, and then begin laughing out loud when I noticed she was bent over the urinal, probably inhaling some deadly fumes.
Finally, I somehow nutted and immediately dashed back to the tent to tell my boys of the legendary sh*t shack p*ssy pounding, while leaving Chick 1 by herself (in the dumper) to probably question her entire existence.
The next day, I noticed that her tent was packed up and she was no longer at the camp site, but the disgraceful acts that I performed on her will no doubt be with her forever. I still wonder if she went home and kissed her dad after all of that.
This is exactly how I want the last episode of “How I Met Your Mother” to end. Only Ted sticks around after the whole port-a-sh*tter love-fest. Next!
It was my junior year of college, and I kept noticing a hottie on the bus to-and-from campus. I knew she lived near me, but I knew nothing about her. I am not the type to cold-approach a girl on a bus, so I let it be. A few months later, I’m at a friend’s party watching two beer pong teams get heated during a match. When the game was over, the losing team continued to talk shit and was visibly angry.
Turns out the hottie from the bus was friends with the losers, and I was friends with the winners. We (the hottie and I) are trying to calm him down, but there’s nothing that can be done. He suddenly says, “hold my beer,” hands the beer to the hottie, then runs, dives and punches one of my friends in the face. Unfortunately, the momentum propels them THROUGH a double-paned sliding glass door. Luckily neither of them was that hurt, except my friend couldn’t smell for like a week. Hottie and I became acquaintances/friends, but nothing more.
Fast forward to the next Halloween, and I’m dressed as a security guard. I walk into a big house party and everyone collectively sh*ts their pants, thinking I’m a cop (even though it looked nothing like a police officer’s uniform, musta been the booze.) I’m pretty hammered already, and I see the hottie who I’m now “friends” with. For whatever reason, we start reminiscing about the punch. We’re a few feet away from a couch, and she tackles me onto the couch, reenacting the punch. At that moment, I can see the “I want your P in my V” look in her eyes. And like a prayer answered from the heavens, my friend starts chanting, “kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.” I could tell she was hesitant (remember this for later,) but we begin to make out.
A few minutes later, I hear “COPS!!!” and people begin to scurry. I was 21 at the time, but she was not, so we dip out a bedroom window and begin walking. At this point, she starts blatantly talking about how horny she is, complaining, as if d*ck was her water, and she was dying of dehydration.
We end up at my place and head straight to the bedroom. She immediately takes my pants off and she pulls her jeans partially down, making it really impossible to get full access to her crotch. She hops on top of me in a squatting position, but her v*gina is between my belly button and my chest, not quite in the optimal penetration position. We’re making out, and she is going to town on my penis with her hands, but I keep aiming it towards her crotch. With some stretching, I hit pay-dirt, and she starts moaning and telling me to slap her ass, etc… but then she suddenly says, “no, we can’t do that, if we haven’t even had normal sex yet.” Turns out that due to the odd position, I went straight into her ass and was too drunk to notice anything was different. I end up ass f*cking her and finishing inside her. The whole time she was saying how she’s a “good girl” and how she shouldn’t, but her moaning, screaming, etc certainly were indicating otherwise
I pass out, and in the morning we talk for a bit, exchange numbers, and she takes off. She texts me that night to let me know that she has a boyfriend who goes to school about 100 miles from the school we go to… If you’re reading this, dude that’s dating a total sl*t, I’m sorry for ass f*cking your girlfriend.
Click below for the next two stories
It's 11:30 p.m. and I've just arrived at the bar with my best friend. We’re focused on drinking for the time being as it's too early to be hitting on girls at this point. We’re sitting on barstools, ordering drinks, scouting the scene, and bullsh*tting about the coming weekend. Out of nowhere, a girl comes up to me and goes, “I know who you are.”
I reply, “Oh yeah? I don't think I've met you.”
She retorts, “well I know you, and you're an a**hole.”
I inwardly grin. How much better could this conversation possibly have begun? I proceed to completely live up to this girl’s pre-conceived notions about me, because if she's going to set the bar that low, how could I go wrong.
(Backstory: This is spring of junior year in college, and I'm fresh off the boat from 6 months of slamming Australian girls. My game is more consistent than it's been in years, and 2 weeks earlier I had the pleasure of closing two girls in the same night. Thank you, Gamma Phi semi-formal. )
As I'm telling this girl everything she wants to hear, I realize that maybe this would be a good time to just leave. She is mid-story about something her sorority girlfriends told her about me, and I motion with my hand for her to shut her mouth.
I look right at her, “let's get out of here.”
She looks at me in disbelief, slyly picking up her purse. “What? I'm not just going to go home with you.”
I take her by the hand and lead her out of the bar. She laughs and stumbles out behind me, pretending like this isn't exactly what she was looking for. We walk the 2 blocks to my apartment (also a huge asset to my closing ability of late) and the next thing you know she is straddling me in my bed. (I don't know how many of you have ever run into a sticky bra, but they are quite entertaining. The sound they make when they release from a pair of t*ts is both inspiring and hilarious.) We get down to business as quickly as I can get the rest of her clothes off, and the drunken sex is as good as it gets for 12:15am on a Thursday with a complete stranger.
After we finish, she launches into full snuggle mode. Sensing danger, I tell her I need to make a phone call real quick. I subtly sweep my clothes into my hands, leave my bedroom, and break into a full sprint across my apartment. I'm piss drunk and ready to party, not cuddle. Two weeks earlier I left my semi-formal date in my bedroom and returned to the bar… why not use the same strategy? Nevermind that this girl is a complete stranger and my G-Phi date was a girl I knew. What could possibly go wrong leaving her in my apartment?
I'm racing down the hallway of my apartment building, pulling my pants on, loosely buttoning my shirt, and flying out the front door. Ninety seconds later I'm back in the bar, calmly sitting down next to my best friend. He is staring at me, waiting for an explanation, and I look at him with a smile.
Two hours later, I'm going at it again in my favorite Gamma Phi bedroom. She doesn't understand why I'm laughing uncontrollably, watching her suck the lady lube off the same d*ck that was just inside a Tri Delt.
I stumble home in the morning, laughing at myself and trying to see in the bright sunlight. As I walk into my apartment, I kick my shoes off and as I enter my room, my left foot lands in a sticky bra, my right foot lands on a pink thong, and I look up to see my bed, completely destroyed by female vomit.
Comes with the territory I guess. I never did get her bra or underwear back to her.
This last one is on the cusp of being unbelievable. But let's hope that it is.
Our 7:00 a.m. date with a stampeding herd of bulls frenzied by rubber bands around their dicks was just 3 hours away. Naturally, I had put down enough sangria to f*ck at least two Chris Farley’s.
I was in the midst of stumbling back to the hostel with my trio of thrill-seeking Bros when the danger of the next day’s endeavor began to sink in. That scene from “City Slickers”—where a mid-life crisis Billy Crystal goes to Pamplona and gets gored in the ass by a steer the size of a Volkswagen—kept running through my mind. What the f*ck was I doing? I’m not Carl Lewis and I didn’t have a grizzled Jack Palance to shepherd me to safety. I didn’t even have insurance. This could be the last few hours of my life with a fully functioning lower-torso. I mean, what if Billy Crystal was hit 4 inches to the right?
In a drunken panic, I began to slur middle school Spanish at every hoochie momma I passed.
“Que pasa bonita chica?…Esta un bien gato en tu pantalones?” Yeah, I got a C- in Spanish.
About ½ mile from our Hostel, I spied a floozy obviously frustrated with an ATM machine. F*cking jackpot. This was my chance. She was wearing a white wife-beater and khaki shorts. Her dark curly hair spun down the sides of her face like an exotic, less lesbonic Janine Garafalo. Oh my damn, I was sprung.
“Que pasa,” I slurred.
“Que pasa,” she replied. She must have been drunk.
I approached her with my arms held out like a horny soldier leaving for Afghanistan. She obliged me with an embrace of weird pseudo-friendship. Since I’m not a p*ssy, and since I wasn’t sober, I pulled her face close to mine and kissed her. She had to have sensed the desperateness in my affection (or she was a huge hooker herself), because she kissed me back and shoved her tongue down my throat. I was so surprised. I couldn’t even smell the gallons of urine and vomit my fellow San Fermin-ers had expelled between the cobbles of the street.
We started making out like 7th graders at the mall. Holy f*ck, I kissed the sh*t out of her. Witnessing all this, my friends left for the hostel in equal parts astonishment and disgust.
We must’ve made out in that ATM kiosk for a good 6 minutes before I tried to unbutton her shorts (side note: if I receive the green light from a dumb beezy, no matter how f*cked up, I get on anything, and I mean ANYTHING, I will become singularly focused on procreation and turn into a f*ck zombie). She obliged my advances and pushed my hand down the front of her pants, where she was wetter than a St. Bernard’s mouth after being promised bacon. I slid my hand up inside of her and played a little bass guitar before I shoved my fingers into her mouth. (If you didn’t know, chicks like that sh*t.) I flipped her around and she pressed her face against the screen of the ATM machine. I got behind her and unzipped those khaki shorts like a pimp.
F*ck a secret code, I was money with some strange in Pamplona.
Like I said, kind of unbelievable that no one cared he was just banging a chick from behind on a public ATM. I guess it was 4 in the morning, but still.
That's it for this week. Send your not-so-humble sex brags here.