by Zack Love
“What do you mean?”
“If you really sorry, and you really think that I’m really frickin’ fine-lookin’, then you goin’ suck on my big toe, just like you want me to suck on yo’ big dick.”
Evan tried to conceal his mixed feelings about this latest challenge, and attempted just to flow with the events of this ever more unpredictable encounter. Ostracism from Brandy’s SUV, he thought, would probably still feel worse than sucking on her big toe and then possibly getting some action.
As she raised her foot to his mouth, he caught a peek of her matching, leopard-skin thong and regained some motivation for the toe-sucking operation before him. Evan carefully inserted Brandy’s toe into his mouth and began bobbing up and down on her big toe, wondering whether a blowjob was worth a toe job…As his head moved up and down on Brandy’s toe, he began to concentrate on its somewhat calloused texture, and then noticed that it tasted like a blend of shoe sweat, leather, nail polish, and cheap perfume.
“That’s good…Now you can just keep on goin’ like that while I finish up my point…Now what was I sayin’? Oh yeah: let’s just say that I’m some really frickin’ fine classy lady who’s mo’ old fashioned than yo’ mamma’s mamma, and who therefore needs to be wined and dined – caviar style – fo’ at least fo’ nights, at a hundred bucks a night, right? And only then you goin’ get some ass…Now would that be prostitution if you just paid me the four hundred dollas up front, and we just went on some cheap ass McDonald’s dates fo’ times in a row, and then I let you get some?”
Evan was still bobbing up and down on Brandy’s toe.
“OK. Tha’s enough.” Brandy took her foot back. “Answer my question.” Evan straightened himself out, wiped his mouth a little, and reflected on the fact that he was now, without a doubt, at the lowest point of his entire history as a sexual being. He had just finished sucking on the toe of a prostitute and was following her every command because he was afraid that she might banish him from her SUV and thereby bring him to an even lower point. His last shred of dignity consisted in not paying her for any sexual favors, and he wasn’t going to buckle on this principle.
“Well, I still think that would be prostitution, because I would be paying you for sex that’s guaranteed after four dates…If it was a normal dating situation, there’d be no guarantee that I’d get any sex after four dates, no matter how much I spent. You know, it’s the uncertainty of getting laid that makes it such an interesting challenge.”
“You a stubborn one, ain’t ya’, Sexy Evan?”
“When it comes to certain principles, I am.”
“Well, if it’s the uncertainty of the booty that’s so important to yo’ ass, we can just agree that if you pay me four hundred dollas, I might fuck you, but I might not. No guarantees for Sexy Evan. You just goin’ have to take yo’ chances.”
“But if I’m going to spend four hundred dollars, I’d like us to at least have some nice dinners and entertainment.”
“Why you gots to impose yo’ ideas of entertainment on my ass? Can’t I spend the four hundred dollas the way I want to spend them?”
“Well why should I even give you the four hundred dollars in the first place?”
“So that I might let you fuck me in four dates. ‘Cept that we won’t actually go on four dates, unless they be like McDonalds dates.”
“And what if you decide not to fuck me after date number four and I want to see you again?”
“You know, you a funny bird, Sexy Evan. Most guys pay my ass so that they can walk away. But you already gettin’ attached to me...Which is understandable because I’m such a – what am I again, Sexy Evan?”
“The most really-frickin’-fine-lookin’-woman out there.”
“That’s right. And what are you thankin’ the lord for?”
“That you’re still talking to me at this moment.”
“Thas’ exactly right. See why you gettin’ all attached to my ass? Now we can arrange for you to see me more than four times, but each date is goin’ cost yo’ ass, and I ain’t promisin’ you no booty either. ‘Cuz we can’t have no pimpin’ goin’ on here.”
“And you can’t see anyone else while we’re dating?”
“Now you askin’ fo’ my premium services. If you want unlimited dates and exclusivity, that’s goin’ cost yo’ ass a very pretty penny.”
“As long as it’s not prostitution, I’m cool with it...”
“So we have a deal, Sexy Evan?”
Brandy leaned forward across the seat, so that she was looking into Evan’s lap.
“As long as I’m not paying for it. Think of it this way: you could give me a blowjob now for free, as a way to get our dating relationship off to a nice start.”
“I like your stubborn style, Sexy Evan, but ammo’ give you one last chance to pay fo’ yo’ blowjob anyway…”
“Oh yeah?” Evan said, in an intrigued but sexual tone produced entirely by the way Brandy eyed him up and down. “And what’s your pitch going to be this time?” he continued.
“Just remember that you get what you pay for…”
“So you’re trying to tell me that the blowjob will be better if I pay for it?”
Brandy nodded her head lasciviously.
“I’ve never met a blowjob that I didn’t like…So I think I’ll take my chances.”
“You know, Sexy Evan. If you wasn’t so sexy, I wouldn’t still be talkin’ to yo’ cheap ass.”
Brandy seductively looked up and down from Evan’s groin to his face.
“But all this talk with Sexy Evan has made me kinda hungry.”
Brandy began rubbing her hand against Evan’s inner thigh.
“You still got yo’ pants on, Sexy Evan!” she said, letting her hand drift upward to Evan’s crotch.
Evan’s excitement intensified – particularly when Brandy slid the bikini leopard cloth downward off one of her breasts, and let her soft brown nipple brush up against his left cheek and down across his lips.
“My titty ain’t been sucked by a sexy man in a long time, Evan. If you want me to give you a blowjob, you goin’ have to suck ma titty a little.”
Evan was all too happy to oblige her. He was completely open to this kind of quid pro quo transaction. The SUV gradually slowed down.
“Aight Sexy Evan. Take off yo’ pants. ‘Cuz ammo’ give you a blowjob like you ain’ never had and you ain’ never goin’ forget.”
The SUV pulled over and parked in a darker section of the street.
Evan began nervously fumbling with his trousers, all too excited by Brandy’s moves and words.
The minute his boxer briefs were down far enough, his Johnson (as he liked to call it) was involuntarily catapulted upwards, with almost embarrassing vigor and bounce, and – before Evan could even blush – Brandy was on him, devouring him with a zeal that he had never before witnessed. As her head worked its way up and down on his Johnson, her uninhibited technique and concentration – even conviction – was so perfect and practiced that Evan thought he was experiencing the very pinnacle of physical art. Brandy’s strong yet graceful head thrusts produced a moist and warm blend of rhythm and blues that brought Evan ever closer to the gates of paradise.
And then all of the sudden – in mid-thrust, halfway up Evan’s Johnson, when he was within seconds of what he thought would be the greatest orgasm he had ever had – the pleasure abruptly turned into an excruciating pain.
“Aaaaarrghhhh!!!!” he yelled, as the soft fellatio turned into razor sharp teeth digging into his Johnson with a force that he had never before imagined could be applied to his member. It was nothing short of sheer torture.
The pain was so focused and so intense that Evan didn’t even notice Bonnie get out of the car right on cue and approach the back seat area (the hold-up strategy involved using the victim’s scream as the signal for the driver to go over to the backseat area and state the demands of the robbery).
“Stop! What – what the fuck are you doing?!” Evan stammered.
Bonn
ie opened the passenger seat and brandished a small gun, pointed it at Evan’s torso and, with her partner in crime holding all of Evan’s manhood snugly between her incisors – broke the full extent of the bad news to Evan: “Now you goin’ be overcharged for the blowjob. Gimme your wallet.”
“What?” Evan was shocked at the realization that he was being held up at blow point. Evan looked over at the gun and then back down at Brandy’s mouth, firmly clenched around his Johnson and poised to nip it off in a second. He looked back at Bonnie. The gun in her hand, with the black high heels, tight black miniskirt, and stylish black sports bra together made her look like a James Bond woman.
“You heard what I said: gimme your wallet or she goin’ bite yo’ lil’ white dick off. Just like if it was a hot dog…She done it before. You know, she make Lorena Bobbit look like an amateur.”
The mere thought of having his Johnson bitten off was so horrific, and felt so imminently possible that Evan began desperately blundering through his pockets for his wallet. Brandy loosened her grip a bit as she saw that Evan was trying to cooperate.
Bonnie looked like she was just beginning to have fun.
“What’s yo’ name, mister?”
“Evan.”
“Evan, we ain’t even talked about the extra charge for dick stankiness…Brandy, was Evan lyin’ about not bein’ stanky?”
Brandy didn’t bother trying to answer orally but started to nod her head to answer Bonnie’s question. Evan yelped in response to the additional pain that her head movement created.
“Don’t!” was all Evan could cry out in reaction to Brandy’s nod.
“You don’t expect her to talk with her mouth full now do you, Evan?” Bonnie couldn’t conceal her amusement anymore and broke into a smile. “Where yo’ manners, Evan? Now that’s very bad news that you was lyin’ about yo’ dick not bein’ stanky. And I know that you want to pay the surcharge for stankiness, because Brandy has a really big appetite for white frankfurters, and I know that she wouldn’t mind keepin’ yours as a souvenir…You know she got a whole collection at home. In this little jar of pickles…So repeat after me, Evan: I really wanna pay the surcharge for dick stankiness.”
“I really wanna pay the surcharge for dick stankiness,” Evan blurted out, in helpless terror.
As he awkwardly tried to get a good enough grasp on his wallet to pull it out, he caught a glimpse of Brandy looking up at him, mid-Johnson, with the intense but cool eyes of a Doberman ready to deliver the salami-slicing bite at the slightest sign of resistance.
“It’s on account of dick stankiness that Brandy and me have to alternate responsibilities. Cuz it wouldn’t be right if one of us always got stuck with the stankiness…And tonight she’s on dick detail and I’m on pistol patrol, which means you could be outta luck, Evan…I remember this one time, Brandy bit it off and held it as collateral until the customer paid up…He finally agreed to pay up, but then had to get it stitched back on…So I’m really pleased to see that you’d rather skip the whole dismemberment portion of this story.” Bonnie moved a little closer. “But I don’t understand something.”
“Wh…What?!” Evan was entirely freaked out at this point. Bonnie, on the other hand, was enjoying complete control of the situation and no longer even felt the need to point her gun, which casually dangled from her index finger.
“How come you still ain’t given me yo’ wallet if you wanna hang on to your lil’ white dick tonight?”
“I…I’m…I’m lookin’ for it…”
“Aight. Take ya’ time.” Bonnie took a step back and patiently watched Evan struggle to find his wallet. She calmly began to share some additional musings with Evan and Brandy: “You know, I never did understand why they call it a blowjob. Do you, Brandy?”
Brandy started to shake her head, in agreement with Bonnie’s ponderings about the etymology of the term.
“No, no! Don’t move your head,” Evan pleaded, “I’m lookin’ for it,” he said, frantically trying to get into his pants pocket, which was all the more difficult to access because the slightest movement by him could hurt more than a head nod from Brandy. “I just can’t seem to…” he struggled desperately to push his hand into his pocket but to no avail. “I just can’t seem to get it out of…my…my.”
“I mean, there’s really no blowin’ involved in a blowjob,” Bonnie continued, oblivious to Evan’s distress. “Wouldn’t you agree with that statement, Evan?”
Evan’s fidgety hands, uncontrollably nervous about the possibility of a sudden penectomy, couldn’t seem to make their way through his trouser pockets, which – because of how he was sitting – were folded in a rather constricted way that blocked access to anything that was lodged deep inside them. In desperation, Evan asked for a little bit of maneuvering room: “I…I can’t get to it without moving a little.”
“So move a little, Evan. Ain’t nothin’ about a blowjob that prevents you from movin’ a little.”
“But…But I can’t move with her on me like this.”
“You know, I always thought that it should really be called a ‘bite job’ ‘cuz the lady – I don’t care how good she is – the lady basically has to bite you, but without using her teeth…Now the really great blowjobs make you think the lady ain’t got no teeth. I’ve given a few of those myself. But those are the ones you gotta pay for…The free ones carry a little extra risk, as I think you’ve come to learn. But even with the best blowjobs there really ain’t no blowin’ involved. I mean, I guess as a kind of a thank you to the customer, you could throw in some blowin’ at the end…Specially if the customer’s dick be really raw and sore and shit. You know, from too much use…Then blowin’ on his dick might actually feel like a nice little courtesy. But like I said, that’s special treatment that don’t normally come with your standard blowjob.”
Evan began to panic at the thought that he couldn’t get to his wallet, and that there was no telling when the guillotine might fall on his Johnson. His future as a sexual being was at the mercy of an apparent psychopath who could order a jaw-clenching death for him at any moment. Evan began to hyperventilate.
“I mean, the last customer who got the Brandy Blowjob Special – you know the one that’s free, like the one you enjoyin’ right now – he insisted that we change the name of the service to – you know – somethin’ more precise. Like the ‘Brandy Bite Job Special.’ But then Brandy and me, we was havin’ a marketing meeting last Tuesday, and we discussed the possibility of changin’ the name and all. And we just decided that the ‘Brandy Blowjob Special’ still has a much more appealing sound to it. You know, you wanna entice the customer. That’s what marketing’s all about, right Evan?”
Mercifully, Evan finally managed to pull the wallet out of his pocket. With one last desperate yank, it fell out and rolled down the seat and onto the ground in front of where Bonnie was standing. She picked it up and began going through its contents.
Brandy unlocked her dental mousetrap and released Evan’s traumatized trouser snake.
He fell back against the seat. The pain, shock, and hyperventilation were too much.
Evan had fainted.
When he came to, he was in an ambulance with gauze bandages around his Johnson.
Chapter 5
Lucky Chucky and Heeb
Unlike Evan, Carlos Fuentes lived a thoroughly charmed life. Carlos’s family beat the odds twice by not being caught during their illegal border crossing from Mexico to California, and then winning the naturalization lottery a few years later. In school, if the gifted student had made a strategic choice not to study certain material while cramming for an exam, it would conveniently not appear on the test. At cards, he consistently had the best poker face, and if it was raining, he always had an umbrella. In a high school car accident that left the vehicle totaled, a tree mangled, a fire hydrant overturned, and passengers injured and drenched in water, Carlos somehow emerged dry and unscathed.
But it wasn’t until the fall of 1994, at the start of h
is senior year at Harvard College, that Carlos was dubbed “Lucky Chucky” by his new roommate, Sammy Laffowitz. The nickname was inspired when Sammy, a short, balding, heavy-set, bookish type from the suburbs of Philadelphia, became enviously dumbstruck at the female fortunes that constantly graced Carlos. Ironically enough, Carlos remained single and regularly complained of having no luck with women. But most men with his attributes would be unattached for a small fraction of the time that Carlos would stay single. Standing six-one, Carlos had the slick, Latin look of a telenovela star. He dressed with impeccable style, maintained a great physique, and easily charmed with his silver tongue. He was considered a mega-catch even before “dropping the H bomb” on women.
“Dropping the H bomb,” as he and his friends referred to the tactic, involved any ostensibly nonchalant, circuitous attempt to mention the school they were attending in the hope of impressing a girl. The trick was to say something that induced the female to ask, “What school do you go to?” (for example: “In my college, we don’t have majors, we have concentrations”). Then, when she would ask, “Where do you go to school?” the artifice involved avoiding the actual name of the school, so as to appear modest (for example: “I go to school in the Boston area”).
Sammy, on the other hand, had absolutely no luck with women, no matter how many times he dropped the H-bomb. While his baby face had pleasantly benign features and a cutely compact nose, there were several liabilities that made it difficult for him to get anywhere (at least by his own estimation): the hair on the top of his head had thinned so much that his scalp seemed far more prominent than the thin brown layer of hair combed over it; his pudgy frame rose only five feet and seven inches; his breath sometimes took only an hour to beat the most potent mouthwash; and he absolutely loved to discuss quantum mechanics, epistemology, and topological algebra – in no small part because it was his acumen at math that enabled him finally to lose his virginity to a homely and promiscuous sophomore who got into Harvard because of her father’s connections and who desperately needed Sammy to take her final exam for her. Despite numerous indications to the contrary, Sammy continued to operate under the illusion that what got him laid once could get him laid again, and that if he just displayed his knowledge of higher mathematics to enough women, one of them might declare herself willing to barter some sex for his math skills.