I scrawled this in a notebook at 1:30am after fucking him in Boston. Because I like to preserve original copy (and drunken thought), this is it—unedited. Anything that has been altered or added is in brackets. Enjoy.
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How you know you’re a real adult (not having your own linens): You go to a professional convention in another city and you call somebody to fuck. He lives ten blocks away from the convention center because he works for a hedge fund.
You come back from your fuck date and your roommate, exhausted from a full day of sleep [I mean ‘work,’ ha ha, Freudian slip], is sound asleep. Your mouth is numb from spermicidal condoms and your pussy and asshole are throbbing. You consider getting off again until you realize you need to wake up at 9am [to be business cas perfection] and need to Benadryl yourself to sleep because you aren’t a real adult and slept four hours on the bus after being kept up by your spoiled cat who meows at you at 4am, 6am, and 12pm, all before your scheduled 2pm wake up time. Because you feed her at 4 [before you go to sleep] before the sun rises at 5:30 so you aren’t inconveniently awakened.
Thoughtfully wash your pussy with a washcloth and partition it from other towels, while observing the environmentally friendly sign that says if you leave a towel on the floor, thousands of gallons of water will be wasted per days, but if you leave it on the rack, it is a reusable pussy rag. Look composed for your roommate before come home from your fuck date.
“Call you in 15 im just finishing up dinner” is [text message] code for “Cleaning my asshole for you.”
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Ridiculous hotel room with 8 pillows per 2 people and plants revolving in revolving door—2 sections, instead of 4, with display triangles.
So horny after bus ride. Didn’t get off day before, despite planning for having roommate for two days. Even thought about the shampoo bottles (Bath and Body Works’ Apple Fresia) I frantically fucked before last convention. Time alone in skyscraper hotel with nice view of the exotic CPK [California Pizza Kitchen]. Flat screen TV—what do I do with my time? How do I get off? Oh, I know someone in Boston. Like those T-shirts “You’ve got a friend in Pennsylvania.”
Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.
Conceal texts from him so he didn’t catch sight of his title: Adam Smallest Ever (consolidated due to phone’s number of character restrictions).
Pretty pastel shirt with tacky, amex-like logo. Driving shoes. Omg, he had his own washer-dryer (something to wash his own linens in). He is an extra super adult. I bet he wasn’t even impressed by my apartment—doesn’t even know the meaning of moving out of your parents’ apartment into a “lifestyle apartment.”
Calls doorman to call taxi for you. Lives in mansion with granite counters and slate floors, even though younger than you. Got job because of uncle’s connections, “not on [his] own merit.” Goes golfing with parents over Memorial Day weekend.
[When he leaned in to kiss me, he didn’t even have to lean in. He led me to his bedroom. After mounting him, we made out naked and I rubbed against him—but he had other plans for me, ones that involved clumsily rotating me around into an undisclosed orientation. Obligingly, I flipped over confusedly and he fumbled me some more. Once I was sitting up spooning him, I questioned, “How do you want me?” He flipped me back around and requested, “Let me see your pussy.” Um, I thought you could see it? Touch it? From that position.]
“Sorry, I haven’t had really good sex in a long time.” Omg, do you not get laid?
[That’s what he said and what I thought after he came quickly following heavy foreplay. Round two was almost immediate, by the way, and he attended to me during the wait.]
Bed too tall for him. Couldn’t fuck me standing up. Had to relocate to couch, which was too short. Life is hard as an almost-midget.
[When you fuck someone on the side of a bed, your balls should be able to clear or, at least, skim the sheets—a little fortuitous fondling. His penis barely peeked over the edge, like a kid on his tippie toes peering over a bar counter. Chocolate milk, please?]
[Considering the fact that he was not a midget—just a very, very short person—I feel as if he should have been able to obtain appropriately sized furniture without going through the trouble of getting it custom made. He not only lived in a mansion; he lived in a mansion built for giants. Fi-Fie-Fo-Fum.]
Hot next-to-bed mirror.
Shaves everything. Ha ha ha. Totally forgot about that. Shaving is like losing weight. Look what I’ve found! Forgot to ask him about friends knowing about his small penis. Well, he is a good time.
Head sort of small for his penis. Too continuous. Not enough definition.
3 fingers—def that’s his size. Didn’t even gag on him face-fucking me.
In retrospect, didn’t put balls in mouth just because I [wanted to see if I] could—he probably asked me to.
Impossible to keep ass and mouth separated.
[And vagina. Between the licking, sticking, and switching holes. It wasn’t like I was going to run to the bathroom in between fingering my ass and sucking his dick again. Even though sucking his dick required no hand action, it isn’t like you can give good head without a hand for support. In this case, an ass/vag hand.]
Asked me if I wanted a towel. He has a good memory.
[Asked right before I did to myself exactly what ends in squirting. So he memorized the routine. Maybe he has been jerking off to this for the past four months.]
Literally like sperm to be spread.
[I wanted him to cum on my face so badly. And after all that teabagging I think I deserved it. But he couldn’t. Cause he started round two too soon after round one.]
Why don’t all guys have small penises; I would orgasm with all of them.
[For true, once he was in my ass I came in less than a minute both times. My clit swelled to gigantic.]
Told me he didn’t think I’d ever call after that 4am text message (“Nothing good happens between the hours of 2am and 5am.” Unless [you] call in advance, plan to be [my] end of the night.) (What were your game plans anyway? Thought you could do better than me that night?) As my wise friend once told me, he used to feel self-conscious hitting on girls, feel like he was imposing, until it dawned on him: Girls like sex, too.
[When he said he didn’t think he’d ever see me again, I asked, “After you ran away?” And he specified after the 4am text. Because we find different acts egregious. 4am texts are just stupid—potentially wake up and piss off a prospective partner and have a 1% chance of getting you laid.]
I should be having more anal sex—revelation. Thanks, guy with smallest penis ever to be seen (and your predecessor).
God, I’m not done.
[I lied in bed for so long that night contemplating whether my pussy was throbbing because I wanted more or because I was done. Either way, the interest did not wane.]
Thanks for the orgasm; now let’s fuck.
He must think I’m a fiend for anal; little does he know I’m a fiend for having small cock up my ass.
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