Don Juan

Don Juan

I see this drop-dead gorgeous girl with an elegant silhouette standing in the middle of the bar. I'm used to seeing curvy girls with their thighs speckled with cellulite--your average girl who had a job and not an internship before the age of twenty. Not this chick, though. She came straight from some prissy neighborhood and an ivy league college. She's slim, tight, probably takes a yoga class with her girlfriends from college, and is most definitely on some green juice diet. She's wearing this killer emerald green backless dress that makes me picture sliding the straps off her shoulder, making it fall into a puddle around her high heels. Then I think about bending her naked body over and burying my face in her ass.

"Excuse me, Ladies," I say, as I maneuver my outstretched arm past her ugly friends and rest my hand on the bar. She and her friends look at me quickly and give each other a knowing smirk before making room for me.

"Scotch Neat," I tell the bartender. He nods with a smile, wipes his hands on a cloth, and turns around to pour my drink. He places a napkin in front of me and the glass on top. The babe in the green dress looks at my drink and then up at me. I give her a half smile, looking at her eyes. She breaks eye contact and blushes.

I chuckle softly. "What's your name?"

"Sarah," she says. Or Stephanie. Or Shannon. I forget.

"Sarah, you have gorgeous hazel flecks in your eyes. My favorite."

She gives me a smile.

We talk for a bit, and I'm saying anything that will speed this process along. Her body is pointed at me to show her interest, but she's playing it cool to make it clear she isn't about to swoon at my compliments. She's seen this game before. The fact is, girls like her don't associate themselves with guys like me, high school dropout with a coke and alcohol problem. Nah, bitches like them are looking for nice guys in suits with their personalities in their wallets--nerds in school that finally made it big in corporate but never in the bedroom.

That's exactly why girls like her are secretly just itching to get their brains fucked out by guys like me.

I'm looking at her really intensely in the eyes, and she's staring right back with the same amount of passion, only she seems nervous--like something's on the line.

Girls like her think guys like me could never understand the complex thoughts that run around her mind thanks to her college degree framed in heavy oak. But let me tell you her exact thoughts in this moment: she's wondering whether she's really going to go home with a guy like me even though her suburban background and education has taught her better than that. But she's considering an exception--a one-time lay with a social outcast that will get it out of her system.

She relaxes and smiles at me coyly. She lets me lead her away from the bar.

At this point, she thinks she has made a rational decision; she's choosing to go home with a degenerate like me, and I stupidly mistake her generosity for my game. Nope. Sorry, Sweetheart. Your years of sexual deprivation single-handedly led you straight to me. You never stood a chance.

Back at my dump, she's mounting me on my bed. Her kisses trace up my chest and up my neck. She flattens her body against mine with a sharp exhale, and her erect nipples press into my skin. She slips her tongue in my mouth.

I wrap my arms around her tightly and roll her onto her back. I bury a kiss in her cleavage, on her waist, and in her inner thigh. When I spread her legs apart, her labia makes a wet sound as her pussy opens. I immediately give my throbbing cock a slow pull or two to soothe it, but I hold back otherwise in order to dominate this bitch. I lean forward, and she moans the moment my tongue touches her swollen clit. I lick her crevices with a winding tongue.

She doesn't give a shit what I think about her, so she lets herself get nasty and selfish with this. "Tongue-fuck me hard, baby," she says, grabbing the hair on my head. "Yeah, just like that." She moans and writhes with a pained look on her face, but I hold her hips still with a firm hand on either side.

"Clean my hot pussy real good," she murmurs, as she runs her hand through my hair and holds the back of my head. This chick is filthy. She definitely watches porn, and the thought of her flicking the bean in front of a glowing screen drives me wild. When she comes on her clit, she whimpers in rapid succession until there's a long, drawn out moan. A sigh.

Now she's smiling at me and biting her lower lip. I bend over and kiss her on the mouth. Then I roll on a condom and pull her hips toward mine for round two.

I enter her, and it feels incredible. I slowly thrust. She moans when I touch her sweet spot. Again. And again. And again. As I pound faster, she grips the sheets and pants quickly and heavily. We climax together. Our mouths are open, our bodies paralyzed. We hold onto each other, all sweaty and broiling like a fucking heating lamp.

She collapses on the bed. Her eyelids droop, and pretty soon she's out like a light.

I fuck pussy so good that women have the best sleep they've ever had. I like seeing them passed out with every muscle completely relaxed, their arms and legs sprawled in the same position as when they came. I like seeing their makeup smudged, their lips parted, and their jaws slack--none of that "sleep pretty" shit they pull when they're trying to seal the deal with the suit-wearing monkeys. Nothing gets me off more than thinking about these girls lying next to sleeping husbands a few years down the line, finishing themselves off while fantasizing about getting ruined by that one slag they met at a bar. I fold my arms behind my head and smile to myself. I'm the motherfucking best.