Stains: A Dennis Story

Part 1: The Brownie

At the end of the year parties at school, everybody gets their pick: either an attic in the woods, a dorm at school, or some sketchy basement. I was happy to choose the sketchy basement of my pal John and his girlfriend Lisa. They had a nice house down the hill from campus. It was June—college for us lets out late—and it was about 95 degrees. The party was obviously going to be crazy. What I did first was drink five beers by myself in my dorm. I walked down to their house by myself singing something loudly. I wore my black tank top and khaki jeans. I flexed my arms as I walked and saw that, thankfully, two weeks of not going to the gym had not really decreased my muscles.

I was walking alone and singing and not caring about the occasional person giving me a funny look because I did not want to feel lonely. I was, after all, alone. Renee had decided to go to her friend’s film screening. I think she was mad at me. When I got to the house I said hi to everybody fairly quickly and was immediately offered a pot brownie. I took it. The last time I’d eaten a pot brownie I’d hated it; I was sick and vomited. I was in a mood to take my chances again. I talked with John for a while about our Semiotics class and how glad we were to be done with it. I don’t think I came across as too wrecked, although maybe that was just me.

I spotted a few girls dancing awkwardly in a group to Miley Cyrus. They cackled when one of them tripped. They were also munching on pot brownies. I wearily made my way towards them. I leaned against the wall, throwing the rest of my brownie in the trashcan. I chose to just stare at the girl who had tripped. He hair was died a messy orange—you could still see her original brown hair color encroaching on her head—and she didn’t say much. She had on a denim jacket and wore black fishnet stockings with a preppy gray skirt. Weird, weird fashion sense. She noticed me staring at her and smiled and looked away. I kept staring, occasionally yelling something back at John. She looked over at me again, a little cock-eyed, but still, she smiled again. When she noticed me still staring at her for a third time, she whispered something to her friend and walked to me.

“Hi, Amelia.”

She said it like it was a diagnosis. She didn’t hold out her hand. I shook it anyway.

“Like Amelia Bedelia?” I said.


“Didn’t you read when you were a child?”

“Um…yeah, but…”

“You sure? You’re not illiterate? Maybe kind of a low IQ?”


“I mean, I saw you almost fall on your ass back there. There’s only two possibilities. You’re high out off your gourd, or you need to pay a visit to the dum-dum store.”

I tapped her on the forehead. “Pick one.”

She just looked at me, uncomfortable.

“I’m only joshing you,” I said, giving my best sensitive smart guy laugh. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

“I am really smart,” she said. “But I’m not a great dancer. And I’m sure you’re complete shit.”

“We’ll see,” I said.

She was an Anthropology major. She came from North Carolina. She was thinking of switching to Social Studies. She had turned twenty-four days ago and had been sick so she had not celebrated, but now she was celebrating. She complained about her friends not wanting to hang out with her and said, as we slow-danced, “I’m so awkward.” I kissed her after she said that. Her lips tasted like Jameson whisky but once I stuck my tongue in she tasted like something sweet and comforting. She was completely taken aback by this and pressed several fingers against the neck of my t-shirt and said “Um. I think…” She trailed off. I knew she would.

“I think this is a really special place to be,” I said tilting my forehead so it touched her. “At least, if you’re you or me.”

That made her feel better.

I lied about my age. I told her I was twenty-three. I don’t know if she would have walked out on me if I’d told her I was nineteen, but she seemed like the type of chick who might.

Later, we stood pressed together in the bathroom. I rubbed my palm over her hairy, unkempt bush and dipped two fingers in and out. I was just testing the waters at this point. She was holding my shoulders and breathing in my ear. I plunged my fingers deeper in to her and worked around the sides of her clit and back out, and back in. She whimpered. Her clit was swampy and seemed to keep rejecting me, even as she gradually go in to it. She tightened her grip on me and massaged my back with one hand. I didn’t want to eat her out. I needed to cut back on sticking my tongue in to vaginas. I’d noticed sores on my lips that a school nurse assured me was not an STD, but still.

She stroked my cock from outside my boxers. I sort of pressed my hand down on her thighs to suggest that I wanted a blowjob. I really did. I wanted to get head again. It had been a while.

She kneeled down and pulled down my pants. I guided her back to her feet and lifted kadıköy escort off her jacket and her black cotton shirt and threw them on the ground. I also pulled down her skirt. There was no way I was going to get head from a fully clothed female. That would make me go limp. She giggled as I took off all her clothes.

“Wow,” she said. “The full distance.”

“‘kay,” I said, grinning from the side of my mouth. “Your work may commence.”

She briefly peered above my head as if this was something she knew she would regret. She kneeled down and took me in her mouth. Her lips tightened on the tip of my shaft and they still felt comforting. While her lips swirled around the tip of my cock the door opened. Not prepared to give a fuck, my middle finger flew up in the air and I raised my hand. I heard some kind of awkward guffaw. The door closed. I really hoped nobody had taken a picture. I didn’t hear a click. I was bored with this blowjob already. I started flexing my muscles in the mirror. It looked hysterical, me making a face with my teeth clenched and holding my arms low like an ape or Sylvester Stallone during his porn phase (same difference) and I started laughing.

Amelia wasn’t that good. But it was sexy as hell watching her crouch in her fishnet stockings. The fabric widened and exposed more of her legs in a way that reminded me of the time I’d gone to the aquarium with my mom and watched jellyfish.

Amelia thought it was a good idea to use her teeth, apparently. I took her face in my hands and pulled her off. She looked up at me, alarmed, as if I’d called in her parents for a parent teacher conference.

“What is it?” she said, smiling uncertainly.

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be southern hospitality or something,” I whispered in her ear, touching my cheek to hers. “But you shouldn’t use your teeth.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking right in my face, shutting her eyes for a split second. I lightly bit her ear and sucked on her cheek. I flicked my hand down over her butt and between her legs. I felt her mound.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Just try deep-throating me.”

Down went the elevator to my junk again. She took my cock in her mouth once more and held it there for a few moments, planning her attack strategy. Then she realized there was only one strategy; to stick my cock all the way in her mouth. Which she did, and it suddenly felt ten times better. Her lips touched my pubic hair as she moved fully up and down like she was in a popsicle eating contest. Every time her lips ascended to the tip of my cock, I felt a tingle, and it helped that she flicked her tongue around now and then. So yes, I was about to nut in her mouth.

I was preparing to do just that, when my phone buzzed. I’m not sure why, but I reached down to my pants to pick it up and answered.

It was Renee.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hey baby.”

(Pop! Went the sound of Amelia’s lips disengaging from my cock. The junky bathroom air.)

There was a lot of noise in the background and I could barely hear Renee at first. Her voice was tipsy and raspy.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey, I’m kind of busy right now,” I said. “Can we—”

Another female voice cut in. It was her friend Phoebe.

“Dennis, Renee wants to talk to you,” she said, almost nagging me (Phoebe hates me). “Come on.”

Then she disappeared from the phone. Renee came back.

“Look, I’m drunk, Dennis, I know, but it’s just…there’s this guy here, Bill, and he’s really creepy. He was hitting on me, talking about my tits and stuff. He has, like, no tact.”

“Is he still there?” I asked.

“Yeah. He’s still here.” I sighed.

“Renee, I want to come over, but I don’t know if I have the time.”

“It’s okay Dennis, I get it, I’m drunk, you’re probably hooking up with someone else, just, never mind.”

“What? No. Why would you think that? Of course I’m not with someone else. I’ve been sitting in my room smoking pot and playing videogames all night.”

(This was true often enough that I could convince myself it was true at that moment).

A silence on her end. Lots of static. Chirpy party soundbites.

“So you mean, you’ll come over?”

“Are you at Phoebe’s?”


“I’ll be there as soon as I can, baby.”


I considered my lack of a car. I’d driven after a few shots a year ago, been pulled over, and well, I don’t need to go in to the rest.

“…But I mean, I’m gonna need a ride.”

“Um. Okay. Jared?”

She was calling to Phoebe’s boyfriend Jared. A beefy, clueless redneck type of guy, but pretty funny nonetheless. I had no problem with him. There was some background shouting for a little while before she came back to the phone.

“Okay, Jared will come pick you up.”

“Outside my dorm.”


“I’ll be there soon.”

“See you,” she said and hung up.

I üsküdar escort bet you’re wondering what Amelia was up to this entire time. She was up to being mindfucked against the cupboard below the sink. She gaped at me. I guessed that she made the same gape when she had an orgasm, which was something I would leave for some other asshole to confirm.

I put away the phone. I looked at my cock, which was shiny with Amelia’s saliva. I pulled off a too-big clump of toilet paper and wiped it off, and threw the TP in the toilet. I put my pants on and buckled up, watching Amelia’s Samuel Beckett performance against the sink and trying to keep a neutral face.

“Thanks, maybe we can pick up where we left off later?” I said.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. I bolted out that door. I don’t even remember wading through the crowd and leaving the party.

The Stain

The ride with Jared over to Phoebe’s trailer—yes, she lived in a trailer park—was a refreshing type of shitshow. Jared and I shared a bottle of Jack. Here I was, drinking in a moving car again. He played loud Toby Keith music. I think he liked Toby Keith un-ironically. At one point his car went over a bump. He slowed down at looked back out his window.

“Hedgehog, I think,” he said.

He rolled up the window, accelerated, and we sped onward.

“Definitely a hedgehog,” Jared said.

I was ready to kick the shit out of this guy Bill. Just beat his ass and then fuck Renee in front him so he could see what he was missing. I was ready to fuck her in front of a whole gathering, actually, just like I’d done months ago with the sorority girl whose name escapes me (still looking out for the video, forward any leads to my office). We went over another bump and I almost booted and the just felt good and dazed.

Bill had left by the time I arrived. Ah shucks. Renee was fine. She wore a red silk shirt today and a skirt over her jeans. She had a bottle of vodka with her. I drank a little of her vodka and we watched some of the movie running on Phoebe’s T.V. It was Rob Reiner in The Hot Chick. Rob Reiner has to pretend to be a guy. He’s a girl trapped in a guy’s body. He orders a daiquiri at a bar and corrects himself and says, “better make that bud light.” I laughed and Renee laughed too. Her hand curled around mine.

Most people had cleared out. I finally felt warm drunk, but with an energy buzz. There was no way I was going back to my dorm that night. The final parade of drunked neckbeards shut the door, leaving Renee and I alone in the living room, smoking a joint. Phoebe begged off and went back to her room to get mounted by Jared. Poor Phoebe. (Poor Jared).

Renee and I unfolded Phoebe’s couch bed and got busy. We undressed each other standing up. When I had Renee down to her panties, I slipped my middle and index finger in to her pussy. Her pussy wasn’t mound-ish like Amelia’s. She had a small, sloping pussy, always with a shaved strip running down the center. She leaned against my shoulder and gasped. She was ready for me.

Renee was on the pill. I didn’t have to feel guilty about raw dogging her. I had developed a guilt immunity by then. Girls tried and tried to guilt trip me for cumming inside them, but I preferred my trips to Cancun and the liquor store.

I teased her labia for a number of seconds. Renee made some sharp H’s; her breaths were quick and her eyes blinked. I moved inside her. I felt the glorious envelope of warm wetness and I moved in and out gently. I guess I felt like I still needed to take care of her, or something, after creepy Bill. Amelia’s saliva was still coating my cock and acting as lube. She’d done me a favor she didn’t even realize. Renee whispered to me,

“Fuck me as hard and as fast as you want.”

I slid all the way out, until the edge of the tip of my cock was the only thing poking in to her clit, and back in, until my nuts smacked against the hair stubble at the bottom of her pussy. In and out. I was putting myself through an extreme pelvic workout, but so far not the hardest I’d ever fucked.

Renee needled her fingers around my upper back, scratching across the fading back acne that would never fully leave. She panted in to my ear in an act of moan-suppression; the mattress creaked loudly; the sheet inched further and further down my back until it slid off and there I was, bare-assed while I stroked in and out and her legs jerked around in the air. I heard the familiar whapping sound. Rough Sex 201: an elective.

Renee released a sharply cascading yelp. She sucked on my ear. I swear that, at that point, I heard the door to Phoebe’s room open and Phoebe darted past us to the bathroom, peed, and scurried back to her room amid the sound of the toilet flushing, and slammed her door. I think it was Phoebe because I remember the steps sounding feminine. I remember Renee yelping throughout Phoebe’s journey and the whapping turning wet. Phoebe must have had to go pretty bad if she was willing to tuzla escort be assaulted by the sounds of her best friend getting railed while she went.

Shortly after Phoebe’s door slammed, Renee said in a breathy voice—

“Dennis, Dennis, fuck…” and trailed off and made a few other yelpy noises, like she was trying to push her orgasm out of her mouth. (I’ve tallied this as the eighth time a girl has announced to me, mid-coitus, her oncoming orgasm. The first had been this freak who was eight years older than me who I was fucking my senior year in high school. There had been seven since her in probably the past eight months. Lots of eights and orgasms. But all of this is an estimate.)

Creak squeak creak squeak

Whap whap whap muck whap whap whap muck

Ah! Ah! Ah! H-h-h-h—aaaaaAAHH!

I sped up some more. And I only realized when I sped up how I drunk I felt. I felt sweat forming around my hairline and I felt my cock sloshing around in her pussy. I felt a warm wet trickling on my balls.

This. Bitch. Was. A. Squirter.

How come I didn’t know until now? I started nutting and made a lot of noise while I did, and it encouraged her to open her mouth wider and exercise her tenor a little louder. Were we having a shouting contest? Was this what our relationship had come to? I held in my grunts and pounded her several strokes a second and the mattress groaned and shifted. Her vagina hemorrhaged fluid. It got on my leg.

I mistakenly pulled out and sprayed the rest of my load over the sheets. My knee screeched to a halt against her leg. I guess I’m not sure if I had cum on her leg and was getting my own cum on my knee, or if she had squirted on her own leg, and I was effectively rubbing my knee in her vagina. Whatever, it was wet and it felt wonderful as I kneeled there and waited for my cock to pump out the rest. Then I fell on top of her and felt her heart rate slowing down with mine. I felt her pubic hair scrunched up below my waist and the tiny dampness of her pussy-lips a little lower on my waist. I buried my head in her tits, which were the softest objects in the world for the next thirty or so seconds. I licked the side of one tit because I was still a recovering mass of sexual fury at that moment, until the fury disappeared fully and everything returned to normal.

Then we both caught our breath, and realized the gravity of the situation.

Renee scooched away from me, lightly pushing my head to the side. She was suddenly nervous and uptight.

“Dennis, we have to clean up,” she said. “Oh God, we need to clean up.”

There was an actual puddle below her crotch. A white distillation of squirt and cum that had formed on the sheets. My observation is that squirt (I know that isn’t what it’s called, but what the hell am I supposed to call it) is clearer and less milky than semen, so it looked like she’d contributed to the edges of the puddle while I’d filled in the center. I turned on the light to get a better look at it. The way it looked in the light makes my description sound even better.

Looking at Renee sitting up, naked, just removed from this puddle, glancing down at it with a hint of red in her face, and glancing back up at me, I could tell that I was the first guy to make her aware that she had this particular ability.

“Dennis,” she said. “Come on, help me get some paper towels.”

I suddenly felt nauseous.

I shook my head and dashed in to the bathroom. I threw myself on to the toilet and promptly puked my guts out. It was quick, but it was vicious. I kept my head on the bowl for a couple minutes, spitting and waiting to make sure there was only one load. I though about the ungainly amount of body fluids I’d come in to direct contact with that night. I had probably created some kind of deadly virus already. I wiped off the toilet seat and this time wiped off my cock. I flushed the toilet and walked back in to the living room.

Renee sat there on the side of the bed. She had put a t-shirt and her panties on. She looked at me strangely. There was a hint of a smile on her face. Otherwise her eyes had the sort of look you have when you’ve become involved in something that’s really fun but also very wrong. She had cleaned up the puddle. There was only a faint dampness on the sheets. I felt, watching her sit there, while she looked at her buck-naked fuck-buddy newly emerged from the bathroom, like a sort of conqueror, which is exactly what I was. I fell on the bed beside her. I went to sleep to her high, restless breathing.

My dreams that night: I was at a conference, wearing a suit and tie. A large audience of spectacled people in suits sat before me; I stood on a platform and lectured. I pointed at vague figures on a blackboard. Someone asked a question that began with “But Dennis…” I replied, “Well actually, as my research continued, I found it was also possible to make a chick squirt!” Everybody hummed in unison and nodded. Everybody furiously took notes. Amelia sat at the back of the crowd. She had her hand raised and I didn’t call on her.

I was the head of a penis (mine?) moving back and forth between bright pink walls. I realized I was inside a vagina (Renee’s?). A round, swelled G-spot rose up in front of me and started talking to me in a low female voice. I forget what was said. Then it turned to a male voice. Then nothing.



Yorum Ekle

E-Mail Adresiniz Yayınlanmayacak. Zorunlu Alanlar *