Free The Man Who Came Too Much by Ellie Saxx Page B

anywhere safe to aim. Her roommate’s stuffed animals? Her computer? Her microwave? Go ahead – you try making a decision the next time somebody’s
    blowing you.
    (I mean a smart decision, too. Not one of those, “Oh, I guess he can stay one more week”
    deals.)
    Finally, I had no choice but to grab a leather thigh-high boot that I saw halfway under Susan’s bed. I zipped up its side and took aim, filling the base of that boot with a torrent of spunk.
    Much like when I was spraying my room that first day way back when, I had a mix of
    emotions. Panic. Joy. In those moments I want to climax forever. I fucked that boot for all I was worth, I admit.
    “What the – hurk – fuck!” Susan was looking over her shoulder. “Gack!” “Unnnggg!” “Did
    you just fuck my boot?”
    “I told you!” I shouted. I shouted because she was shout-choking and it seemed appropriate.
    “I told you it was a lot! There was no other place to go! The boot had to take it!”
    “Motherfucker!” she yelled. “Those aren’t even mine, they’re my sister’s! She’s going to kill me!”
    “Tell her I’m very sorry. No, don’t tell her this happened. We can wipe it out!” I didn’t have many good ideas when I was in college.
    As you can imagine, we scrambled around a bit. I won’t bore you with the details. Susan deserves better. She was a mess. I think her cashmere sweater was ruined. It soaked everything up like a sponge. We wrung it out over the trash can.
    Believe it or not, Susan kept trying. She sucked and jerked me off, aiming me at various containers over the next few weeks. It wore me out. Literally. I had abrasions on my cock – she was that determined, and she had a vice-like grip.
    When we finally got around to real fucking, I’d just about decided that I didn’t get along with pussy. But I thrust my hips like a wild man and ended up filling a condom like a water balloon.
    That’s what kept us together for a couple of extra weeks. When I pulled out ever-so-slowly and Susan saw that swollen cum bag it was like a giant light bulb snapped on over her head.
    “Water balloons!” she said, and then she ran for the phone and started jabbering with one of her sorority sisters. They were sick fucks, I have to say. That’s why we stayed friends for quite some time.

    What Susan and her Kappa Alpha Theta sisters dreamed up was this: I’d fill cum balloons and they’d drop them on the incoming pledge class during a raucous pool party. No harm, no foul, right? The pledges would get doused in my special “conditioner,” rinse in the pool, and then clean every thing with a giant barrel of chlorine or something stronger. A simple and elegant plan.
    The plan went slightly awry. It rained on the day of Operation Cumbardment, so the pledges were herded in to the sorority basement instead. The balloons had been sitting around for a few days so, from what I heard, those poor girls left that basement smelling pretty rank. Nobody felt particularly well-conditioned; in fact, Susan informed me that one pledge had a crusty spot in her hair for most of the spring semester. If I remember correctly, two tried to sue the school and ended up in the marching band or something to that effect.
    You see, then, that my experience with women didn’t go so well. I didn’t particularly enjoy Susan’s throat-jobbing expertise. I desperately wanted to, I assure you. For my parting shot (sorry), I carpet-bombed a sorority with my semen. That was that. I kept to myself for a long time after Susan.
    I spent most of my time at my first post-graduation job flirting with an older guy named James. He was a little shorter than me, maybe 5’ 10’, and kept his exquisite black hair incredibly neat. That’s what I remember the most about James, and I know that’s kind of funny. It was his hair and the line at the base of his neck: perfectly straight. Just like his black eyeglass frames were perfectly aligned with his perfect eyebrows. That was James.