Free R/T/M by Sean Douglas Page A

which kind of looked like the Mortal Kombat logo.   I’m all like, “What the fuck is that?”.   She replies, “It’s a tattoo,” with a silent “dummy!”.   I say, “I know it’s a tattoo, but how the fuck did that happen?   Doesn’t that kind of come up in conversation?   Like, ‘Hey.   How was your week?   Great!   I got a tattoo on my tit!’’?
         She just looked right through me.   I fucked her anyway.
         The next week she shows up with the other tit tattooed with the Star of Solomon.
         That was it.
         I stopped returning her calls and I sent her a letter telling her I was breaking up with her because I knew if I broke up with her in person she’d freak out and probably chase me around the house with a kitchen knife.
     
         I saw her years later and her ass was fucking huge and her face had gotten all jowly.
         It was at a birthday party for the m odel-quality blonde I was fucking at the time.
         The best revenge is living well.
     
         Like I said, I was a terrible person to be in a relationship with.
         I wasn’t sadistic.
         At least not at first.
         I just didn’t play the games that men and women play with each other.
         I’d never flatter a girl that was fishing for compliments.
         If a girl was flirting with someone else while I was around I wouldn’t get jealous, I’d just leave and let her figure it out.
         If a girl said she loved me I’d never say it back.
         I wasn’t going to compromise my integrity by lying and saying I loved.
         I knew what love felt like and what I felt with them wasn’t love.
     
         Every now and then I’d get what I wanted.
         There was a hot blonde with blue-grey eyes that dressed all punk and sexy.
         She played keyboards in a ska band and I thought that was pretty hot.
         I talked her up and it took a year, but I was in.
         It was great because a guy that fucked me over called her when I was over and I got on the phone and talked with him.   I was cool as a cucumber and I could feel him seething through the phone lines.
         Fuck you.   I win.   You lose.   Deal.
         When we’d fuck in her dorm room she made the best genuine sex sounds.
         She had a small pussy and I have a big dick.
         I mean bigger than average.
         If the average penis is five inches long and I’m swinging seven then I call that big.
         I’ve gotten a few complaints that it’s too thick and only a couple complaints that it’s not long enough.
         I can do faster and harder, but deeper just isn’t on the menu.
         I’m no John Holmes motherfucker, but God has been kind.
         I was famous.    I could have had any girl in that suite.
         Even the college experimenting lesbos thought I had a magic dick.
         We’d fuck, like, three times a day.   Every day.
         She started getting into ecstasy and she got me into it and we’d fuck on ecstasy.
         We’d fuck for hours and hours.   Taking big chugs from water bottles and eating candy and dried fruit while fucking each other raw.
         But then the summer came and she came over one day with a bee in her bonnet and wanted to know where the relationship was going.    I wasn’t going to lie to her.   I said I didn’t know and that was it.
         Next semester I find out she was a total fucking whore.   She fucked this guy that I thought she picked me over.   She double-teamed her high-school sweetheart with her friend who the guy dated after her.   She fucked her room-mate’s boyfriend.   Everyone was fucking everyone else and I didn’t even get a three-way out of the deal.   It kind of made me feel dirty.   Not that I didn’t get some on the side, but she made me seem true-blue in comparison.
     
         The next year I hooked up with a girl one of my gay