The Girl Next Door - Sex Stories

The Girl Next Door

“Who did you? Well, besides the whole football team,” Mark said. “ha ha!” I said and paused for a second. “Oh, wait I forgot. Fuck you.” “Let’s see. You started with Tony. He was a linebacker and dumb as hell. I’m kind of amazed he could even string together two words to ask you out.” In his best caveman imitation Mark said. “Ma... Ma... Mackenzie... da... da... date... Toe...Toe... Tony tonight.” “You’re an asshole.” “How could you date that idiot?” “He’s really cute and has an amazing smile. Have you seen his Abs? You always say I’m superficial. He was all looks and no substance.” Ignoring me Mark continued, “Then you moved on to Mason. I don’t know if you moved up or down on the dating scale with Mason. The guy’s fucking huge. A defensive end, well, he was the entire defensive line. I mean people had to clear the hallway when he walked by. What did you ever see in him?” “He’s really sweet,” I said in my best ‘awwwww shucks, he’s cute and I’m fawning’ voice. Quickly returning to my normal voice, “Yeah, he’s not huge everywhere.” “Oh, no, no, that’s gross,” Mark protested. “No, seriously. His balls were tiny. I could hold both of them in the palm of my hand.” “I’m gonna be sick. You need to stop talking about his balls,” Mark said. “Do you want to know how big his dick is?” I asked holding my pinky finger in the air. With my other hand I covered the bottom half of my pinky finger to show it was only half the size. “Tiny!!” I silently mouthed. “Moving along before I vomit. ...

... Then you switched to the offensive side of the ball and dated Tyrell. I’ll give you credit there. Tyrell’s pretty cool but every girl in the school wanted to kill you when you two started dating.” “He was a bit full of himself. All we ever talked about was how good of a football player he was and how he was getting a scholarship,” I said. “I don’t know why I’m asking this but is it true what they say about black men?” “No, not always...” I said and was about to continue. “No! No! Stop. That’s all I want to know. I don’t need details.” “Why are we going through my dating history?” I asked. “Wait. ‘Not always’? What’s that mean?” Mark asked with a confused look on his face. “It means ‘Not always’. Not all black men are huge. What do you think it means?” “Is this something you know from experience? Who else did you go out with?” “I wouldn’t exactly say we went out as much as... ah, hooked up.” “Oh my God. You’re such a little slut. How is it I’ve lived next to you my entire life and never even got a kiss but you fucked the entire football team? Who and when did this happen?” “Again, why are we talking about my dating history?” I asked trying to change the subject. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. When did you get a tattoo?” I sheepishly answered knowing that if my family, to be more specific, if my dad found out he would strangle me, “Three weeks ago when I was in Myrtle Beach.” “Now, back to my original question, ‘who did you’? As in who inked you? Not who fucked you and who has the ...