Against All Odds Pt. 04 - Sex Stories

Against All Odds Pt. 04

... of beer and lit the second spliff. Comfortably numb and still swimming in the phantom of acceptance, I laughed out loud at the cliche of losing her to a fucking porn cock. Holy shit, just that alone was enough to short-circuit my brain. Do you laugh or cry? I guess I had a small dick after all. Oh well, nothing I could do about that. I then had a fleeting thought and, in kindness, hoped this Ryan dude was more than just a hung stud. I hoped he made her laugh and could see her like I did. I mean, really see her. See the real Mel. The woman I was still hopelessly in love with.

With that thought, the demons went into full orgy mode. Denial exploded all around me, and my heart shattered again into a thousand little pieces. This was not happening! This was a nightmare! I was going to wake up and have Melissa asleep beside me, and we would make soft love and then have our Sunday chill day on the futon. With my sigh, the demons on the futon all started to have orgasms. Cum was flying everywhere. They were all chanting in unison, "fuck me with that huge cock. It's twice the size of my boyfriend's cock." then, in a chorus, the demons chanted, "Tiny dick, tiny dick. Dave has a tiny dick." I started to cry in deep heaves of despair.

I had downed at least ten beers and was stone-cold sober. There was no more coke, and I desperately needed to be drunk and pass out. I went to the fridge and said, "fuck it," and started to drink dick wads shitty beer. Three of them did the trick. I ...

... staggered to the bedroom. Eyed the bed and realized Mel had made the room all sexy and clean but had obviously not fucked there. At least not last night or not by the time I arrived. I stripped naked and laughed at my pudgy hairy body and wished I had a porn cock like Ryan. I tried to masturbate, but my dick was dead. I turned out the light, thankful for the darkness surrounding me. The demons were still fucking on the futon, but the old wooden walls were enough to shield me from their screaming. Darkness, oh-so-beautiful darkness, merged with denial, and I eventually fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

Sunday at the Loft

I woke with light leaking into the lone window through the closed slats of the blinds. The window faced south, so it took a while for the sun to rise and get the right angle to paint the hazy sun lines on the bedroom walls. It was around ten am, and for a brief instant, I thought I just woke up from a nightmare, but the emptiness beside me brought reality back with a vengeance. I moved my head and groaned at such a loud noise. How could a pillow make such a sound? I closed my eyes and started to shake as I couldn't catch my breath. A coldness emerged from my feet and rose upwards like being slowly put in a barrel of ice. When it reached my heart, my eyes shot open, and I took a gasping inhale of breath and fought back the terror that I was feeling. Holy fuck, this hurts, I thought. I took some deep, slow breaths. A trick I used before public speaking or ...