The Adventures of Dennis Part 5: Thigh Pillow

Sometime in May, Freshman year—

I woke up on the floor of some dude’s house with a screaming headache and one ear smothered against someone’s skin. I opened my eyes and saw the polyester rug staring back at me. I tilted my head slightly. Half my head was resting on some chick’s inner thigh. I stared ahead at her landing strip bush practically shoved in to my face. I could tell this despite the general dimness of the room. I breathed in the plastic-tangy smell of a recently sexed vagina. I raised my head and looked over the rest of her body. She was snoozing on the floor, a pile of clothes as a pillow, completely naked. Attractive enough. A number of other people were sprawled out beyond her, along the floor leading up to the couch, on which two figures seemed to be trying to get busy under a large blanket.

I didn’t remember anything.  I stood up. I realized I wasn’t wearing a shirt. I looked on either side of myself and didn’t see anything resembling one of my shirts. I reached under thigh-pillow-smelly-vag’s head and yanked out a white t-shirt. She stirred, but didn’t wake up. I put the shirt on. It seemed manly enough.

I found my sandals by the door and wandered out of the house. Thrash-Metal music played at a soft volume as I opened the metal door with the screen falling off and stepped in to the morning. I wiped my mouth and a spindly black hair came off my lips. It was obviously not a hair from somebody’s head. It had a female twist to it. That’s the best way I can put it. I spit and imagined what percentage of vaginal fluids you might find in my saliva if you did an analysis. Probably 25% regular saliva, 25% pussy fluids, 50% Jameson.

There was a strip of orange running across the rooftops below dark clouds. It looked like the sun was overflowing from a bathtub in the sky. I wandered home, my headache failing to subside.

I made a ton of booty calls later on that day. Chicks I’d banged a long time ago and hadn’t spoken to in months or over a year, girls who I was just friends with, but who probably wouldn’t want to be friends with me after receiving my strongly flirtatious text messages, and two chicks who I kept around, who I’d been seeing recently, obviously nothing serious. Of these two, the second chick, Emily, said she wasn’t doing much and she’d come by later on that night. I breathed a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to just watch a stupid video and resort to calling on Ms. Palm that night (Ms. Palm is my hand, by the way).

Emily was tanned, half-Hispanic. Curly black hair. A Sophomore. She wore a fake gold necklace everywhere that she claimed to have bought in Cancun. At my request, she rode on top of me. At her request, I let her chug from a bottle of cheap red wine while fucking me. It was incredibly hot. She looked down at me between swigs with the same smile she keeps on her face when you’re telling her a joke, except with moans coming out of it. She shook her hair out of her face, cocked her head back, and took a swig. She offered it to me once, but I shook my head. I bounced her up and down with one hand squeezing her stomach from the side of her torso. With the other hand I reached in to the space between our genitals and rubbed at the upper part of her clitoris with two fingers, the part that had escaped penetration by my cock, bobbing my hand up and down in sync with her body. Her vagina started sucking on my fingers after I got them deep enough and I didn’t have to consciously move my hand up and down any more. She looked straight ahead through squinting eyes—not at me, at my door—and made a lot of noise and raised up the wine bottle in slow spasms and took a huge swig.

I’m sure she didn’t intend to cum simultaneously with wine glugging down her esophagus, but it was hilarious when she did. Her knees knocked against my ribcage and the bottle popped out her mouth and smashed on the floor behind the headboard of my bed. She vomited all the wine in her mouth on to my face and pillow and the sound it made was a really strange combination of female orgasmic noise with guttural throat sound with liquid splashing on fabric with, of course, the bedsprings creaking. Someone needs to record it. Play it in reverse and maybe it will say ‘Paul is Dead’ or something.

It took my a second to realize I was ejaculating. Emily groaned with a ecstatic expression on her face, her eyes fully shut, her mouth curved open in a super-smile. This is what I saw through bursting red wine bubbles. The biggest bubble burst seconds before the biggest batch of cum throbbed out of my cock.

“I’m sorry,” she said, peering down at me, freezing in place while my dick continued to throb inside of her. She laughed a high pitch laugh and flung her hair back over her shoulders. It tangled in front of her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dennis.”

While she cleaned up the bottle and the wine stains from my floor afterward I lay on my pillow amidst a red catastrophe blotch of wine, feeling really mellow, my cock still somewhat tingly, my eyes closed. I listened to the squeaking of the paper towels and windex Emily pushed across the floor. I told her about how I’d woken up that morning on some random girl’s thigh because I had blacked out at the party and had no idea what her pussy tasted like, but that Emily’s tasted better, I was sure. As soon as I’d stopped telling the story, I realized she had stopped cleaning. She stood over me, just breathing. I didn’t look at her, I just heard her.

Emily said; “Dennis, you’re a fucking creep, you know that?” A pause. “I’m not going to fuck you anymore. You need help.”

She charged out the door and slammed it. I fell asleep almost immediately after.