The second turd…nothing. It was like she was just giving a normal blowjob. I kinda leaned back in the seat so the odor would have more room to waft up into her nostrils.
The third turd…she started to hit her stride, really working her hand on the shaft and slurping the head.
The fourth turd…aren’t her knees at least hurting? This is a tile floor.
I pushed and pushed and pushed until I was on the brink of giving myself hemorrhoids when my colon finally just gave up, completely devoid of fecal matter…and Rachel was still going strong. No matter how bad the smell got, or how loud I grunted, or how disgusting the gas noises my ass made were, she would not stop. Nose full of fart, mouth full of cock, she never even paused. I don’t know how she kept breathing. I damn near choked from the smell, and I was a full two feet further above the poop than she was.
As I sat there on the uncomfortably warm toilet seat, unwiped, smelling my own shit, my ass sweating and falling asleep at the same time—about to come because she was so good she could bring me to orgasm in a coma—I gave up.
Fuck it. If I can beat her, choke her, shove things into her ass and get incredible head on the toilet, and STILL not find her limits, then she wins. I can’t go any further.
Now, you may be thinking, “Dude, there are tons of things you could have done worse than that. Why not a Cleveland Steamer?” etc., etc.
That is a legitimate question, but even I have my limits. I’m not Chuck Berry and I’m not crossing into the world of defecation for sexual gratification. I know it turns some people on to take a dump on their partner or have them drink piss, but I’m sorry, that shit is just out of bounds for me…literally.
I mean, I was willing to race her to MY bottom, but not THE bottom. I was not willing to go beyond things that I was comfortable with. The fact that she EAGERLY sucked me off on a toilet seat as I took a dump really drove it home—this girl meant business. It almost makes my skin crawl thinking about what I would have had to do to hear a “No” out of her. Yeah, I could have brought a dog in and asked her to fellate it, but for fuck’s sake—what if she said yes? Then what do I do? Watch her suck off a Dalmatian while I wait my turn? Hit it from behind as she slobs on Fido’s bone? Thank you, but no.
I honestly thought I was beat. I even got a little depressed, and started moping around South Florida, unsure what to do next. But in a stroke of amazing Tucker Luck, I broke her totally by accident, in a way I never would have imagined. Three days later, she sat me down at dinner and said, in a very somber tone:
“Tucker, you need to get serious with me, or we can’t keep seeing each other. It is humiliating to me that I am seeing a man that my friends know is also seeing other women.”
I didn’t even know what to say. I really didn’t. I was totally stupefied by that sentence. Did this girl actually think I would seriously date her? Is this a joke? It may be a double standard, and I may be an asshole, but how the fuck am I supposed to have any respect for a girl who would do the things she did? Especially with ME of all people?
At the time, I could only muster one response:
“HAHHAHHHAAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. Wait, wait….HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA.”
She got pissed and stormed out of the restaurant.
I know I should have said something like, “You mean when I double-penetrated you with produce, that wasn’t humiliating, but what your friends think about us is?” but I just couldn’t.
Though, to be honest, I may have gotten her to blink first, it was a hollow victory. I was like that Korean boxer who “beat” Roy Jones Jr. in the ’88 Olympics. Yeah, I got the gold medal, but everyone in the world knows I didn’t really win this contest.
TUCKER TRIES BUTTSEX; HILARITY DOES NOT RNSUE
Occurred—Summer 1997
Written—June 2003
I spent the summer between my second and third years of college suckling on the parental teat in South Florida. It was the absolute prime of my “do anything to get laid” phase. Recently freed from a four-year long-distance relationship that began in high school, I wanted nothing more than to have sex with as many girls as possible.
Most of the things I did that summer are not story-worthy; you can only tell the same, “I got drunk on Dom and fucked this hottie” story so many times before it gets annoying. That summer I experienced every random sex situation that a 20-year-old can imagine: fucking on the beach, getting head from random girls in club bathrooms, sleeping with two or three different girls in a day, getting so drunk I passed out during sex, getting arrested for receiving fellatio in the pool at the Delano, blah, blah, blah… Jesus. What does it say about how fucked up my life is that I don’t consider these stories to be extraordinary anymore?
Anyway, while most of my stories from that summer may not be extraordinary for me, there is one very notable exception….
I was seeing one girl, “Jaime,” about twice a week. She was a fresh arrival to South Beach, having moved there five months ago from Maine as a 19-year-old with a modeling contract. We met through a mutual friend who befriended her while they were modeling. Five weeks and lots of sex later, she thought we were dating. I knew better, but she was way too hot to bother correcting her assumption.
The ex-girlfriend of four years I previously spoke about was very sexually conservative. It was missionary in the dark and then straight to sleep, with maybe a blowjob on the weekends if she’d had a few glasses of wine with dinner (it was a high school relationship, I didn’t know any better). After four years of this, I was ready to experience all the things I’d missed out on (when I wasn’t cheating on her, of course).
Buttsex, known in the biz as “anal,” was one of these unknowns, and I decided that I wanted to try it. Jaime was the perfect partner: very hot and very sweet but, more importantly, very naïve and very open to suggestion.
She was reluctant at first, not understanding why we just couldn’t keep having normal sex, so I had to employ my persuasive powers:
Jaime “But… I’ve never done it.”
Tucker “I’ve never done it either; it can be our thing.”
Jaime “But… I don’t know if I’ll like it.”
Tucker “You won’t have to worry about getting pregnant.”
Jaime “But… I like normal sex.”
Tucker “Everyone’s doing anal. It’s the ‘in’ thing.”
Jaime “But… I don’t know…it seems weird.”
Tucker “It’s the preferred method in Europe. Especially with the runway models. Don’t you want to do runways in Europe?”
After a few weeks of this, she finally consented. Though she agreed to let me put my penis in her small hole, she extracted a promise in return:
“OK, we can try anal sex, but I want it to be special and romantic. You have to take me out to a nice place, like The Forge or Tantra, NOT one of your father’s restaurants, and it has to be a weekend night, NOT a Monday. And you have to keep taking me out on weekends. I’m tired of being your Monday night girl.”
I made reservations for the next Friday at Tantra. Aside from being insanely expensive, Tantra is famous for having grass floors. Really; they put in new sod every week. They also advertise their food as “aphrodisiac cuisine.” Yes, at that point in my life, I thought these things worked.
Thanks to my father’s connections, I got us a corner booth in the grass room. She was quite impressed. I ordered like it was the Last Supper. No expense was spared. Two $110 bottles of Merlot, veal rack, stone crabs, the Tantra Love platter—it was lavish and decadent. I was 21, stupid, and wanted to fuck Jaime in the butt; I wasn’t about to let a $400 tab get in my way.
By the time we left Tantra, this girl had doe eyes that would have made Bambi look like a heroin-chic CK model. She could not have been more in love with me. The entire drive back to my place she was rubbing my crotch, telling me how badly she wanted me to fuck her, how hot I made her, etc., etc. We get back to my place and our clothes are off before we even get in the door. We collapse on the
bed and start fucking. Normal vaginal sex at first, just like always.
Now, what she did not know, and what I have not told you yet, was that I had a surprise waiting for her.
[Aside: Before I tell you what the surprise was, let me make this clear: As I stand right now, I am a bad person. At 21, I was possibly the worst person in existence. I had no regard for the feelings of others, I was narcissistic and self-absorbed to the point of psychotic delusion, and I saw other people only as a means to my happiness and not as humans worthy of respect and consideration. I have no excuse for what I did; it was wrong, and I regret it. Even though I normally revel in my outlandish behavior, sometimes even I cross the line, and this is one of those situations…but of course, I’m still going to write about it.]
This was going to be my first time foraging in the ass forest, and I wanted to have a reminder of my trip, a memento I could carry with me the rest of my life…so I decided to film us.
I planned this beforehand, but I was afraid she would decline, so instead of being mature and discussing this with Jaime, I just made the executive decision to get it on camera…without telling her.
That alone is pretty bad. But instead of just setting up a hidden camera… I got my friend to hide in my closet and film it.
No really—I know that I will burn in hell. At this point, I’m just hoping that my life can serve as a warning to others.
I left my door unlocked, and we arranged it so that around midnight my friend would go over to my place and wait until my car pulled in, and then run into the closet and get the camera ready. The top half of the closet door was a French shutter, so it was easy to move the slats and give him a decent camera shot through the closed door.
By the time Jaime and I got to the bed, I was so drunk I had forgotten that he was filming this, and of course she had no idea he was there. After a few minutes of standard sex, she kinda stopped and said, all serious and in her best seductive soap opera voice, “I’m ready.”
I quickly flipped her over and grabbed the brand new bottle of Astroglide I had on my bedside table.
A week prior, after Jaime consented to buttsex, I realized that I didn’t have any idea how to do it. How exactly do you fuck a girl in the ass? Luckily, I had the world’s best anal sex informational resource at my disposal: The Gay Waiter. I consulted several gay waiters who worked at one of my father’s restaurants about the mechanics of buttsex, and each one recommended Astroglide as the lubricant of choice. Much to my dismay, I learned that spitting on your dick is not enough lube for buttsex. Stupid, lying porn movies.
The other important piece of advice I remembered, “Make sure you use enough, because if this is her first time, she’ll be especially tight, and it might hurt her. Use enough to really loosen her up and go slow until she gets used to it. Then it’s smooth sailing from there.”
Well, since some is good, more is better, right? At 21, this seemed logical.
I opened the cap, crammed the bottle top into her asshole, and squeezed. I probably emptied half of the four ounces of Astroglide into her. I have since learned from homosexuals that a four-ounce bottle usually lasts them about six months. So yeah—I overdid it.
But Tucker Max wasn’t done. Oh no, after depositing enough grease in her to run a Formula One race car, I dumped half of what remained onto my cock and balls, really wanting to lube up because I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable.
Really—consider my thought process: I was going to fuck her in the butt and film it without her consent, yet I was truly concerned about her personal comfort. Sometimes the contradictions in my personality amuse even me.
Predictably, I slid in with ease. She was a little tense at first, but with an Exxon Valdez–size load spilled into her poop chute, she quickly loosened up and got into it. I liked it also; it had a different feel to it. Not as good as vaginal sex, a little grainy, kinda tight, but still very nice.
Before I knew it I was fucking her like the apocalypse was imminent, burying it to the hilt with impunity. After a few minutes, I was ready to come. My urgency was expressed in my tempo, and I began really jackhammering her. As the excitement got the best of me, I pulled out too far, and my dick came out of her ass. I kinda scrambled to grab my dick and put it back in so I could finish off inside of her, but before I could even get ahold of it and put it back in her ass, I heard a faint “psssst” sound and felt something wet and warm hit my crotch.
It was dark in the room (I was not smart or sober enough to leave the lights on for the camera), so after I looked down it took me a few seconds to realize that my dick, balls and groin area were covered in a viscous black liquid. I stopped moving and stared at my strangely colored crotch for a good five seconds, completely confused, until I realized what had happened:
“Did you…did you just…shit on my dick?”
I reached down to touch the liquid feces, still in complete and utter disbelief that this girl shot explosive diarrhea on my penis, when, without warning, the smell hit me.
I have a very sensitive nose, and I have never been more repulsed by a smell in my life. The combination of synthetic Astroglide and the rancid stench of raw fecal matter came together to turn my stomach, which was full of seafood, veal and wine, completely over.
I tried to hold it back. I really did everything I could to stop myself, but there are certain physical reactions that are beyond conscious control. Before I knew what I was doing, it just came out:
“BBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH”
I vomited all over her ass. Into her crack. Into her asshole. On her ass cheeks. On the small of her back. Everywhere.
She turned her head, said, “Tucker, what are you doing?” saw me vomiting on her, screamed, “Oh my God!” and immediately joined me:
“BBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH”
Watching her throw up on my bed made me vomit even more. Her vomiting all over my bed, me vomiting on her ass, the next step was almost inevitable.
I heard the loud CRASH first, and turned to see my friend break through the shutters and rip the closet door off as he, the video camera, and the door tumbled out of the closet and crashed onto the floor next to us:
“BBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH”
The memory of the two-second span where all three of us were vomiting at once is permanently seared into my brain. I have never heard anything like that symphony of sickness.
I think the crowning moment was when my eyes locked with Jaime’s, and I saw her moment of realization and then her quick shift from shock and surprise to complete and irreparable anger. Between bouts of hurling she flipped out:
“OH MY GOD—BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH—YOU FILMED THIS, YOU ASSHOLE—BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH—HOW COULD YOU—BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH—I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME—BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH—OH MY GOD—BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH—I LET YOU FUCK ME IN THE ASS—BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH.”
She tried to stand up, slipped on the huge puddle of backflow Astroglide on the bed, and fell into both my pile and her pile of vomit, covering her body and hair in vomit, shit and anal lubricant. She flailed on the bed for a second, grabbed the top sheet, wrapped it around herself, and started running out of my place. Still naked and retching, my dick covered in shit and lube, I followed her as far as my front door.
The last contact I ever had with her is the image I witnessed of her in a dead sprint, a shit, vomit and grease-stained sheet stuck to her body, running from my apartment.
Postscript
The camera we used was one of those ancient fragile ones that filmed onto a VHS tape, and when my friend crashed out of the closet, the tape recorder and tape broke. It didn’t occur to us that the tape records the images magnetically, and we could take the actual tape itself and get someone to put it in another holster until after we had thrown it out. I know it seems stupid now, and believe me I kick myself about it every day, but you should have seen the apartment afterward—the tape was not a high priority. Astroglide, shit and vomit covered EVERYTHING.
I had to rent on
e of those steam cleaners, buy a new mattress, and I STILL lost my deposit. It was impossible to get the smell out. The next month was like living in a sewer. Every girl I brought back to my place after that refused to stay there, and some even refused to sleep with me anywhere because of how my place smelled.
What I never found out, and I still want to know, is how the girl got home. I never heard from her again, and the mutual friend who introduced us called her but didn’t get her calls returned. I never heard anything about her or from her again, even though she left her clothes and ID at my place (she wore a tight dress out that night, and didn’t bring a purse or any money with her).
Can you picture that scene? What did she do, hop in a taxi? Wave down a passing car? Get on the bus? She lived at least 30 miles away, there is no way she walked home. It perplexes me to this day. I’m hoping she reads this. Maybe then I’ll find out how she got home.
THIS’LL JUST HURT A LITTLE
Occurred—July 1998
Written—March 2005