With apologies to Mr. Thurber
"I'm going in!" The bartender's voice resonated in the newly emptied bar. Only the bouncer/barback was on hand to witness the ravaging of the drunken lesbian.
"You can't do it, Petitool. The bitch is a lesbian. She don't want dick. She's cute, but she's not drunk enough."
"The hell you say! She's had four vodka and cranberries, all of them doubles, and a couple of Tequila shots. She's plenty drunk, and just itching for a real fuck for a change." Petitool removed his jeans and pulled at his boxers.
"Put her on the pool table, and unbutton her shirt."
He moved on in, removed the shirt in one motion, reached behind her and in one flick of his wrist unhooked all four bra closures. Petitool removed the bra and freed an eager pair of breasts with nipples hardened like beach pebbles.
Deftly unfastening the jeans, he had her naked on the pool table. Her thighs spread almost on command and wrapped around his neck enthusiastically.
"My girls do that," she moaned. "You're no better than any other sex partner."
He removed his head from its playground.
"Your girls can't do this."
Petitool moved her across the table until hear head was hanging off the edge near the side pocket. In that position, her throat opened wide.
"I said I was going in. Let's start here."
He thrusted the entire length of his formidable erection down her throat. She sucked on it with an excited willingness. Her hands moved down to her vagina, and found her clit.
Petitool moved around to the other side of the table, stroking his steely rod a few times, he was ready to plunge in.
"Sheldon Petitool, put your dick back in your pants, and stop that. You're going to shoot your load all over the salad bar." Sheldon's wife Betsy was livid. The slap across the face left red finger welts that were obvious to the parking valet at the front door. The sedan was brought up. Sheldon slipped behind the wheel, his wife still chattering.
