What Men Really Think

(Literotica readers: The following story is the result of a frank discussion about sexual fantasy between my boyfriend and me. He's the protagonist in this story. He encouraged me to write this shit. I didn't wanna. Ladies, this is actually how your man thinks, according to the wit and wisdom of my boyfriend Lawrence.)

"So, I'm standing in line at the bank. I got my tongue up this chick's ass."

Who could forget this classic opening line by Andrew Dice Clay? And yet, every time I go to the bank or the grocery store or to chapel, I never see any such thing. What I see is a bunch of guys who WISH the chick ahead of them in line would yank down her jeans and poke her ass out for consideration.

I admit that my imagination rivals Andrew's. If the chick is hot enough (and if she doesn't have any streaks in her underwear), I'm always down for a good ass licking. If we're in line long enough, I'll lather her up with tongue and then ram my dick up in her so fast!! I often wonder if the hot chicks standing in line know that the guys standing in line behind them are channeling Andrew Dice Clay. If she would just peek behind her, she'd see any number of boners bulging from any number of pairs of cargo shorts.

I'm one of those guys. I'll happily endure an old woman with a handful of coupons and an unsteady check-writing hand at the checkout counter if she's just ahead of a blonde in a pair of Daisy Dukes. If the old lady takes long enough and my shorts are baggy enough, you'll soon see a dark wet spot spreading where my penis ought to be. I mean, given the aforementioned pair of Daisy Dukes, of course.

And the chick doesn't have to be a blonde, either. She can be black, she can be Brazilian, she can be Indian, Chinese or Mexican--as long as her ass is wider than her waist, preferably by a 2:1 ratio, and her navel has that incredibly thin, wispy line of pubic hair trickling upward from her mound. The skinnier the waist, the wider the ass, the wispier the line of pubic hair, the harder my dick gets.

So I'm standing in line at the bank. Just ahead of me is a pair of Daisy Dukes struggling to incarcerate a couple of basketballs bulging at the top of a pair of perfectly svelt alabaster thighs.

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!!??!??

I took a mental snapshot of that ass, excused myself from the line, rushed out to my car, pulled my dick out and beat him like a rented mule. When I recovered from my swoon an old lady walking past my car sniffed her nose up at the splattering of semen on the inside of my windshield. It's not like she didn't know what it was. Rather than wait for her to call the police I eased my car out of the parking lot and drove home. If she noted my license plate number I could always claim the substance on the windshield was snot. Old people should mind their own fucking business.

In the age of Me-Too, why the FUCK should women be allowed to go to the bank in a pair of Daisy Dukes? Guys are gonna be guys!! Should I be forced to stand behind Ms. Double-Basketball Ass and pretend that my penis isn't DYING to soak in the sweat percolating between those wobbling cakes? So what if her kids are with her!!!

So the next morning I'm lying in bed. The sun's coming up. I gotta be at work in an hour. My mind drifts to the masturbatory fantasy I craft at this time every morning.

In my fantasy I'm lying in bed naked with five chicks of differing nationalities, all equally naked. On this particular morning, the blonde is Ms. Double-Basketball Ass. I'm going to call her Becky, since she and I only have that one encounter in the line at the bank. The black chick is a woman named Ayala, who works as a barrister at the local Starbucks. Ayala doesn't know me from Adam, but she sucks my dick every morning about this time, an hour or so before she serves me coffee downstairs in the lobby of the building where I work. Ayala is a straight HAMMA. Then there's this Hispanic chick whose porn name is Ambar. I'm sure that's not her real name, but if you look her up at ATK Exotics you'll have some idea of my sense of taste. Ambar's bush is unparalleled in the natural world. The Asian chick is Marica Hase. She's Japanese, and she likes the really big ones. The Indian chick is Angela Devi. Again, if you don't know her, look her up online.

In real life all of these woman sound like giggling airheads, especially the latter two. In my fantasy, however, all of them sound like Tina Turner, you know, kinda gruff and sensual, with a sneer and a knowing leer.

"You know the law. Two men enter. One man leaves."

Except I was going to be the only man who entered and left THAT day. Fuck all that sharing.

I rolled Ms. Double-Basketball Ass over onto her shoulder blades and plunged my cock into her willing pussy. Her ankles dangled from my shoulders. She was the newest member of our regular morning orgy. The other women were veterans, more or less.

Standing above her, I could see that Becky's cunt rocked a perfectly coifed golden bush, trimmed nicely along the edges and crowned with a shiny, pearly clit sheathed in feminine foreskin. My cock slid easily inside her. She closed her eyes, using her hands to lift a pink nipple up to her juicy red lips. Women enjoy having their titties sucked while getting poled. Ambar came over to squat over Becky's face. She took Becky's other titty and used the nipple to sluice her cleft. Marica and Angela were sucking each other's pussies. Ayala stepped up behind me to have a heaping helping of tossed salad. Soon enough the smell of cunt vapor permeated the room.

As per our morning ritual, I intended to fuck each and every one of these women into perdition. My cock was rampant with the animus of morning wood. I felt the luxuriant clasp of Becky's heated vagina trembling about my shaft. I could see beadlets of sweat perking up at the base of her pubic hairs, only to coagulate and trickle down into her navel, pool, and then trickle further into the valley between her breasts. She was nearing completion. I took my middle finger and jammed it into her ass. Becky howled her appreciation.

"That's it for YOU, bitch!!!"

I pulled my dick from Becky's pussy just as her orgasm rose up to consume her. Leaving my middle finger impaled in her ass, I turned to Ayala for my morning blowjob. Ambar took Ayala's place at the tossed salad bar. I gripped Ayala by the ears and gave her the old "what for". Her lips were thick. She used them to slob bubbles of spittle up and down the length of my pole. Too, she fondled my nuts as if they were a pair of dice. Every instant in Ayala's throat was fraught with the anticipation of ejaculation. After its sojourn in Becky's pussy, my cock was crispy, dying to rid itself of seed. Ayala's gullet was a more than appropriate repository.

But there were three more holes here that had gone unfilled. I tapped Ayala on the side of her head.

"It's time."

She released me. Ayala was a veteran of these wars.

I threw Ambar over, gripped her hips and rammed my cock up her behind. The rough feel of her rectum scraped me raw. But I was already in that heady universe of carnality, at the very edge of the eruption razor blade. I needed to fuck Ambar up to and onto that razor blade. She'd been kind enough to visit me this morning. Yesterday I'd cum in Marica's pussy before getting around to Ambar. I needed to make up for that malfeasance.

Becky now moved up and opened her thighs for Ambar's purview. Ambar dutifully dipped her tongue into Becky's golden hole. Ayala took her place mounted sixty-nine style atop Angela. Marica took her place at the tossed salad bar. I gathered myself and started fucking the living shit out of Ambar. I fucked her so hard it was my head snapping back and forth. I reached up to grip both her tits in the ague of my mania. Ambar screamed as I rammed my cock into her butt like some preternatural German Shepherd. The feel of her rectum, combined with the sensation of Marica's tongue lapping at my ass, left me gliding along the edge of the orgasmic razor blade. I was about to cum. Apparently, Marica, Ayala and Angela were going to go unfucked this morning.

Oh well. I'll get to them tomorrow.

Something deep inside my male ego told me that this amounted to a loss. It was an abandonment of my sexual responsibilities. Three unfucked pussies? C'mon.

I kicked myself and pulled my dick from Ambar's asshole. Her cakes twittered shut.

"C'mere." I said to Angela.

Ms. Devi is about 5'2". She's possessed of an exquisite rack (even if they are fake), a muscular, athletic frame and a neatly trimmed bush. In my opinion her best assets are her lips and her eyes. She looks as if she can fuck a load of semen from across the room. I would suck her pussy even if she DID have streaks in her underwear.

But I wasn't looking to suck any hole this particular morning. I needed to bathe my cock in crack. Having fucked Angela on occasions too numerous to mention, I was going to inseminate the young Indian maiden this morning and let the chips fall where they may.

Angela scrambled up and opened her legs in the characteristic sexual Y. Using my thumb as a guide, I dipped my erect penis into her vagina and watched it disappear. A brilliant world of color erupted behind my eyelids, a world of galaxies, nebulae and quivering vaginas, each intent upon harboring my singularly burgeoning cock. My penis ballooned as it sought and found the back of Angela's steaming pussy. Angela's eyes opened widely. She moaned with the realization of completion. I came explosively on the second stroke. Our genitalia merged tightly. Angela gripped my behind with her calves as I pumped splurt after splurt of jism into her shuddering babymaker.

When I awakened from this fantasy, my fist and my stomach were awash in hot semen. I was breathing heavily. My toes trembled spasmodically.

I waited until my penis expended the last dregs of joy juice, squeezing out the remaining droplets with the same fist that extracted the first few. I knew that if I rolled left or right, my sheets would catch semen runoff from my stomach and be soiled.

Whatever.

The mattress pad beneath these sheets already had scores of golden wetspot stains, unique testimony to the health of my sex life with my actual girlfriend Angelica. (She's a smut writer, and pretty good, too!!)

I rolled out of bed and headed for the shower. Forty-five minutes later Ayala Paterson handed me a vanilla ice coffee, blithely unaware that she'd blown me earlier that morning.

(Again, Literotica Readers: Don't think I didn't go to his job and check this Ayala chick out. I did. Her name is not really Ayala. Conversely, my boyfriend's real name IS Lawrence. If I had to write out his fantasy, he needs to own it.)