This story has been kicking around in my skull for a year or so. I got around to writing it and it sat for a few months. Languishing. After a few rewrites I'm going to push it out of the nest and hope it flies. Please comment, rate, subscribe and smash that like button. All comments will be read. The mean ones will be ignored, the helpful ones will be taken to heart, and the dirty, nasty, raunchy ones may be included in a future chapter.
Enjoy.
Molon Labe, 10
*****
How many times have we heard it? Man only uses 10% of his brain. I don't know who said it, I don't know if it's true. I just know my story.
The first time I experienced it, I was on top of my wife, I was driving it deep and I felt a discomfort growing at the base of my skull. The pain started to flare, slowly building, I was close and I wasn't going to let a little pain keep me from launching a load deep into my wife's womb.
I'm a married man in his early forties. I hold two black belts, I played ice hockey for years and I was an outdoorsman. Hunting, fishing, water skiing, I even scaled El Capitan and Half Dome in Yosemite. Several times. In short, I used to be a badass. Now, I'm a fatass.
I broke my back in a sparring match when I was 25. I was a brown belt at the time and I had been close to earning my black. Part of the training was to spar every student in class, in succession, no stopping, from white belt all the way to the master. There must have been a flyer put up I didn't see, requiring every student to show up that day. I was about 25 minutes into the fight and on my last black belt before the master stepped in. I know, 25 minutes of fighting. Bullshit. I swear to you this is the truth. Ask anyone who has trained hard and they will confirm the reality of second and third winds. Besides, when you are almost a black belt anything from white to blue belt you can fight in your sleep. Purple, red, and brown belts start to get competent. The master had six of the green and blue belts jump me at the same time. And that wore me down pretty good. So by the time I got to the last black belt I was getting thrown as much as I was throwing. Falling hurts if done incorrectly. And throwing is exhausting.
So when I went up against Quanjunim I was almost toast. And he threw me. I didn't break my fall properly and the result was L2, L3, and L4, lumbar vertebrae all cracked, chipped or some combination.
Eight weeks trying to sleep in a vertical position, of not being able to take a deep breath and the first inklings of the rest of my life. There hasn't been a single day since that I haven't been in pain. Fortunately, I didn't get hooked on pain meds, even though they were prescribed in large quantities. I took enough to take the edge off. Then I sucked it up and gutted through the rest. At the end when my doctor said I was "healed", yeah right, I call bullshit, I still played hockey. I went on to get my two black belts, I still fished, but the rest was out. My back couldn't handle it. Running, forget it. Hiking, right, not happening. Hunting. Maybe from a duck blind, but duck tastes like mud. No way I was tracking deer through the brush, much less hauling the carcass out of a ravine. And I am a bow hunter. I can shoot about 15 arrows before my back says fuck you.
All this to say that it takes more than little pain to stop me. And being an average married man in his forties, when I get naked time with the wife, I'm not letting a little thing like pain end it. The opportunities come too infrequently.
So there I am, railing my beautiful, pale, redhead from behind. Her pussy is squelching with every drive forward and grasping my dick on every withdrawal. And the pain is crescendoing in intensity, and blossoming in scope. What was a localized discomfort, is now a full blown brain event. I had never had a stroke, I didn't know if they were painful or not. All I knew was, if I was going to die right now, and it sure as Hell felt like an option, I was going out doing what and who I loved with cum coating her ovaries. . So I stayed the course and when I finally achieved liftoff, I screamed, collapsed on top of my love, clutching my head and lay there whimpering in agony. I knew my brain had exploded, yet I had survived, somehow.
My wife was terrified and was going to call 911. Oh Hell, no! That's a $1500 phone call minimum. And that's just the ambulance. We live out in the boonies, by the time it showed up we could have driven the 45 minutes into town and seen a doctor. But being your typical, hard headed, American male, I wasn't going to go see a quack, when I have the interwebs. The online medical site called it Coital Cephalagia. Basically a migraine brought on by orgasm. It happens in roughly 1 percent of the population and 3 times more often in men than women, and 95% of the time completely harmless. Except for the 5 minutes or so of agony. Needless to say my wife cut me off. No more sex for me until I had a clean diagnosis.
Good thing for me, there are hookers. It had been a couple months since my episode, and I had seen 2 or 3 "providers" as they are known in the lifestyle. And apparently I now had a "hobby" and was a "hobbyist". I learned a lot about hookers and John's, and maybe one day I'll tell you all I know about them. It'll only take 10 minutes or less.
The second time it happened I was in a hotel room on top of this whore. She was cute enough, and sucked dick like she did it for a living. Oh, wait.
Never mind.
Anyway I'm once again aggressively thru3rdsting into this girl from behind, like I'm trying to puncture her lungs through her sopping wet snatch and that familiar, dreaded tingle started to ignite. Like an ember that slowly gathers fuel, it came to life gradually, until I reached critical mass and my cock and brain exploded, simultaneously. I vaguely recall her screaming for me to get off her. She must have rolled because I ended up on the floor between the bed and the wall. Hey, look, someone left a sock under the bed. She grabbed her clothes and bolted out of the room, bare assed naked, and left me lying there, to die. Bitch.
There was a timid knock on the door and I wobbled over to it. She came back. Said she felt bad, but I saw her grab her car keys that she had forgotten in her attempt to escape. That, and it was her incall and the room was in her name. So a dead guy might bring her more attention than she wanted. I dressed and left her with the thought that she might need to come up with a story to cover her ass in case some hobbyist actually did die or need medical attention.
I felt funny, light headed and loopy. So I made the massive, logical leap that my wife wouldn't want to get a future visit from a cop saying my dead body was found in a hookers hotel room so I went in to see about a CAT scan.
The nurse who was doing all the preliminary metrics was smoking hot. Little asian girl, long lustrous black hair done in a pony tail. Cute figure with probably a heavy B cup. I'm not really sure. Considering her size even small boobs looked bigger on her than they probably were.
"Good afternoon, my name is Yin Ru, and I'll be your nurse today."
"Hello,beautiful." I said.
"Sir..." She started.
I interrupted, "I know keep it professional. Don't flirt with Nurse Hottie. Are you going to tell me guys don't flirt with you all the time?"
"No, Not really." I could tell she was trying to be professional and end the conversation. Too bad for her I'm an asshole.
Arching an eyebrow I said "Tell me the truth".
"The truth is, yes I get hit on by creepy old men all day" as she took my temperature.
Cool, I'm either not old or not creepy. Pretty sure I'm old. But I hadn't hit on her either.
"Do you ever give in to these guys?" As I stepped on the scale.
"Sometimes I'll go out with one. Once one was really hot and I sucked him off while taking his blood pressure. That was fun." She admitted.
