The Second Time I Went 'Cow-tipping' With My Girlfriend
The second time I went 'cow-tipping' with my girlfriend was both the greatest hard-on of my life to date and also, the most excruciating. To be embarrassed for all of humanity, an intergalactic shame, was, though in retrospect historically unique and therefore respectable, an addition of insult beyond previous human comprehension to injury. But it went deeper than that.
I loved Sharon from the get-go. Speaking mostly as lust loves, I mean. A young man needs adventure and exploration and Sharon symbolized a shocking discovery beyond my necessities. I loved her like the opening of too many windows for a claustrophobic. My only other previous sex partner symbolized an odd conservativeness to me after my strange new lover's callused hand took me dick first on our first date, pulling me into the tall grasses.
Led by this woman who insisted on dancing nude, despite my initial trepidation, and on jumping and running, chasing and being chased, screaming, "foreplay, foreplay" all along, I followed, an engrossed, bewildered student. When she finally turned and faced me, pushing her pussy-wet fingers into my mouth and hissing, it blew my mind and almost my wad.
That was three months before the event: the injury and the miracle. I was one year into my physics major at the local college, in a big town, by my standards. We had met and frolicked and copulated every Thursday afterwards, in the same long grasses, hills that sloped down from the fence outside of town.
Each time, I let her take the lead. It was a tip from a leading men's health magazine, the only place I could go for advice about these experiences beyond my means, beyond my dreams. My dad was no help because he didn't believe any of it. Her courage and brazen eroticism became an unforgettable part of my personal history just a few months before the most public night on earth.
That night, about three months after I first came with her against a backdrop of stars, silent doubts wormed at me. I would be forever grateful, but I was afraid of what might happen if we lost contact. I'd found someone who inspired me to be and do the best I could. What if she lost interest in me? What if I lost myself?
That night, humanity's fateful change hung moments away in the future and my insecurities would soon be echoed and dwarfed by those of the entire planet. Little did I expect that night would expose my shaft to torture and a universe to one hell of an awkward scenario. We were making love in a position that was her first repeat ever, she said she'd found one she really enjoyed, called it, "cow-tipping."
Although I was astonished and am ever 'miracled' for the extra-terrestrial lights that shone down upon her asshole and back, my pubic hair and front, being human, am I not also justified in a little self-pity?
