Life
by J. Camm on May 9, 2012

So this particular hook up is fresh out of out of the oven, as in last night fresh. It’s 3 p.m. and my hangover is just now setting in. I showed up to work this (Wednesday) morning still drunk, running on a solid 45 minutes of sleep. Pieces of the night have slowly been coming back to me throughout the day, so part of the story may be missing. Alcohol induced time travel out does that to me. Nonetheless, I felt the need to share.

I’m a senior in college, but this spring I’ve had an internship through my degree program. There are around 100 interns total in the program from every school in the state. Back in January my fellow intern Bros and I noticed a particular female intern. Not a total smokeshow, but attractive in a nerdy, closet freak kinda way. We come up with nicknames for most girls, simply because remembering real names is damn near impossible. Therefore, the girl is known as “Frenchie” in our circle.

Now for the story. Yesterday was the last day that our bosses were at work; so a celebration was in order last night. A couple guys have a house and decide to throw a full on rager. I pick up Frenchie around 8. As we’re waiting to meet the group at the office building, she decides we should go inside the office and have a few drinks from the boss’ liquor cabinet. After that we make our way to the party. Shots, flip cup, beer pong, etc. She’d been hanging all over me and we were partners in the drinking games. I had no preconceived notion of hooking up with Frenchie, but why not? She was into me, and my Bros and I were curious what she’s like in the sack. The mission was mine. (Note: at some point before we left the party is where I blacked out, everything here on has been coming back to me in pieces.)

I drive her back to her car and she decides at this point that I’m too drunk to drive home. Fact. (So I can kill us both, but not just myself?) I was in no form to argue, and I could see where things were going. Next thing I know I’m back at her place on the couch and she’s on top of me making out and full on grinding me. Now it gets really good. We’re at her parents’ house. I thought she had an apartment downtown like the rest of us, but she’s from a small town nearby and lives at home. Awesome. She goes to her room and hints for me to come along. Not thinking there will be any repercussions, I oblige. We start hooking up and its completely dark. Frenchie is lacking in experience, but damn did she make up for it full-fold in effort. She was nervous and thought she had no idea what to do, but she was a natural (read: closet freak). Plus she kept asking me how and what I like and wanting me to direct her. It was glorious. As she’s getting ready to go down on me she informs me that she had never swallowed, and was interested to taste mine. As I said earlier, I was in no shape to argue. And I sure as hell didn’t mind her newfound interest in j*zz tasting.

Top five best blow jobs I've ever had and hands down the longest lasting. She did some serious highlight reel work on my cock. Frenchie must have blown me for 40 minutes (the excessive amount of alcohol flowing through my body likely helped my endurance). So we finish and pass out.

About 30 minutes later Frenchie’s mom walks in her room to find her in bed with a random guy, me. They argue and shout as I just lie there pretending to sleep and trying not to laugh. She slams her door shut and crawls back on top of me (chick is ballsy, and probably hates her parents). I decided to be polite and ask if I should leave. She says no and “just be glad my stepdad isn’t here or he’d kick your ass.”

Moral of the Story: The closet freaks that seem like good girls are really just pure talent waiting to be discovered. Now, I’m going to throw up and try to locate some emergen-C.

This next one also comes with a moral attached to it. Because if this column provides anything, it's valuable life lessons that you'll ultimately ignore should you ever find yourself in the same position. 

Let me start this story off by saying that my drunken doppelganger is known to my friends as Captain Ahab, because after I get a couple of drinks in me I don't give a f*uck what I pull. As long as it is conscious, semi-coherent, has two legs and a vagina its game on. But usually I pull the thicker women. (hence the Moby Dick character name.) So here it is.

This story took place on one fateful Friday night two years ago during my Freshman year in college. On this particular night after drinking copious amounts of alcohol and taking part in excessive PDA (yes I was that kid at the party) myself and a chick decide to go back to her dorm room. Now the chick was not a looker by any means, but by my standards she was pretty decent. Sober me would rate her as a 5, her greatest downfall is that she has no chin.

So after walking the long distance back to her room we get there and to my satisfaction she has no roommate. We fool around and do the deed, but the memorable portion of the night was not the hookup (which was sub par) it was what happened after. So we pass out and about 3 hours later I wake up and have to take a massive dump. I don't mean any sh*t I mean the mother of all craps, full on Montezuma's revenge. (I ate Mexican earlier that night.) Being that it was my first time in that particular dorm, I was still sh*tcanned, and my bowels were about to explode I said, “F*ck looking for the bathroom,” quickly got up and looked around for something to alleviate myself into. So mere seconds after waking up I stand up, grab the nearest trashcan, and crap my brains out. Throughout this entire time she didn't even stir/wake up. After I’m done I use some Kleenex to clean up then decided it was best that I left. Not moving the trash can at all.

Then I stumbled back to my dorm room to find my buddy past out cold in my bed at 7am. Oddly enough, I come to find out that someone had pissed in my hamper that was full of clean clothes.

Moral of the story: Karma is a bitch.

Forgive me, but wouldn't Karma have taken a sh*t in your laundry and/or mouth? Either way, this next dude digs recreational drugs.

In the spring of my sophomore year we had a frat party. This party was the unofficial celebration of a Greek event we had participated in. The sorority which we were paired with was in full attendance. I had a part in the play, and being the druggie I am I decided to celebrate by taking a whole bunch of real good ecstasy.

So, there was this chick in the sorority whom I met through the various practice sessions we had, and apparently she was real into me. I hadn’t really put in the effort to slam her at this point because well, I’m a lazy bastard. I started by drinking copious amounts of alcohol, soon enough my druggie mind kicked into gear. F*ck it, it’s time to take some E. I throw down a pill then rail a few lines of molly with my boys. Within twenty minutes I’m rolling nuts. At the top of my peak I go lay down on the back patio of the frat house. Some fine b*tches from the sorority come up and ask me while laughing, “What are you doing laying down.” I simply reply, “I am rolling my dick off.” They giggle like the b*tches they are and promptly, to my surprise, start rubbing all up and down my body. I close my eyes. This sensation feels f*cking fantastic. I mean sh*t I’m laying down amid a poppin’ party, and these b*tches just can’t get enough of my sexy ass. After I start to plateau I decide that I need to lay waste to some vag. I scope out the party and find the b*tch that wants this dick. I approach her and since I’m rolling face the game comes easy.

Before I know it we are both in my room, undressed, ready to f*ck. Mind you, at this point I’d never laid rail while rolling so I was pretty ecstatic. For those of who don’t know, you can f*ck for decades on the stuff. I throw her on my bed and we start going to town. I flip her around, tag her front, back, I even f*cked her sideways, and called her Sally. I sh*t you not I f*cked this b*tch for a solid two hours, bareback, and no breaks. I get her to cum, I bust my load, and then we proceed to rejoin the party. I finish the night off by getting drunk as f*ck with a grin on my face all the while, and passing out. 

A few days later I receive a text. It states vaguely, “So I went to the gynecologist today…” My mind starts doing twists and turns. Like, what the f*ck? Does this slut have an STD? If so I will literally sh*t a brick. I text back trying to not sound concerned, “I’m not sure I quite understand you.” She says we should meet up and have lunch. I am so f*cked; this sh*t has to be serious. I meet her to eat and after some small talk I bring up the subject, “So what’s this about the gynecologist?” Her face turns red and she looks at the table as she says embarrassingly, “Well I’ve never had sex that long before and…” she trails off. “…And!?” I reply, getting impatient with her silly ass. “Well, my gynecologist says we had intercourse so long I got a yeast infection.” I can’t hold back, I burst into laughter. Crisis averted, to live another day, and thanks be to Almighty God above.

YEAST!!!! 

Click below to keep reading more of today's stories.
 

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I had just moved to Savannah, one year after graduating college. Still lacking any modicum of maturity and on another long losing streak thanks to Uncle Sam and his habit of locating young soldiers in areas where p*ssy is as rare as the chupacabra. But alas, fate smiled upon me and I was stationed at the Ft Stewart, GA, just a few short minutes from Savannah, filled to the brim with pretty Georgia peaches. I met up with my buddy Andrew and some of his friends and proceeded to hit the town.

The night drug on in a normal fashion for the most part. We hit on and were subsequently denied by most of the young ladies that roamed the Savannah streets. But the rule of probability can only be tested for so long before it bears fruit.

Her name was Heather and it was love at first sound. I casually walked up and introduced myself. ”Hey there ” I said, stammering to find a line that would make this hot blonde think that I was clever or cute or just f*ckable in general.

Heather laughed and said in the sweetest most beautiful British accent I've ever heard, ” well are you going to tell me your name silly?”

Now for some reason Heather immediately took a liking to me. We actually had a decently intelligent conversation and some where in the middle of it she spoke to me, IN ELVISH. Any fan of Lord of the Rings would be impressed, but my fandom for the J.R.R. Tolkien masterpieces knows no bounds. I was officially in love, like Matt Damon in “Good Will Hunting” a corky intelligent British exchange student had stolen my heart. Heather was fascinated by my mixed pedigree and family history (yeah, my family is descended from William the Conqueror, no big deal). We chatted until the bar started to close down and Heather's friends began the classic chick tradition of getting sick after four sh*tty buttery nipple shots.

“Well do you want to ride along back to my place?” Heather asked. I of course obliged and believed I was the luckiest lad in Savannah.

We got back to what I thought was Heather's place. She placed her sick friends to bed and it didn't take long for us to get busy. Heather whispered to me in her in British accent which works remarkably similarly to Viagra. ”I want you so bad.”

Now up to this point I was in heaven. My life literally couldn't get any better, but something was weird. It wasn't her passed out friend who was laying right next to us as we banged or the annoying cat playing with my toes as I crammed my steak sabre into Heather's fluff scabbard. Every time we took a break, Heather would get up and make sure the door was locked, and while we banged she muffled her pleasure moans with a pillow. I thought to myself, ”Odd she is trying to be so stealthy even with her friend passed out next to the bang sesh, what ever maybe another one of her friends is a prude.”

But that thought was wrong, dead wrong. This was not Heather's place. It wasn't her friend's place either. No, no, this was Heather's boyfriend's place.

Now pause for a second, because I still haven't figured this out. Why in the hell would Heather bring me back here. It was pretty obvious at the bar that she wanted to bone and I offered to go back to my place. The only thing I can figure is A) she wanted her boyfriend to find us as some sort of revenge bone. or B) Heather is a total slut.

Heather was fluffing me up for round 3 when her passed out friend finally woke up. She looked like she seen a ghost, but it was just my dick. She left the room and Heather got off my cock and shut the door. About 30 seconds later boyfriend shows up.

Boyfriend slams the door open and comes after me like a fat kid to cake. Luckily Heather's jilted lover was about 140lbs and had obviously never taken boxing lessons.

“Whoa bro, I didn't know man,” I told her boyfriend as he assaulted me.

I threw boyfriend to the ground and collected my clothes. He started punching the walls and screaming at me to get out, understandable. Which I of course did.

As I walked outside I realized I left my iphone in the house. I turned around to have the door slammed in my face, understandably. Boyfriend then proceeded to throw Heather's belongings into the apartment complex yard. I sat their watching the excitement listening to boyfriend screaming at my British beauty and punching the wall continuously.

The pile of stuff in the yard grew larger as minutes passed by. Boyfriend saw me still sitting in the yard and screamed,” What the f*ck are you still doing here?!” ”Bro, my phone is in there”, I replied. ”F*ck off” he responded, understandably.

Eventually things settled down and boyfriend shut the f*ck up and went to bed. Still missing my phone I peered into the window and saw Heather passed out in our bone bed. Her friend looked at me through the window and made a phone symbol with her hands as she shook her head and pointed outside. The last item boyfriend decided to throw outside on the sidewalk was my phone. It laid there in several pieces.

So with no phone, no car and no friends I contemplated what I should do. A kids bike laid next to another apartment's door. It was small but transportation is transportation. I rode it to the nearest gas station, which was closed at 4:30am, understandably.

I rode back to apartment complex remembering that one of the items boyfriend threw out was an air mattress. I took a look at the pump and, just my luck, no batteries. So I did my best to fill the full sized mattress with my hot air. After twenty minutes I gave up and passed out.

7am rolled around and boyfriend strolled out of his apartment and gave me the death stare.

“When the f*ck are you gonna leave?” he asked me, understandably.

“Well if my cell worked I wouldn't be laying on your sidewalk now would I?”

Boyfriend just walked away got in his car and left.

So there I lay, next to a big pile of women's' clothing on a half inflated air mattress as the sun rose. A few neighbors passed and gave me awkward stares.

One black dude passed me saying, “ha sh*t man, you kick your woman out, why you laying outside?”

I just shook my head and said, “actually the woman is inside, I'm the other guy.” ”Man I would probably kill you, hahaha” he replied, understandably.

Finally around 8am Heather and her friends made there way outside. At first I was pleasantly surprised, Heather was still cute. That doesn't happen a lot to me with one night stands. ”I'm so sorry for the drama.” she said in that sweet little accent. I was about to say no big deal, but then I came to. The sheer sluttiness had broken her British siren spell. ”Well that's the understatement of the year, can you just call me a cab?”

Heather obliged and I waited another 30 minutes on my mattress until the cab arrived.

Looking back I was actually impressed with how boyfriend handled the situation. Had I walked in on my girlfriend on her knees fluffing some random dude, I would probably kill him, or at least attempt to. I think though it might have occurred to him that this whole thing was not my fault. As the cab driver said when I told him the story, “a man is gonna put his dick wherever its allowed, its nature.” And I honestly had no idea I was pounding Heather in her boyfriend's apartment. No it was neither the fault of me or boyfriend, it was my British beauty. 

And in case you are wondering, there is no elvish word for wh*re, I guess Heather will have to suffice.

That was f*cking long. Understandably. 

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J. Camm

About J. Camm...

J. Camm is the Managing Editor of BroBible. He is a graduate of the University of Miami thanks mostly in part to a world-class short-term memory. When not writing drivel on the Internet, J.Camm enjoys golf and the inexplicable satisfaction that comes with forgetting a person's name the exact instant he meets them.