FreedomFaith has booped you!
FreedomFaith: Hey, I noticed you like big boobs
Chad: I certainly do!
FreedomFaith: Then this is your lucky day
FreedomFaith: Mine are DD
Chad: DDD makes sense as a cup size
Chad: But DD seems weird to me
FreedomFaith: How so?
Chad: Because objects that are 2D are flat
FreedomFaith: Jesus Christ
FreedomFaith has dumped you.

Rachel grimaced as she gave my phone back to me. “Seriously, Chad. Did you fuck that up on purpose?”

“I did, actually. Her photo had a Cybertruck in the background. There’s no way that was an accident.”

“Oh God. She’s probably from North Snohomish County. I’d say you dodged a bullet. Literally.”

“Yeah, she would’ve ditched me the second she found out my kids had their measles vaccines.”

It was Tuesday of April vacation, and we were watching the Mariners game from Section 111, along the right-field line. It’s a beautiful market inefficiency: you’re practically on top of the field, but tickets are only 40 bucks. Rachel was wearing a pink Mariners t-shirt I’d snagged off the clearance rack; I’m eight steps ahead of her on the salary schedule, so I like to treat her when I can.

At that moment, Max Muncy came up to bat for the A’s in the top of the second.

“Max Muncy?” I scoffed loudly. “How did he end up in Oakland? Those cheapskates could never afford him.”

“Sacramento,” an old duffer in front of us spoke up without even turning around. “And this is a different Max Muncy. Look at his picture; he ain’t wearin’ them silly glasses.”

Rachel arched an eyebrow. “There are two baseball players named Max Muncy?”

“Yup, born twelve years apart to the day,” the old coot cackled. “It’s the damnedest thing.”

Rachel turned to me. “He should have to use a different name, don’t you think? Show some courtesy, like Michael B. Jordan. Don’t make us always have to say ‘No, the other one.’”

“Well, the Dodgers’ catcher is named Will Smith,” I pointed out. “He’s super white, though.”

“He’s not from West Philadelphia, born and raised?”

“Nah, he’s from Louisville, I think.”

“Okay, back to 4N1K8R,” Rachel declared, shaking out her curly black hair. “We’re scratching Freebird Faith off the list. Any other ladies in play?”

“Here, take a look at this other one. I’m not entirely sure what happened here.” I held up my phone so she could read the chat out of the corner of her eye as she drained her beer.

Vancougar BC has booped you!
Vancougar BC: Hey hot stuff
Chad: Hello! Your bio says you’re a size queen?
Vancougar BC: For sure
Chad: Well, I like big ladies
Vancougar BC: Um, ok
Vancougar BC: So how big is your cock?
Chad: I’d say around 14
Vancougar BC: Dear God
Chad: I should clarify: 14 cm
Vancougar BC: No offence, but...
Vancougar BC has dumped you.

Rachel sprayed beer all over the place, choking and gasping for air. Fortunately, Section 111 tapers into a triangle and she had the aisle seat, so our new friend didn’t get blasted on the back of the neck.

“Oh. My. God.” Rachel finally managed to cough out as young Max Muncy finished parlaying a 3-0 count into a strikeout. “Chad, what do you think size queen means?”

“A larger woman who’s embraced her body type?”

“No, Chad. That is not what it means. It means your dick better be the size of a Pringles can.”

“Oh. It’s not her size she’s talking about.”

“No. And why would you lead her on with 14?”

“Well, she’s Canadian, so I figured I’d be polite and convert my five and a half inches into centimetres for her.”

“Jesus, Chad,” Rachel snorted. “Can you stop being Mr. H the math teacher for, like, two minutes?”

“No, but I can maybe do one-thirtieth of an hour.”

“Oy. Just shut up and let me watch the game.”

That lasted about one-sixtieth of an hour before she got a text notification.

“Ugh, Jonathan wants to talk.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“We got into an argument on the way back from Vancouver Sunday night.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask you how your trip went.”

“You did ask, but I deflected. It was great until it went south. Literally.” She tapped a reply, then silenced her phone and put it away. “We agreed to take a 48-hour cooling-off period. I told him I’m at the game and need another 12 hours. I’m still pissed at him.”

I stood as the A’s made their third out. “You’re still pissed, but now I gotta go pee.”

Rachel handed me her empty cup to recycle. “Hey, on your way back, would you get me another beer?”

—

Connie has booped you!
Connie: Aren’t you a silver fox!
Chad: Thanks
Chad: You’re a good looking broad yourself
Connie: Hahaha thx
Connie: I’ll take that as a complement
Chad: Good
Chad: That’s how it was intended
Connie: So how tall are you?
Chad: 5’9.5”
Chad: But more like 5’11” if you count my hair
Connie: Hmm, I like taller guys
Chad: I could wear my Hokas
Chad: The soles are pretty thick
Connie: Sorry, Charlie
Connie has dumped you.

Back in my studio apartment after the game, Rachel made a little nest of pillows on the couch.

“Thanks for letting me sleep over,” she yawned as she unhooked her bra, slid it out of her sleeve, and tossed it onto the coffee table. “I would’ve crashed before I got home. Literally.”

“What’d you have, three or four beers?”

“Something like that,” she groaned. “Fuck, it sucks getting old.”

“Ha! If you think your thirties are rough, wait until your fifties.” I handed her my phone with the 4N1K8R chat open. “I can’t believe my Hokas didn’t seal the deal. Maybe I should’ve tried to work pickleball into the conversation.”

“Sorry, Charlie,” Rachel echoed. “Where have I heard that before?”

“It’s from an old Star-Kist commercial. Charlie Tuna. You can probably find it online.”

Rachel opened my browser and started tapping C-h-a-r-l-i but stopped when an autofill suggestion popped up.

“Hey Chad, what’s Deep Inside Charli?”

“Oh shit, don’t—”

“Too late!” Rachel snickered as she pulled it up. “1990? Jesus, this porn is older than I am!”

“Fine,” I sighed. “This was the first porn I owned on VHS. Well, technically, I didn’t own it; I borrowed it from my neighbor and never gave it back. It’s a compilation of scenes starring this chick named Charli. This dude with a sweet mullet, Cal Jammer…”

“Cal. Jammer.”

“...Cal Jammer. He brings Cameo home and tries to bang her. Offers to cook her a TV dinner, tells her she can take her dress off if she’s too hot.”

“He sounds like a real winner.”

“Then Cameo makes fun of all the porn videos piled up on his bed. The boxes are obviously empty because they fly around when she pushes them aside. His VCR is broken, so he starts describing his favorite Charli scenes, poorly, and eventually Cameo decides to bang him, because it’s porn.”

Rachel had been fiddling with the remote control during my deposition, and the TV screen flashed Connected to Samsung A16 before DEEP INSIDE CHARLIE appeared in giant blue pixelated letters, accompanied by some terrible synth music.

“Hey, they misspelled her name!” Rachel groused as she wriggled back into her pile of pillows.

“Rach, we are not watching this together!”

“Look, it’s only 75 minutes long. I can stay awake. Go make me a Nespresso while I watch these beautiful opening credits.”

Rachel laughed her way through the opening scene—there was a ridiculous number of empty boxes on that bed—while I made her a double espresso. Why fight the inevitable?

“Thanks,” she said as I returned with her coffee. “Now you can be Cal Jammer and I’ll be Cameo; tell me which scenes are your favorites.”

“Uh, it’s not exactly like that,” I explained slowly, still holding her coffee. “This girl Charli is kinda cute, but her technique is terrible.”

“Ooh!” Rachel clapped her hands excitedly before taking the cup and patting the couch cushion next to her. “Tell me more!”

The scene cut to a guy in a pink tank top and a girl in a pink rib-knit tank dress canoodling on a decidedly ’90s sectional sofa.

“Just watch,” I said mysteriously as Charli pulled down Jon Dough’s shorts and began sucking his meaty dick.

“What the fuck is she doing?” Rachel shouted after observing Charli’s modus operandi for a minute. “Is that her idea of a deep throat? She’s only sucking the first two inches!”

“Yup, that’s Charli for you,” I laughed. “I think there’s five scenes, and she basically sucks the head in every single one of them.”

Charli and Jon switched positions. She pulled her dress up above her waist and he tongued her snatch for a while.

“Huh, her bush has a nice trim to it,” Rachel observed as Jon moved his dick into position. “Jesus, is he ever gonna fuck her with more than two inches? What is wrong with these people?”

Jon put his knees up on the couch and finally went balls deep, and we were treated to a view of his hairy, sweaty asscrack.

“God,” Rachel gagged, “I guess they didn’t have air conditioning back then.”

“Oh, one of my favorite parts is coming up soon,” I warned as Charli sat up. I grabbed my phone and hit pause just as she shucked off her dress, capturing the split second when the stretchy pink fabric was wrapped around her elbows above her head and her junior-sized tits jutted out. I stared, speechless, as Rachel observed me.

“Is this your freeze frame moment?”

“Man, I don’t know how many times I paused the VCR right here and beat my dick.”

Rachel’s eyes glittered. “Go ahead.”

I gave her a look.

“Go ahead and beat your dick,” she encouraged me gently. “You know you want to.”

“Rach—”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” she snickered.

I shrugged and pulled down my pants, then dropped a wad of spit into my right hand and began stroking myself with my hand oriented upside-down, thumb and forefinger at the base.

“Your technique is interesting,” Rachel observed. “That’s quite a backhand you’ve got there.”

“Just… show me your tits,” I gasped as I continued pounding my pecker.

Rachel’s mouth twisted into a mischievous smile, and she grasped the hem of her pink t-shirt and slowly eased it up to expose her buoyant boobs, stopping when her shirt was wrapped around her elbows over her head.

With my eyes flickering back and forth between the TV screen and the couch, I soon felt a familiar tightening in my balls.

“I’m… I’m…”

Rachel flung her shirt off and engulfed my peckerhead in her mouth, bobbing up and down only an inch or so as I pounded my reversed fist on the shaft. Together, we coaxed out the biggest orgasm I’d felt in years. I grunted in time with each wad of cum that spurted into her mouth, while Rachel moaned sympathetically and swallowed every single one.

Well, not quite. When she lurched up for a kiss, I found that she’d saved the last couple of shots in her mouth to share with me. We swapped my cum back and forth for a while until she pulled back and licked her lips.

“Ready to use that left hand of yours?” she smiled as she started the movie again and began unbuttoning her jeans.

—

I woke up early the next morning. As I shuffled to the bathroom, I glanced at the couch and saw one arm draped to the floor from beneath a tangle of blankets and pillows. I turned on the shower and got in, closing the curtain behind me, then peed down the drain as I tried to clear my head. Like, seriously—what the hell happened last night? A minute later, I heard a tap tap on the door.

“Chad?” Rachel opened the door a crack. “I gotta pee.”

“Come on in.” What else could I say? It’s not like she could pee in the kitchen sink.

She sat on the toilet for a minute, then called out, “Can I flush, or will that scald you?”

“You can flush,” I chuckled.

“Good, ‘cause I actually have to take a shit.”

“Ha!” I rolled my eyes for my own benefit. “Don’t be shy.”

She spent a couple of minutes doing her business, then flushed.

“Hey, you’re out of hand soap!”

“Whoops. There’s soap in the kitch—”

Rachel slid the curtain aside and grabbed the soap bar off the shower caddy, laughing, “This was closer.” She soaped up her hands, working up a lather, then reached behind me to rinse her hands in the shower stream. With a smirk, she wiped her hands down my chest, I guess to act like she was drying them off, making my cock twitch.

“Nice morning wood!” she laughed. “Got room in there for one more?”

Without waiting for an answer, she peeled off her t-shirt and panties and tossed them on the floor before hopping into the shower. “I’m gonna deep-throat that motherfucker,” she growled as she dropped to her knees.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. None of that Charli bullshit.”

“You’d better play with my tits if you want me to stay hard.”

Rachel slid her hands up and rubbed my nipples as she sank her mouth onto my stiffening dick. I threw my head back and let the water course onto my scalp and shoulders while she pummeled her head on the full length of my cock. After a few minutes, she pulled off and stood up.

“Now it’s your turn,” she laughed, giving me a kiss before pushing my head down.

I tried eating her pussy but kept choking on the water running down her body. I stood up again and soaped up both hands, grabbing her ass with my right hand and threshing her pussy lips with my left. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she clutched the grab bar and moaned quietly. I diddled her clit, nibbled her tit, and wiggled my thumbprint against her asshole. She twerked her bottom and whispered, “Do it.”

I slid my thumb up into her asshole, then curved my fingers underneath to poke at her pussy. Rachel grabbed me by the hair and kissed me roughly as I abused her clit and waggled my thumb around inside her ass. She pulled off for a second to snarl, “Make me cum,” then mashed our mouths together again. When she finally exploded, her moans echoed around the bathroom, cutting through the mist like a foghorn blaring in Puget Sound.

After recovering her wits, she pulled aside the curtain and leaned both hands onto the toilet seat, dripping water onto the floor. Looking over her shoulder, she tilted her head and smiled. In a baby talk voice, she mewed, “Now fuck me up the ass, Mr. H.”

My eyes bugged out but I recovered quickly. “Who are you supposed to be, Betty Fuckin’ Boop?”

“How could you forget, Mr. H?” she cooed. “I’m Svetlana. Svetlana Slutskaya.”

I snorted with laughter.

“I know I was always your favorite student. And I just graduated high school. On my eighteenth birthday.”

“That’s quite a coincidence.”

“I got a scholarship to study aeronautics at U Dub, and it’s all because I was inspired by my amazing ninth-grade math teacher.”

“Let me guess, were you the salutatorian?” I played along as I stroked my cock. “Because you’re making me salute.”

“No, Mr. H. I was the valedictorian. Emphasis on dick. Now let me thank you properly for your guidance and support.”

“No, thank you, Miss Slutskaya,” I gasped as I pressed my soapy cockhead against her dilated asshole, then eased it inside. “It was my pleasure.”

“Help me understand friction, Mr. H! And propulsion! And fluid dynamics!”

“Urk—” I croaked as I gripped her hips and established a rhythm. Closing my eyes, I focused on the feeling of my dick sliding in and out of Svetlana’s snug little wind tunnel. This went on for a few minutes until she sensed my movements becoming jerkier.

“Shoot your cum inside my ass, Mr. H! Load up my cargo hold!”

With a long groan, I pumped a half dozen jets of cum into her cock pit, then leaned back against the wall, catatonic, as the water continued to spatter out of the shower and onto the floor.

Rachel leaned forward and my limp dick slipped out of her ass, dangling forlornly in the spray. She stepped out of the shower and sat on the toilet, dripping wet, then waggled her eyebrows at me as she farted my cum into the bowl. “Sorry, should I have saved that for you?” she giggled as she wiped her gooey ass, then flushed.

I was still in a daze, staring into nothingness as the shower continued spraying.

“Hey, Earth to Chad,” she snapped her fingers. “Why don’t you finish up in there so I can get back in and wash your jizz off my ass before I go home?” Looking down at the water pooled on the floor, she added, “And you’ll want to get some extra towels, pronto.”

Ten minutes later, I was in the kitchen as Rachel came out of the bathroom, stark naked, toweling her hair.

“Sorry,” I grinned while gesturing to the three sopping wet towels in the washing machine. “I never figured I’d need to own more than four towels. Want me to wash and dry your t-shirt and undies before you go?”

“Thanks, but no,” Rachel replied as she tossed her towel on top of the others, then smacked herself on the ass. “I’ll just freeball it until I get home.”

I put her wet clothes in a ziploc bag, then started making coffee while she got dressed.

“It’d be nice if you owned a hair dryer,” Rachel pointed out as she stepped bare-assed into her jeans.

“I don’t even own a hairbrush. I’ve been finger-combing my hair since the Reagan administration. You know what they say: Don’t design your church parking lot for Easter Sunday.”

“Oy vey, bubbeleh,” Rachel vamped while adjusting her bra. “Your they is clearly not my they. But the point is, if you’re going to have ladies sleeping over, you may want to stock some amenities. Black washcloths for makeup, an iPhone charger…”

I pulled her in for a quick kiss and caught a whiff of her dickbreath. “Mouthwash.”

“Absolutely,” Rachel laughed as I returned to the kitchen area, “and a few spare toothbrushes.” She paused while buttoning her shirt. “So. Chad. I’m curious.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t suppose you took any Viagra last night or this morning?”

“I did not. That was natural lumber. Old-growth forest, if you will.”

“Way to go! I knew you had it in you.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“All right,” she sighed, rolling her eyes, “I’ve gotta see about making up with Jonathan before he leaves for work.”

“Okay. Gimme a sec and I’ll put your coffee in a travel mug.”

“Well, Mr. H,” she said demurely as she opened the door to leave, “maybe we can do this again sometime?”

“Sounds good, Ms. K.”

She raised one eyebrow in disapproval.

“I mean, Miss Slutskaya.”

Rachel smiled wickedly and blew me a kiss. “That’s better.”