Mimi40H has booped you!
Mimi40H: Hi Chad
Chad: Hello!
Chad: Interesting username
Chad: Does it mean what I think it means?
Mimi40H: Yes
Mimi40H: I have huge tits
Chad: Deploy the H-bombs!
Mimi40H: Um
Mimi40H: I’m half Japanese
Mimi40H: My grandparents are from Nagasaki
Chad: Oops
Chad: I’m about to get dumped, aren’t I?
Mimi40H: Sayonara, dickwad
Mimi40H has dumped you.

Now, in my defense, we dropped a plutonium bomb on Nagasaki; the hydrogen bomb wasn’t developed until the early ’50s.

Yeah, not much of a defense.

Nothing else was happening on 4N1K8R, and I was in the mood to see some tits, so I decided to check out The Watering Hole, a divey strip club I’d heard about but never visited. I wandered in, gave my eyes a moment to adjust to the hazy red light, then sized up the other four sketchy guys who had nothing better to do on a Sunday afternoon. I ordered a smashburger and a glass of ginger ale from the bartendress before claiming a small table where I could keep one eye on the stage and the other on the Bruins-Sabres game that was about to begin.

Arachne, Godiva, Lacey, and Calypso were listed on the schedule, and I’m pretty sure Arachne was dancing when I arrived. The spiderwebs tattooed on her tits were my first clue; the black widow tattooed above her pubic fringe clinched it. I was tempted to ask her whether she’d ever done a Lord of the Rings routine starring Dildo Baggins in Merkinwood Forest.

Arachne gyrated lethargically as one old guy shuffled over and tossed a couple of bucks on the rail. She swept the bills onto the stage with a flick of her long black hair. After a few minutes, she drifted back into the shadows and was replaced onstage by Godiva, whose skin was chocolate brown. She performed a set with about as much enthusiasm as I bring to our weekly faculty meetings. Fortunately, the hockey game had started, giving me something else to focus on.

My food arrived, and almost immediately a cheery female voice rang out behind me.

“Mr. H!”

I froze. The only place people call me Mr. H is…

“Getting a head start on your April vacation, Mr. H?”

…at school. 

A tall young woman stepped into view and stood there with a grin on her face that was larger than the three triangles of fabric that comprised the entirety of her outfit. She’d been in my algebra class four or five years earlier but obviously had moved on to bigger and better things after graduating: most notably, those lucite platform heels, the strawberry blonde hair cascading halfway down her back, and her surgically-enhanced tits.

“Chastity! Wait, no. Charity.” I was staring up at Charity Bangs, the girl born with the perfect name for porn. Who knows what Mr. and Mrs. Bangs had been thinking when they named her, but I suppose they didn’t really have any good options.

“In the flesh,” she quipped as she pulled out a chair and invited herself to sit at my table.

“Charity Bangs,” I stated, partly to convince myself that this was really happening.

“Hey, not so loud, or everyone’ll think they get a freebie. Around here, I’m known as Calypso.”

“I’m glad to see our classical education wasn’t lost on you.” Our school did an interdisciplinary unit on The Odyssey in ninth grade.

“Give Ms. K the credit for inspiring me. She always emphasized the female characters. The Odyssey was told from a man’s perspective, so every woman in that story was either a temptress or a monster. Or both.”

I thought for a second. “What about Penelope?”

“Oh, the loyal wife,” Charity sneered as she stole a french fry off my plate. “Waiting faithfully for her man, giving all her suitors blue balls while her husband was out screwing hoes for ten years. What a chump.”

“Remember when you calculated the amount of weaving she did and then undid every night, waiting for Odysseus to return?”

“Hey, more power to her if it kept her from getting gang-banged every night by a hundred guys.” Charity paused. “Speaking of calculations, I wonder what volume of cum that would have produced?”

“Inappropriate topic of conversation,” I snickered, but I couldn’t resist the setup. “At 5 milliliters a shot, that’s around 500 milliliters a night.” I indicated the pint glass in front of me. “Drink up, toots.”

“Mr. H!”

“Anyway, you chose the name Calypso. You decided against being a Siren?”

“That name’s already taken. La Sirena’s got seniority here, and she’s a raging bitch if you cross her.”

“You know, mermaids never do very well in school,” I said casually.

Charity pursed her lips, waiting for the teacher joke she knew was coming.

“...because their grades are always below C level.”

“You’d think they’d be good at math,” she observed without skipping a beat. “Considering all they wear is an algae-bra.”

“Ha! I would’ve given you extra credit if you’d written that on an exam.”

“I could’ve used it. I barely kept my head above water in your class.” Looking around at the handful of disheveled patrons scattered about the club, she sighed, “But nobody here gives a shit about my high school grades.”

“Well, I certainly won’t tell anyone. Publicizing your academic record would be a violation of your federally protected privacy rights.”

“I’ll tell you, though, Mr. H. That algebra did come in handy when I was deciding to get a boob job.”

My eyes flickered to her chest; the inverted T scars on the underside of her tits were plainly visible below her teeny bikini top. “You ran the cost-benefit analysis?”

“Sure did!” Charity laughed and jiggled a bit for emphasis. “Bigger tits equals bigger tips. I had to stop dancing for a few months while they healed, but it’ll definitely be worth it in the long run.”

“Well, I’m glad you got something out of that class.”

“Yeah, y equals mx plus boobs.”

I shook my head slowly in wonder and ate a pickle slice.

“So, Mr. H,” Charity began in a sunny voice, before transforming herself into the stormy Calypso, “How about a private booth dance? I could sit on your lap and you could tell me what brought you to my enchanted island. I see the mark on your finger where your wedding ring used to be.”

I looked around the place, squinting in the dim rubicund light. The small stage with its gleaming pole like the mast of a ship, the long wooden bartop with its row of stools like a galley lined with oars, the row of shabby black curtains hanging limp along the opposite wall like tattered sails. Not exactly a romantic sunset cruise on the Mediterranean.

“I appreciate the offer,” I smiled while glancing at her tantalizing tits again, “but I think we’d better keep it out here.”

Charity shrugged. “Well, you can’t blame a nymph for trying.”

“Stick around, though, kiddo.” I peeled off three $20 bills and slid them across the table. “I’m curious, what else has been happening with you? Are you and Ashley Clark still besties?”

“Omigawd, Mr. H,” Charity laughed as she swept the money into her clutch bag. “Wait’ll you hear this. She and her mother run an OnlyFans together.”

—

I met Rachel for lunch the next day at Uwajimaya. I think I was still feeling a little guilty about Nagasaki.

“I wasn’t receiving your texts while I was in Canada,” she began as we sat down. “Stupid Mint Mobile.”

“How was your trip?”

“Never mind that!” Rachel burst out. “Chad. How do you not know what ENM stands for?”

“Cut me some slack; it sounded like a shitty band from the ’80s. EMF, KMFDM, OMD…”

“OMG. You cannot be on a hookup app without knowing these acronyms.”

“Technically, aren’t they initialisms?”

“Chad.”

“Like, what the hell is KTP? It sounds like a fried chicken place that cooks their food in motor oil.”

“Where did you hear that one?”

“Amelie wants me to meet her husband tonight and maybe have a threesome if we hit it off.”

“Wow, she doesn’t waste any time! MMF or MFM?”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yeah, the order of operations sometimes matters with that acro—I beg your pardon, initialism.”

“It’s more like combinations and permutations than order of operations.”

Rachel elbowed me in the ribs. “Cumbinations and spermutations, amirite?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about all that. I’m snipped, remember? But enough about 4N1K8R for now. I ran into an old friend of ours at The Watering Hole yesterday.”

“Oh no. Tell me who.”

“Charity Bangs.”

“Charity Bangs. The girl whose name is synonymous with mercy fucks.”

“I called her Chastity by mistake.”

“Chastity Bangs?” Rachel snorted. “What a contradiction in terms. Well, give me the deets; I don’t suppose she’s just serving drinks?”

“You guessed it. She’s dancing, but not banging the clientele, as far as I could see.”

“She give you a lap dance?”

“No, but I paid her off so she wouldn’t keep asking.”

“Well, did you stick around for the show?”

“Nah. At first, I figured, what’s the harm? I’m a paying customer. But then I thought better of it.”

“It’s nice to know you have some standards.” Rachel pointed her chopsticks at me.

“I’ll admit, when I first started teaching, I fantasized about messing around with students after they graduated. Like, I figured as soon as they were out of school and turned eighteen, they’d be fair game. I didn’t realize I had a duty owed to them that extended beyond our time together in school.”

“Well, that’s kinda gross, but you were what, twenty-three years old? Your prefrontal cortex hadn’t fully developed.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of mind-boggling when I think about it now. As though the girls wouldn’t talk to each other, word wouldn’t get around town.”

“Just imagine. You spend the summer fucking Ashley Clark in the back of your car that’s older than she is, and then her sister Madison shows up in your class in September. Not a good scene.”

—

Queen B has booped you!
Queen B: Your profile says you like bumblebees
Chad: Yass queen
Queen B: Damn right
Queen B: Are you gonna be my little bitch?
Chad: Don’t you mean drone?
Queen B: No backtalk, bitch
Chad: K
Chad: L
Chad: A
Chad: T
Queen B: Oh hell no
Queen B has dumped you.

I closed 4N1K8R and looked out my car window at the cozy little bungalow across the street. When the clock hit 7:59 PM, I got out, slowly made my way to the door, and rang the bell.

“Hi Chad, come on in!” Amelie greeted me above a chorus of barking, then yelled over her shoulder. “Trey, I asked you to put the dogs in the basement!”

“Men,” I shook my head sadly as I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. “I brought some wine, a Walla Walla Valley red. I wasn’t sure about the etiquette…”

“I’m sure we could all use it,” Amelie laughed, accepting the bottle and leading me to the kitchen. “This isn’t our first rodeo, but meeting someone new always feels a bit awkward at first.”

She finished pouring three glasses just as Trey ascended from the basement stairs. They made a cute couple, I have to say. Amelie had curly brown hair and cat-eye glasses; Trey had darker hair and a trim beard and wore round tortoiseshell glasses. Both in their mid-to-late forties, a bit younger than me.

“Trey, this is Chad.” Amelie made the introductions as she handed each of us a wineglass. “Chad, this is my husband Trey. He’s eaten your cum out of my pussy,” she added with a giggle.

“You don’t pull any punches, do you?” I laughed. “Just putting it all out there.”

“Well, why not?” she shrugged. “We all know what we’re here for, so why beat around the bush? Pun intended.”

“Nice to meet you, Chad.” Trey finally managed to get a word in, and we shook hands.

We stood in the kitchen and talked about relationships and sex, the most frank and honest conversation on the topic I’d had in my entire life. There’s something liberating about knowing the boundaries of a casual relationship; I wasn’t trying to win Amelie’s hand, so I didn’t feel the need to be perfect and I wasn’t worried about coming off as a creep. I could be forthright about what I liked, what I didn’t like, and what I wasn’t sure about.

“So, Chad,” Amelie said at last, and I could sense a change in the atmosphere. “Trey and I want to know what you’re comfortable with.”

“Ask away.”

“I love being spitroasted,” Amelie began.

“That’s some of my favorite porn.”

Her eyes lit up. “Excellent. What are your thoughts on you and Trey touching each other?”

“You know, I’m really not sure,” I admitted, then exhaled. “Mind if I tell you a few things about myself?”

Trey smiled and gestured go ahead. “The floor is yours.”

“I’ve never had a threesome,” I began. “So I’m not completely sure how I’d react. But I’ve been eating my own cum since I was sixteen years old. And I’m pretty sure if another guy jizzed on a woman’s tits…”

“Uh huh?” Amelie breathed.

“...I’d be willing to lick it all up and feed it to her.”

“Oh my,” Amelie fanned herself with a napkin.

“And if the guy’s drippy dick was waving in my face…”

“Uh huh?” Amelie squeaked.

“...I imagine I wouldn’t be opposed to cleaning it up, too.”

“Oh my,” Trey laughed, fanning his crotch with a napkin.

“I’m not attracted to guys,” I said slowly, “but I’m not afraid to mix things up. I think.”

I took another sip of my wine as Amelie and Trey exchanged glances.

“Well, I’m convinced,” Trey chuckled.

“Should we go for it? Right now?” Amelie suggested.

“I should stop drinking wine and switch to water,” I replied as I felt around in my pocket for a Viagra. “And I’ll need a few minutes to get warmed up.”

“I’m sure we can find some way to pass the time,” Amelie smiled suggestively as she filled a glass at the sink.

I followed them into the living room, where Trey and Amelie began kissing. I settled into an easy chair and prepared to watch the show. He unzipped her dress and slid it down her body until she stood in just her bra and panties; she’d worn a matching red set for the occasion. As they continued kissing, he kneaded her breasts through the material, tweaking her sensitive nipples. Amelie began unbuttoning Trey’s shirt and dragging her nails along his chest and abdomen. He broke away for a moment to remove his shirt, and Amelie reclined on the couch. Trey climbed aboard and lay next to her so that I could have an unobstructed view of the proceedings. While they kissed, he slid his hand inside her panties and began stroking her gently, eliciting a faint whimper of desire. He soon eased the gusset aside to give his fingers—and my eyes—clear access to her delightful pussy. He slid one finger inside, then two, spreading her slickness onto her outer folds.

This went on for a while before I decided it was time to join in the action. I approached the couch and knelt beside it. Giving Amelie what I hoped passed for a rakish smile, I pulled her tits up out of her bra cups so they were supported by the underwire but fully exposed. I tongued and sucked her nipples as she writhed and moaned under our combined attention.

“Are you two going to make me cum?” Amelie gasped.

My mouth was full, so Trey spoke up first.

“Only a dirty fucking whore gets to cum,” he sneered over the sound of his fingers squelching inside her soggy snatch, and she moaned even louder. Clearly, they’d done this dance before. “Only a dirty whore who fucks around on her husband. A dirty whore who sucks cock—”

“Unh!”

“While getting her pussy fucked—”

“Uhhhnh!”

“And takes two loads of cum on her tits,” Trey finished as he fingerbanged her with extreme prejudice.

“Don’t move! Don’t move!” Amelie squawked as her orgasm rose, then shouted as it crested. “UGH!” We held her close as she twitched and shook between us.

When her spasms finally abated, she told us both to strip, then had me sit on the couch leaning against the armrest. She slipped off her sodden panties and tossed them over my dick like a carnival ring toss, then crawled onto the couch, facing me on all fours, while Trey moved into position behind her. She began licking my dick, then finally took it fully in her mouth just before Trey slid his cock inside her. And with that, I was participating in my first spitroast!

I lay back and ran my fingers through Amelie’s curls as she gorged herself on my stiff dick, occasionally bumping her lips against her red panties, while her husband fucked her slowly, dictating her rhythm as he nudged her from behind with his hips. When she was satisfied I was good and hard, Amelie pulled off my dick and slurped, “Time for me to turn around.”

Trey stayed on his knees and I got onto mine as Amelie did a one-eighty and presented her cute ass and juicy cunt to me. I slipped her panties onto my head with the crotch over my nose, then rubbed my dick along her sloppy slit before sinking it inside. She flashed me a quick smile before turning her attention to Trey’s cock, which was bouncing around in front of her face. I gripped her hips and pumped my now raging hard-on in and out while she bobbed her head on her husband’s pussy-flavored prick.

I’d read about a slang term recently, probably in the sex issue of The Stranger, the alternative newspaper, and I figured I may as well give it a try.

“Eiffel Tower?” I asked Trey, and he laughed and gave me a high five over Amelie’s back, where her pale white skin was set off by the straps of her red bra. Man, I was ticking off boxes left and right!

After maybe ten minutes of getting railed, Amelie gently disengaged from both of our dicks, then sat back in the middle of the couch.

“Chad, would you finger me a little bit? I want to finish off Trey now.”

“Yes, ma’am!” I sidled up next to her and licked her nipple while gently frigging her.

“Mmm, perfect,” she sighed contentedly before Trey jammed his dick in her mouth. She sucked him off and played with his balls until he grunted and pulled out, hosing down her boobs with his hot cum.

The boobs I was currently licking.

“Chad, clean me up before it gets on the couch!” Amelie yelped, and I did as instructed, lapping up her husband’s sweet and salty load from her tits, then drooling it into her hungry mouth.

Trey stood up and held his cock in his hand near our faces, and I darted my tongue out to flick a drip of jizz from the tip.

Amelie lay back, and I mounted her, kissing and fucking her savagely until I was about to blow my own load. I whipped my dick out and began firing thick spurts of cum up onto her belly and the undersides of her tits. She was definitely going to have to wash that red bra.

Trey pounced and ran his tongue up, down, and all around, cleaning up the mess I’d made before swapping the two loads of cum with his deliriously happy wife.

Afterwards, I had only one question. Well, I’m sure I had several, but this one was top of mind.

“Why didn’t we do this in the bedroom, if you’re so worried about ruining the couch?”

“Oh, I just said that so you wouldn’t wimp out,” Amelie giggled as she nonchalantly scooped some cum out of her belly button and fed it to her husband. “We made sure to get the stain-resistant slipcovers when we bought this living room set.”

Trey went through a checklist on his fingers as his cock twitched against his leg. “Muddy dogs, red wine, Amelie’s juices, random guys’ cum… You never know what life is gonna throw at you.”

“Well, that is certainly true,” I laughed as I casually stroked my floppy dick. “Best spring break ever!”