Hedda Dishes :: A Hole in the Head
Hello gentle Americans. Recently, I met a man at the GOP Convention. Why was I there? The well-to-do gentleman I was dating at that time purchased the tickets, and I never refuse a free meal. Besides, it allowed me to wear that conservative strand of pearls that I save for funerals and Republican fundraisers. FYI, the man I came with was not the man I ended up with.
While I was at the bar getting myself a white wine spritzer, this gorgeous raven-haired man with the most piercing blue eyes asked me, "Are your tits real?" It was an extraordinarily bold question, but I like bold, and I replied, "Why don’t we go to the coat room so you can find out." Slipping the Mexican lady working the coat room $100 dollars, he told her to scram. Taking a summer fur from a hanger, we laid it down on the hardwood floor and began our carnal journey.
With the dexterity of a circus juggler he unhooked my bra, at which point my fake boobs proceeded to fall to the ground. He had a look of shock in his eyes as he watched them bounce into the corner. His shock soon turned to intrigue, and he began to unzip his fly growling, "Suck it!" I slunk down his chiseled body, resting my mouth against his prodigious bulge, placing my wet lips against his Calvin Klein underwear.
The heat from my mouth left a wet spot against the cotton, and he moaned in pleasure saying, "Suck it, you nasty whore." Personally, I did not need that filthy noun at the end of the sentence. In his defense, how else would you describe a lady lying on a summer fur, with a stranger, in a coatroom, with her tits in the corner?
Placing my mouth against the elastic band, I used my teeth to pull down his briefs. Grasping his prick in my hands, I opened my mouth and began sucking his meaty cock. While spinning my tongue around the head of his penis it suddenly fell into what I can only describe as a pothole. Immediately I removed my mouth and looked at his cock, making a shocking discovery: the hole in the head of his penis, known as the urethral orifice, was the size of a dime, as if It were struck by a bullet in a gang-related driveby shooting.
Gazing at it in horror, I realized you could easily stick a number 2 pencil into it. The eraser end of course, for his comfort. The sight of this freak show phallus made my white wine spritzer come up in my throat, resting next to my tonsils.
"Why did you stop sucking my cock?" He asked with a frustrated tone.
"Umm, I really should get back to my date. Besides I forgot I was allergic to summer furs. I am breaking out in hives."
"I heard it all lady. You stopped because of the hole in the head of my cock."
He had me. But do I tell the truth or continue with my white lie? I chose the lie.
"No, it is not your cock. I find it fascinating. I have never seen anything like it before. Maybe next time I will explore it further."
Thinking about that made the white wine spritzer come again. "I really must go and find some Benadryl." I began to itch myself furiously to accentuate my fake condition. "Could you please hand me my tits?" In my haste to put them on, I did not hook my bra properly, and unbeknownst to me my tits were lopsided.
"By the by, try the lobster bisque soup, it’s delicious." Leaving him with that piece of advice I raced back to my date.
When I returned to my date he took one look at my tits and said, "Where have you been? And what the hell are wrong with your boobs?"
Looking down at my side show hooters, without skipping a beat I said, "Every woman’s breasts are different my dear. Could you get me another white wine spritzer?"