If you’ve read Losing My Virginity, then you already know I’ve had sex with a fat chick. If you know me from way back in the day, then you know I’ve had sex with more than one. Not at the same time, mind you. I mean, you don’t climb Mt. Everest and Pikes Peak simultaneously. Consider the logistics. It’s not possible, plausible, feasible or reasonable. I didn’t have the cardiovascular conditioning.

At the time of this event I was only 18 or 19, so it was like, um, last year.
(That’s a lie. That’s a goddamn lie!)
It was, I believe, a Sunday night. During this phase of my life, I went out drinking approximately 5 nights a week. And my friends and I always went to the same places on the same nights. Sunday night was The Dome, down in DC. The Dome offered $20 all-u-can-drink on Sundays and was always packed with girls. Prime pickins’ for guys who wanted to get wasted and/or laid. We often accomplished both. The “wasted” part was a foregone conclusion. If the drinks are pre-paid, and unlimited, it stood to reason that we’d be hammered by the end of the night. Strike that. The way I drank, it was a foregone conclusion that I’d be hammered by the end of the first HOUR. Now, the getting laid part wasn’t too tough either. It didn’t always happen, but it was a pretty regular thing. Partly because of all the drunk, slutty girls that went to The Dome on Sundays, and partly because myself, and my friends, weren’t exactly picky. We’d start off the night picky, scoping out the hottest girls, the best bodies, the biggest tits. Discussions were had about who we’d take aim at but hell, we were no pick up artists. We were a bunch of douche bag muscleheads with no rap whatsoever. That wouldn’t stop us from trying. But if we hadn’t scored by the end of the night, well, we weren’t about to leave empty handed. Problem was, what was usually available at that point was enough to fill both hands…and your friends hands, and a wheelbarrow, and maybe a small pickup truck. Luckily, by that hour, the all-u-can-drink goggles had a serious slimming effect. Or beautifying effect. Or both. Thank god there were no trannies hanging out at that joint. I’d have needed some serious therapy after playing The Crying Game.

So, this particular Sunday night I was at The Dome with my friend Mike Robinson. Mike was a year older than me but wasn’t necessarily more mature. His favorite word was “dude” and his life revolved around 2 things; getting laid, and how much he could bench press. Not that my life was very different, it just seemed different. Probably because I had better hair. Anyway, Mike and I hit the bar and started our process of alcoholically Jenny-Craiging all the girls at the club. Over the course of the evening we spoke to numbers of different girls, alternately offending them or losing track of them when we went to get another drink. Those were just some of the pitfalls involved with being an binge drinker and trying to pick up girls. By the time last call was about to hit, we were hanging off to the side, wondering what to do with ourselves. Some nights, depending on our mood, we’d just give up the fight and head home. Tonight was not that night. Mike, always more aggressive than I, literally reached out and grabbed the first girl that walked by us. She was crackhead skinny and appeared to have been hit in the face with a bag of nickels.
Repeatedly.
Since birth.

Strangely, one thing I could never get down with was an ugly face. I’ve had friends say things like, “Her face wasn’t great but she had a slammin’ body.” That doesn’t float with me. When it comes to having sex, I’m a big fan of kissing. Look at it like this…no matter how good the food might taste, I don’t want to eat it if it looks like somebody puked on a plate. Apparently though, I don’t mind if it’s full of empty calories.

So, Mike is over on the dance floor with Cracky Nickelton and I’m hanging solo feeling lo-lo. Suddenly, I see a vision. Or, to be more precise, something fills my line of vision. Pretty face. Big tits. Giant, massive, body of hugeness. It’s on.

I stagger over and walk right up on her, almost running into her before I get there. She smiles and I ask her to dance. Picture me, a 19 year old bodybuilder, all neck and biceps and giant calves, with my stubby arms wrapped halfway around HR Puffenstuff (Can’t do a little cuz you can’t do enough). The clock is ticking which means I’ve got to make a move quickly. Halfway through the song I go in for the kill and we start making out. Now, Mike is dancing nearby, making out with his hideousness, and I’m dancing with my hugeness. We’re both wasted and happy as pigs in shit. We’re both getting laid. The sweet taste of success!

Mike had driven to the bar which meant we had a problem. He had a little 2 seater which meant no room for the girls. Or no room for me and MY girl. Luckily, she pulled the “I never meet a guy” guilt trip on HER friends and we were offered a ride back to my place. This was a long hike from where her friends lived, down in Virginia. See, Maryland (where I lived), DC and Virginia all meet in one spot. But DC is kinda the central point. Many people from both MD and VA went out in DC. People might leave the same club and drive 50 miles in the opposite direction. What this meant for the VA crew, was that they had to drive 40 minutes into MD, then turn back to drive over an hour to VA. Sucked to be them. Great to be me. At that moment. There would be moments in the future where it was slightly less great to be me.

The ride itself was awkward. The girl driving was super hot. It also took me a moment, as drunk as I was, to realize that she was one of the hotties I’d been chatting with earlier in the night. Ironically, she was one of the only receptive ones I’d spoken to, and even implied that we might go out at some point. But in the course of my drunkeness, as I often did, I wandered away looking for another drink and lost her. Now I’m in the back seat with her fat friend, making out, while she drives to hell and back. At some point I actually wonder if I still have a shot with her. Alcohol does not add reason to my thought process. We eventually arrive at my place, by which I mean my MOM’S place, and fall out of the car. The girl driving is livid and basically says, “fuck off and die”, as we stagger toward my front door. Her car screams away down the street.

As you might have noticed, I mentioned that I still lived with my mom. I was only 19, so I don’t think that’s too outrageous. The fact that I brought home drunk girls to bang was, however, a bit outrageous. Because unlike many may have experienced, we didn’t have a big house where I lived in my own area, a basement or attic apartment for example. We were in a 3-bdrm (and a den) condo. All living in close proximity to each other. Myself, my mom, and my sister. One little happy family. Normally, I was a quiet guy who spent much of my time reading in my room. But when I was drunk, I pretty much forgot that I lived with anyone. My mom and sister were both used to it and never really complained. One other item is pertinent to the story. My bedroom, which was really the den, was connected to my mother’s bedroom by a bathroom. It was “her” bathroom, which I rarely used. My sister and I shared the other bathroom. Anyway, back to the story. My um, date and I barrel into my bedroom and shut the paper thin door. Immediately we start making out and tearing each others clothes off. Even in my inebriation, I realize she’s big. Bigger than I though. Perhaps the car ride home sobered me up a little bit. It did not, however, thin her out at all. She’d probably need to drive to say, Australia, with no snacks, to achieve normal human size. Regardless, this birdy had been flying solo for a while and needed a place to land. “Chirp chirp, a Redwood with a vagina!”

SIDE NOTE:
Fat girls get wet easily. I don’t know if it’s cuz they’re not having as much sex, so they get turned on instantly. Or if they have so much Crisco in their systems, that they’re always lubricated. I just know that, in my life, I had sex with enough to know that, across the board, big girls have copious amounts of vaginal fluid. Like a giant waterslide.
END SIDE NOTE.

The sex is awkward, soggy and gross. We’re both slobbery and drunk. She’s wet from pretty much her forhead to her ankle. I don’t know if it’s her own lubrication or if she’s drooling. If she wants to fuck me or eat me. And it’s noisy. Moaning, sometimes screaming a little, and not just the bedsprings. She was loud too. I tried to cover her mouth a few times but I’m pretty sure she almost swallowed my arm. Eventually I came (to my senses), and it was over. I felt like I’d fucked an ice cream cake inside a bucket of chicken. You’re familiar with the term “buyer’s remorse”?

I passed out.

When I woke up it was worse than I’d thought. Her panties looked like they could have been raised up a mast and won the America’s Cup. She was snoring so loud and gruff that one might imagine a Polar Bear would sound that way while hibernating. My hangover was epic and I wanted to sleep all day. But first I had to rid myself of this behemoth and burn my sheets…and my mattress. So, I whispered in an attempt to release her from her slumber in a gentle way. Over her snoring it was a fruitless effort. I shook her a little but didn’t possess the strength to move even a limb. Finally, I tapped on her forehead until she realized that it wasn’t a woodpecker and woke the fuck up. Clearly she didn’t want to wake and waddle out, but I wasn’t having it. Time to go baby. I considered a trail of bacon to my front door but was scared she might eat the carpet along with it. Instead, I just said, “Hey, we gotta get outta here before my mom wakes up,” as if that really mattered. As if my mom was deaf and hadn’t heard everything. My hangover shame was heavy (although not as heavy as she was) and I needed to get rid of the evidence. To put this entire, traumatizing event behind me. Little did I know, the worst was yet to come.

After much coercion, she finally got up and dressed. That sight alone was enough to blind me. I donned some sweats in order to make a hasty exit. Just before our escape, I asked her to wait in my room briefly. See, since I was living in the den, my “bedroom” door opened into the living room. Under no circumstances could we leave if someone were going to witness what I was smuggling out of our home. I went out and my sister was watching TV. She sort of laughed at me quietly when I said, “Can you go in your room for a few minutes?” Didn’t even need to explain why. She knew it was cuz I wanted to bring a girl out and wasn’t about to have an audience for the walk of shame. She did not know the true magnitude of the situation. Since my mom was in her room already, I went back to retrieve the girl. When I entered my room and she wasn’t there, I panicked. Magicians had made planes, buildings and even the Eiffel Tower disappear. But this girl would have been a real feat. Suddenly I realized that she’d gone into the bathroom. My MOTHER’S bathroom. My initial thought was to pray that my mom’s door hadn’t been open. This girl would have had to say, “Excuse me,” and close it. My mom would have already seen her and my embarrassment would have been epic. I could not foresee how epic embarrassment could really be.

I want you to imagine the biggest, loudest, longest, wettest, hottest, most explosive shit you have ever taken.

The sound made The BK Blaster seem like a dry, lonely rabbit turd being dropped in a Dixie cup. It shook the walls and made the floor rumble as if there was an earthquake. My head hurt, my heart sank, my shame overwhelmed me. At that moment, I’d rather have admitted on Oprah that I’d been anally gang raped by a tribe of Pygmies…and liked it. It seemed like she shit forever. And never, not for one second, did the volume of her shitting decrease. In fact, I think it got louder and louder, right up to the very end. Then, in a grand finale of epically explosive beer-shit diarrhea, it ended.

I’m sure she wiped for a good 1/2 hour while I tried not to cry. Finally, she came out of my mother’s bathroom, smile on her face, totally shameless. Perhaps she was one of those people who is so unaware, that they think you can’t hear something if it’s behind closed doors. Or perhaps she was proud of herself. This was her way of saying, “I know you only brought me home cuz you were drunk, and won’t ever call me again. But I had an orgasm and left a massive, disgusting mess on your bed and in your toilet. Thanks, and have a nice day.”

I made her call her hot friend to meet us halfway. No chance I was driving my hungover ass all the way to bumfuck Virginia. Besides, she was killing the suspension on the passenger side of my Hyundai Excel. It wasn’t made for big payloads. When I dropped her off, the hot friend was already there waiting. She glared at me and I just looked away. My shame was great.

The entire ride home, I considered taking a break from going out, from drinking. I went home, tore off my soaked sheets, and napped for a few hours. In the afternoon I met up with Mike at the gym and we did deadlifts. Every lift almost caused me to pass out. Partially from the strain, partially from the hangover. When we were done I said I was going home to eat and rest. Mike laughed at me. “Don’t get too comfortable dude, we’re going out tonight.”

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