THE ITALIAN (NOT SO) STALLION
Today’s contributor discovers there are just some things you can’t help a man with.
It was lust at first sight. My Italian stallion—or should I say pony? I met him my senior year of college through a mutual friend. I thought he had it all, until I found out he was bald, insecure and bad in bed! I could have dealt with the baldness, if he left his fitted Yankee cap on, and maybe even helped him through his insecurities, but being bad in bed was just a lost cause.
We were drinking a lot on a typical Friday night at my apartment. The more drunk I got, the better he began to look with his hat off. We barely made our way up the stairs due to excessive kissing, hair pulling (my hair, of course), and all the adrenaline that was rushing through my veins. When we finally made it to my bed, I couldn’t tell if he began to finger me or eff me. Well, to my surprise it was his dick (sigh).
I figured I could handle it because I was so incoherent and everything felt good at that point. So, he continued to eff me like a jackhammer at a construction sight. Yes, it was that bad, and then right in the middle of what should have been an orgasm, he sat up, looked me dead in the face with my legs still straddled between his little body, and said “Do you think I’m attractive?” and before I could respond to his insane question my vagina answered for me—a loud queef had exited its way out of me and ended that right then and there!
