You’ll Get This Haiku After You Read My Article…um…Haiku

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
HA-HA-HA, HA-HA-HA-HA!!!
How does my dick taste?!

I’m ashamed to admit it, but Friday night I had my first pre-ejaculation experience. Okay, let’s get something straight first…there was penetration, so maybe “pre-ejaculation” isn’t the right term. I mean, no semen has touched my tighty-whities since I was an alter boy at St. Pat’s; I can assure you that it was all in the latex. But because I didn’t even unhook her bra, pull her hair, or spit in her face, I can’t consider it a worthwhile encounter. I need a little sadistic smack, cut, or cigarette burn on her forehead to really make it meaningful.

And it was my fault. Like all the girls I’ve slept with, she laid there horny, started to get into it, and then drooled a little. I didn’t last long enough to make waves of pleasure pulse from her loins, commonly known as Nick’s Fourth Step.

By doing this, I want you to know I’ve broken my moral code. Now I have to set things straight by getting this off my chest. That, and this itchy gruff all over my titties now that I’ve shaved all of my “Big boy” hair off.

"Her pussy must’ve been ten degrees warmer than the average cooter...soft like a SPAM/Cheez Whiz sandwich."

The Story

Friday night I went to The Slippery Dego Vagina, a local spot for the hipster Italian kids to hang, and slutty freshman girls to eat big, greasy Italian sausage. And I mean that literally (they serve it with fried onions and peppers on a toasted bun).

After I got good and liquored up, I took a few strolls around the place to check out the meat. And, in part, I also mean that literally…the Mario Brothers hang the uncooked sausage from the walls behind the bar.

But to hinder my hunger—sexual and otherwise—the room was full of at best, 6s and 7s. I wasn’t looking to fuck a normie that night, so I just insulted some Asians who were playing pool (really well, no doubt).

Because I don’t fuck fatties and I’m never dipping my egg roll in duck sauce, I was pretty pissed off that I had the option of fucking an overweight 6 or an Asian 7. Then, the entrance door swung open and I saw her.

She came in like Jodie Foster did in that movie where she was gang-raped on a pinball machine…all strutting around with a cigarette in her mouth. She was wearing small woodland creatures for foot coverings, a black handkerchief around her twat and ass, and two brown windshields on her face. As she walked, time slowed, my mouth went dry, and the bar went silent. And even though that was because the jukebox stopped playing Mariah Carey’s “Butterfly” when my buddy Tom threw his beer bottle through it, I’m sure it would have stopped anyway. You see, this girl was fiiiiiine, no diggity.

My eyes followed her ass across The Slippery Dego Vagina, and after she made her rounds checkin’ out the meat, she sat on a stool beside her fat friends and leaned against the bar. We made direct eye contact for a few seconds at least four or five times. Finally, she smiled and spread her legs toward me to reveal red cotton panties. Then I knew, “This girl might be a slut.”

For a moment, she turned to the bartender and stuck two fingers up to order beer. When she bent over to get in her purse, her shirt rode up and exposed The Sistine Chapel right above her ass. Cha-ching.

I immediately got a boner and asked my buddy Tom to wingman up the hot chick’s female friend, a female version of Louie Anderson. He did an excellent job hogtying her large, pimple-scar-ridden ass playing the old “I like the girls a little thick” card. With Bruto out of the picture, I got the Objective Piece of Ass out of the bar pretty easily.

The ride back in the taxi was pretty uneventful. She was so hot I could barely mutter anything. Well, to her, at least. The driver and I talked about his home country and how 9/11 affected United States foreign policy forever. I overpaid him, too.

We got into my apartment without much trouble. The door wasn’t locked and the dog was asleep. We tiptoed past my Born-Again Christian roommate’s door, so as to avoid a lecture on the moral consequences of premarital ass-fucking.

Then, when we got to my room, this girl immediately jumped on my waterbed and spread her legs. Pulling her panties aside and looking me right in the eye, she genuinely asked me, “See this pussy? Did you know that this is your pussy daddy?” I thought about saying, “No, I don’t see it…you mean that purplish, roast-beef-sandwich-lookin’ thing right there?” But then I realized that girls don’t have a very good sense of humor when it comes to their vaginas. So, instead of angering her and thus, not getting laid, I ripped off my pants and shoes, snapped the Magnum on and dove in.

I’ll tell you now reader…her pussy must’ve been ten degrees warmer than the average cooter. It was well-manicured with a landing strip of public hair right above it. It was soft like a SPAM/Cheez Whiz sandwich. It was so…so… perfect that after twenty pumps, I spooged.

God, it hurts to even type it.

The Plea

Please please PLEASE know that I’m not usually a pre-ejaculator! In fact, I have have been diagnosed with DGS. That is to say, Desensitized Genital Syndrome, a clinically recognized disorder affecting one in every thousand men. You see, this is partly because my penis is very large and a single stroke can take upwards of six minutes. Also, when I masturbated as a child, I used a really prickly wool towel set. And even with all of that to bog me down and make me last really long, I’m prone to wear a condom. And unless you’re an apathetic, asexual virgin, you know what condoms do to your dick.

But yes, I wear a condom. Not because I don’t want to get gonorrhea, herpes, scabies, genital warts, syphilis, Chlamydia, or HIV. Nor because I like thrusting into a girl until her vagina is so dry it feels like I’m fucking a slab of Goodyear rubber (that’s just an added bonus). It’s because I don’t want to give gonorrhea, herpes, scabies, genital warts, syphilis, Chlamydia, HIV or crabs to the lucky lady who I fucked. And that’s not because I’m a gentleman. It’s because I don’t want the girls I fuck to be linked to me in any way. Trust me, when you have girls on your lawn at 3AM crying and playing the mandolin so you’ll give them the cock, you have to take precautionary measures.

What You Can Do To Help Me

With all of this said, I need to ask each of you for something to help me through this.

One, to the Attractive Girls out there: I don’t want you to think that having sex with me won’t be productive. To prove that I am Nick Gaudio, God of Sex, I’ll fuck the next 10 callers while thinking about Janet Reno, rotten cottage cheese, and my grandmother. Trust me, I’ll be able to keep it hard; my number is in my Facebook profile.

And you Ugly Girls…How about you fuck my buddy Shaun? Haha, but seriously…why are you reading my articles? Go jump off a cliff.

Finally, guys, I need to be even more honest with you. You see, after this event, I need more than your pity or your faith that I am Nick Gaudio, God of Sex. I need you to apologize to your girlfriend for me. You see, I didn’t mean to fuck her like you do…like a chump.

Also, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll need her number. She left it in lipstick on my balls the next morning and well, I like to keep a clean house if you know what I’m saying.

Love, your friend,

Nick Gaudio, God of Sex

P.S. I don’t think that beer really even decreased her inhibitions at all…might wanna have a talk about that.