Just a heads up as you go into this story: much of the humor is going to be based on how you say the upcoming catchphrase in your head. When you reach the word, you'll know it when you read it. Please say it with a sneer so exaggerated that it makes one of your eyes squint. Please take some time to perfect it before moving on with the story or you will find this entire enterprise rather tedious.
She wasn't unpleasant to look at. She would do. That was pretty much my criteria for sexual encounters at that time in my life. And by that I mean a month ago. In fact everything was going great until she spoke. She was a white girl who talked black but she had breasts and legs so I was willing to give her a pass for the cultural ambiguity.
Until she said that awful phrase. The phrase that burnt its way into my head and has haunted me ever since: “Make sure you pull out before you nut.”
If you were to watch a replay of my penis in slow motion it would be like watching a pin make contact with a balloon. I actually felt the blood violently sloosh back into my midsection.
“Make sure you pull out before you nut.”
I can still hear her say that when I think about it and when I try not to and when I'm sound asleep and when I wake up screaming in a cold sweat.
Of course, once she took off her shirt and I saw her breasts the blood hesitantly made its way back into my penis and I completed the act... including pulling out before I... ejaculated.
When she said “nut” she added a few extra u's. “Nuuut.”
I was still hearing echoes of the word when I entered her. It was obvious that this wasn't her first rodeo... and by that I mean it felt like she had fucked horses and bulls. There wasn't much tread left on those tires.
But nut I did.
I nutted.
Or nuuuted to be precise.
The real problems began when I tried to have sex with other women. I didn't want to achieve orgasm or even cum. I wanted to nut.
Nuuut.
I even went back to an old girlfriend who I still had feelings for. A great girl who was filled with passion and romance and longing and who made love with the intensity of a last fling before the spaceship you're riding in crashes into the heart of a pulsing sun. You know, legs wrapped around your back, fingertips buried in your shoulders, the whole show.
My penis wanted none of it.
At one point the tenderness of her touch had me wanting to grab the nearby wastebasket and empty the contents of my stomach into it.
Finally I whispered into her ear.
The word.
What I wanted.
It did not go well from there.
They say that with some drugs you are addicted the first time you do them. Like crack. Ironic given that crack has a sexual implication. You don't want to be addicted, you just are. Except there aren't any clinics that treat my condition. Or even weepy TV commercials where I can garner sympathy for wanting to nut.
It was a disease and I am a carrier. If wanting to nut is wrong then I don't want to be right.
All I have is this burning desire that sends me out every weekend to dance clubs in the trashy part of town looking for a fix. To hear the lyrics of my soul spoken aloud by some horrid wigga bitch.
“Make sure you pull out before you nuuut.”