I grabbed her around her chest just below her breasts and pulled my fists into her ribcage with all my force. After about three times she heaved, coughed my splooge all over her couch and started yelling at me, “STOP IT! [cough] YOU’RE HURTING ME! [cough] STOP ASSHOLE!”
I ended up having to take her to the hospital. Not for asphyxiation—she wasn’t choking after all, the cum just surprised her and got in her nose. Nope…in my enthusiasm to save her life, I had succeeded in breaking one of her ribs.
The highlight of the night was at the ER when the doctor told me that I did a very good job with the Heimlich. Apparently, you’re actually supposed to break a rib if you do it right.
We never could get the old magic back after that night. It might have been because she couldn’t take a deep breath for two months.
A Satisfying Meal
My personal favorite blowjob story happened with a girl I hooked up with only once. I met her in some city, out at some bar, on some night—I barely even remember what she looked like (thank you, Dollar Beer Night). I am pretty sure she was engaged, but it wasn’t to any of my friends, so I didn’t care.
The girl did a pretty decent job sucking me off, especially considering how much I drank, and I finished in her mouth. Like a pro, she kept her lips wrapped around my dick till it was dry, but when she came up, there was a strange look on her face. She contorted her expression a little, opened her mouth like she was going to vomit, which of course made me pull back quickly, then all of a sudden:
“BUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPP!”
The girl belched like a drunken sailor—OFF OF MY CUM!
Easily one of the proudest moments of my life.
EVERYONE HAS “THAT” FRIEND
Occurred—various, 1999–2001
Written—June 2005
While at Duke Law School, I made some of my best friends on earth. Guys like PWJ, GoldenBoy, El Bingeroso, Hate, JoJo and Credit made my three years there some of the best of my life. Even though all of them were awesome in their own way, one friend stands out: “SlingBlade.”
SlingBlade is white, about 6'1", a generally good-looking guy except for his huge nose. Picture a younger Owen Wilson, fucked up nose and all, but with a buzz cut. The first time I met SlingBlade was in the law school library. JoJo was sitting with him at a table shooting the shit, and I joined them. Even though I didn’t know him at the time, when SlingBlade started talking about a movie he’d just seen, saying things like, “It was so bad I had to hit myself in the hand with a tack hammer to take my mind off the pain it caused me,” and “I’d compare watching that thing to masturbating with sandpaper,” I knew that this kid was hilarious, and I wanted to hang out with him some more.
Over the ensuing months and years I’ve gotten to know him much better, and it seems like every layer I uncover is weirder and more hilarious than the next:
OCD, GI Joe, and His Nickname
When I first went over to SlingBlade’s apartment, it was to pick him up on the way to a bar. This was about a month or so after I met him in the library, and I was a little weirded out: his place was a shrine to obsessive-compulsive disorder. He kept it meticulously clean and spartan to the extreme. The only things in the living room were a TV on a stand, a single chair in front of it, and a PlayStation2 at the base of the TV. The controllers had the cords wrapped around them, placed on each side, equidistant from the PS2 base, which itself was perpendicular with the TV stand. On his shelf were about 300 DVDs, perfectly aligned and arranged alphabetically by genre. He had a lot of the standard guy movies like Scarface and Godfather, but most of his collection was sci-fi. He had every Star Wars and Star Trek DVD I’d ever heard of, and lots I hadn’t.
His bedroom had only a bed and a desk. The bed had Batman sheets and a Green Lantern comforter. Just about every free piece of space in the room was occupied with dolls, or as he calls them, “action figures.” He must have had like 100 various toys all over the place, most of them were set up like they were fighting each other; the GI Joes were battling the Spawn characters, Superman and the Justice League were squared off against Star Wars figures, and dozens of other genres that I didn’t recognize were locked in frozen combat with each other. I was momentarily encouraged by the hot Jeri Ryan poster on the wall…until I realized that she was dressed as Seven of Nine (the character she plays on Star Trek). The kicker was a talking Yoda doll that he had on his desk. I walked by and the thing blurted out, “Size matters not.” I punched it, and it chirped at me, “Beware the Dark Side.”
Tucker “Dude, have you ever brought a girl back here?”
SlingBlade “Yeah…once.”
Tucker “What did she say when she saw all this?”
SlingBlade “I don’t know. Nothing. It was dark.”
I am not a toy expert, but one thing I did notice was that he had both the older and the newer GI Joes. Because I loved my GI Joes—when I was TEN—I jokingly asked him about them:
Tucker “Are the new GI Joes better than their 80’s counterparts? I don’t see how you can beat the old school Snake-Eyes.”
SlingBlade [The exactness of this response is due to the fact that he re-wrote it for me. From memory. You think he might be OCD?] “The answer is a resounding yes. The old figures suffered from a potent and debilitating malaise known as Wasting Rubber Band Syndrome.
WRBS occurred when you held the legs of Duke or Roadblock, the only two GI Joes you had since your parents were poor and hated you, and spun around the top portion to create a ‘super-spinning punch’ wherein the figure would triumph over his enemy, much to my adolescent delight. This punch was an amazing tool, used only under dire circumstances, such as when Cobra (populated by conscripts from my sister’s Barbie collection who were sold into white slavery) was about to overrun your Lego fortress. Why Lego, you ask? Because your parents wouldn’t spring for the GI Joe base. God forbid you should spend twenty dollars so your lonely son, who spent his formative years confined to quarters for things like “backtalk” and “auto theft,” could have a cool fortress for his only friends. Coincidentally enough, I won’t be springing for the silver package when I stuff those two idiots into the old folks home in a few years. Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?
Anyway, after enough super-spinning punches, the rubber band would snap, and your GI Joe would be cleaved in two. You would then cry, as your supply of friends had been effectively cut in half.
There was also a secondary problem named Fatigued Thumb Syndrome. FTS was when the GI Joe received a constructive form of leprosy due to overuse, and their thumbs would fall off, rendering them incapable of holding a weapon. Once the thumb was gone these figures became almost useless. At this point the only thing they were good for was renaming them for one of your enemies at school and then melting them on an open flame or destroying them with a firecracker. Neither problem exists in the current version, from what I can tell.
In unrelated news: I’m still single.”
Looking through his DVDs, I saw a movie that didn’t really fit with the sci-fi/gangster themes of the rest of his titles: Sling Blade. I love that movie, and asked him why he had it. He told me it was his favorite movie, and started reciting lines from memory, in the same low, baritone gravelly voice that Billy Bob Thornton used in the movie.
[In case you have never seen it, Sling Blade is a fantastic movie about a semi-retarded man named Karl Childers. My buddy SlingBlade relates on a very personal level with Karl (played by Billy Bob Thornton) because they are both very sensitive people who feel disconnected and hurt by a world that doesn’t understand or appreciate them, and