Lying For Sex no pics

Sep 8, 2016 | | Say something

I drive away from the mob and their righteous wrath regarding my shoplifting. “That’s karma for you,” Jessica declares smugly. “Bad things happen when you do bad things.”

Normally I would just agree with her, but I am pissed off by my bloody elbows. I scraped them pretty painfully. “Karma isn’t real. People get away with murder every day. Haven’t you heard of the US army? Justice isn’t automatic; it’s something people create and enforce for their own benefit.”

“Then what just happened? You know they have to raise the prices of items to compensate for shoplifters. You’re not just stealing from the store; you’re stealing from everyone. Honestly, what you just did was extremely unattractive.” How dare you judge me! I don’t care what I did. I can’t wait to get drunk and forget about this. But Jessica’s ass. I must have my wiener inside that magnificent ass.

“I never thought of it like that. You’re so right. If I hadn’t had you here with me, I probably wouldn’t have learned a damn thing from all that. Thank you.” I look at her with the moist eyes of sincerity, and elbow pain. Meijer is right near the movie theater, so I’m already in the parking lot, and I find spot right near the entrance even though the theater is pretty crowded; it’s Saturday afternoon. We get out of the car, Jessica puts the vodka in her purse, and we walk in the door, and the line for tickets is about twenty people long. I feel like I am about to be nagged and it causes me anxiety.

There are several abnormally short people in the theater lobby. I’m prejudiced against midgets. Oh wait, those are children. The ceiling in here is too high. The carpet is red, blue and purple. My elbows feel wet. Before I picked Jessica up, I purchased some Magnum condoms and put five of them in my wallet, which was difficult to close afterwards. I don’t need any of them, I will be using my special-order small-sized condoms I bought on the internet. Magnum condoms are far too large for my tiny penis and hang off of it comically. My plan is to let a few of them drop so that she can see them and think that I have a monster dong, and the ability to jizz more than twice without passing out, although neither of these things are true. Strategic misrepresentation.

“How are you feeling Jessica? I’m curious.” Not really, but you know. My penis.

“Well, I feel like you should have listened to me, but we’ll talk about that for a really long time later. I’m doing pretty well, a customer at work told me I have pretty hair, and my boss sexually harassed me some more, which made me feel attractive for once.” Oh God, that is so weird. I knew the nagging was coming at some point, I’m really relieved it won’t be until later though.

“You have a mirror in your house, don’t you? You must know how fucking gorgeous you are,” I tell her, stepping towards her and grabbing her hand, interlocking my fingers with hers. “Don’t think like that. You’re not allowed to think like that.” This would be romantic if I wasn’t secretly a fuckboy.

“Awww,” she says, and smiles. “Thank you so much.” I hope she has a wet butthole. “You always know just what to say to make me feel better.”  I kiss her forehead, and suddenly it is our turn to buy tickets.

“Two for ‘The Chicken Fucker’ please,” I say to the ticket salesman. It is the new hit horror movie.

“That’s a really fucked up movie. But you look like a future serial killer, so it’s just right for you,” the old man in a red vest tells me. I let it slide because I’m sure he says things like that to everyone.

Jessica and I head for the concessions line and I think about what it looks like when she shits from the point of view of the toilet water. This makes me rock hard, but my pathetic penis size prevents this from ever being a public embarrassment. When we’re almost to the glass cases and fake marble counters, I pull out my wallet, presumably to get out my money, and all five condoms fall out. Jessica bends over to pick them up (I swear I hear angels sing whenever I see her fat fucking ass) and sees what they are. She looks up at me hair falls over most of her face, making her look like a Wookie. “What kind of girl do you think I am?” she demands angrily. She picks up all the condoms and shoves them into my chest. “Fucking piece of shit.” A nun standing behind us gasps in horror.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I just carry those around all the time,” I say with a straight face. She starts laughing inappropriately loudly.

“I’m just fucking with you. I’m on birth control anyway, homo.” The nun behind us starts to cry silently, tears streaming down her bony old face. Birth control is a sin, and I know she fears for Jessica’s soul. My heart is filled with joy; maybe she thinks I have a big penis, and I can have sex with her actual vagina, instead of making love to a thick layer of rubber. Then we are at the front of the line, and I see the prices of the candy inside the glass display case, and my heart is filled with dog shit. Everything is at least 7 dollars. I look up at the large sign where the items for sale are listed along with their prices. A large popcorn is $10,458,321. “Can we get a large popcorn?” Jessica asks, and for the first time in hours, I contemplate suicide. I’ll be declaring bankruptcy soon anyway, so I get some Skittles as well, and an 80 ounce cup of Coca-Cola to mix with my cheap vodka and share with Jessica.

We walk towards Theater 11, which is where ‘The Chicken Fucker’ is playing, and I notice that blood is dripping down my forearm. I point this out to Jessica and tell her to get a seat in the very back row, because I need to clean up in the bathroom.

I go into the bathroom of the movie theater and it is impressive. Spotless, shiny, and without a single puddle of piss. I go the sink and start washing the blood off of my elbows by making one hand into a cup and then splashing water onto the opposite elbow. Then I wipe the elbow with paper towels, and repeat the process. This gets my shirt wet, but there’s no way around it. I have most of the blood off when a man with long black hair wearing a leather jacket comes to the sink directly to the left of me, even though there are seven sinks, and pulls out an uncircumcised chode that is frighteningly red. He starts pissing in the sink. I am offended. “Hey! Why the hell are you pissing in the sink when there are urinals five feet away from you?” I say angrily, making a terrible first impression. Oh wait, his first impression is worse!

He replies in a thick British accent, “This saves water. Don’t you care at all about the environment?” He finishes pissing after releasing only two small squirts of dark yellow urine, then shakes his penis furiously for about fifteen seconds. I watch it the whole time for some reason. “Would you like to buy some ‘eroin? It’s cut with elephant tranquilizer.”

“How do you know I’m not a police officer? Why do you think I’m a heroin addict?” Secretly I am honored that he thinks I am cool.

The British man pulls a knife out from his long hair and waves it around like people wave a lighter at a concert. “If you were a police officer, I would have to stab you to death, that’s how I know.” That doesn’t make sense, but point taken, he’s threatening me. “And ‘eroin ain’t addictive, that’s a myth.” I don’t stick around to debate him. My elbows are clean enough; I leave without saying goodbye.

I head to Theater 11 and climb up about thirty steps and find Jessica and sit next to her, on her left. She has the popcorn in the seat to her right, and she has my Coca-Cola. I grab her purse and pull out the vodka, pull the lid off of the cup, chug as much of it as I can to make room for vodka, and pour in the entire fifth. I briefly wonder if I am an alcoholic.

“Are you an alcoholic?” Jessica asks quietly.

“I can stop whenever I want,” I tell her. I stir the drink with my straw and then put my lips to it and vacuum liquid up into the fuckhole under my nose. It tastes like a retard’s piss. Delicious. I put it in the cup holder between us in the hopes that she will impair her judgement as much as I will. I put my arm around her shoulders and she leans towards me and rests her head on my right shoulder, then I lean my cheek against the top of her head. She smells like pineapples, and it makes me horny. On the screen there is a preview playing for a movie about Mark Wahlberg getting a sex change so that he can compete as woman in the Special Olympics.

“That looks really good,” Jessica whispers. I put my finger to her lips so she’ll shut the fuck up, but I think she interprets it as a playful way of telling her to be quiet for the sake of others. She opens up her lips and starts gently sucking on my finger. It’s really hot, but that’s not what I want her to suck on, so I pull my finger out of her mouth, pick up the giant cup of Coke booze, and maneuver the straw so it pokes into her lips. She sucks on it for several gulps. Holy Jesus, I love you, you goddamn dirty slut. Not really though.

The movie starts and I realize that this is an animated film with talking chickens, which immediately explains how ‘The Chicken Fucker’ is a horror movie. In the opening scene some hens are up late and talking about worms and laying eggs and shit like that, and there’s someone trying to get in the barn door, which is apparently locked. The chickens don’t mind though, because they live a sheltered existence. Then the person finally gets the door open, and as soon as we see the guy who breaks in, a black person stands up, points at the screen and shouts out, “Look out! He butt-ass naked!” Which he indeed is, however, I don’t think this person understands the concept of a movie, the people on the screen aren’t actually there. And these aren’t even people, they’re computer-generated chickens.  Anyway, the man proceeds to gruesomely fuck one of the chickens while her friends peck at his legs. He has to sort of screw the chicken onto his penis, twisting it around while applying force towards his pelvis. The victim chicken flaps its wings frantically, but to no avail. The man humps it while holding it still with both hands until he ejaculates, which causes the chicken to shoot off like a rocket.

I want a refund. Ten minutes of this movie will leave me with PTSD, and I don’t want anymore. I empathize with the chicken; I just want the whole terrible experience to end. But Jessica, weird as ever, seems turned on by this, because while we’re literally watching a man fuck a chicken, she pulls out her head from underneath mine and starts sucking on my neck. So I lean in closer so that I can wrap my arm around her neck and rub my hand on her boobs and squeeze them lightly. I always want to squeeze a girl’s boobs really hard, but they always fucking complain; so I stopped doing that, even though I still want to.

So the chicken shoots off the horrible man’s cock, and he runs away into the night. It cuts forward to the next day, and the police are interviewing the chickens; humans and chickens communicate in this movie. They do a police sketch of the suspect, and he looks like a typical redneck. Fuck the straw, I start chugging vodka and coke straight out of the cup. Once I am done, I am already starting to feel it. I open my $7 box of Skittles, and an idea as brilliant as the sun occurs to me. I remove my right arm from her shoulder, grab some Skittles, and hold open the front of her yoga pants with my left hand, so that I can stick my right hand in her pants. She is not wearing underwear, which is unsanitary and arousing. I push Skittles as deep as I can into her vagina, one after the other, looking into her eyes the entire time. “I want to taste the rainbow tonight,” I whisper.

Now, if I was a woman, I would never let a man put candy in my pussy. “You’ll taste more than that,” she whispers back. I assume that means she wants me to lick her anus. I like having my asshole licked, but I don’t like licking asshole. Is that selfish?

“GET FACE DOWN ON THE GROUND AND SPREAD YOUR ASS CHEEKS!” A police officer shouts. They put up wanted posters with the police sketch, but since everyone in Kentucky looks the same due to inbreeding, they’re arresting hundreds of people all over the state. The police officer cuffs the suspect, whose back of the neck is actually extremely sunburned, and proceeds to fuck him in the ass, with lots of close-ups. “Shake It Off” by Taylor Swift plays throughout the sex scene, and the redneck alternates between yelling at the officer to stop, and gyrating his ass around while he smiles.

Jessica is officially horny as fuck. I realize that we have already consumed the entire cup of coke and vodka, which means we managed to split a fifth. I no longer have a filter. “Are you into gay sex? Bestiality? You really seem to be enjoying this.” Not the best things to ask a girl you’re dating.

“I have a few fetishes,” she says, and I’m suddenly really interested what comes out of her mouth for once. “I like seeing guys fuck each other. I like being afraid while I’m horny for some reason. I’m also really into small dicks. It’s too bad you have a big one. It makes it harder for me to cum when a dick isn’t really, really small.” What? What? How am I this lucky? I literally curse God’s name on a daily basis– every single morning when I go to piss and see my shameful shriveled shaft.

My speech is slightly slurred. “Baby, I’m so sorry I lied to you, but I only dropped those Magnums because I wanted to impress you. My penis is four inches long. I know because I measure every day to see if it’s gotten any bigger.” She sits straight up, turns towards me, and opens her eyes wider than I knew they could open.

“You’re lying,” she says loudly, and people turn around to look at us. She lowers her voice. “There’s no way your dick is that small. Does it get fully erect? Or is it just small because it won’t get hard all the way?” These are strange yet encouraging questions. For the first time in my life, I feel proud of my penis.

“It gets hard as a diamond, and is still only four inches long,” I proudly proclaim. Jessica jumps up and starts dancing around and shaking her hips and throwing her hair back and forth. All this in celebration that I have a tiny penis that gets hard. She is really drunk, evidenced by the fact that she seems about to fall over while she dances.

“Fffffffffuck yeah!” She says in a low voice, drawing out the “f”, while sticking her face right into mine. Then she sits down and grabs the popcorn from the seat to the right of her, and puts it in my lap. My heart starts beating really fast; I almost feel like she’s about to consensually rape me.

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