Then it was done. I could no longer complain about my virginity, that was for sure.
Josh set me down on the floor, but my legs were unsteady and I had to sit on the stool. I watched with interest as he peeled off the rubber. It looked like he had come about a gallon.
“I, uh, don’t have a girlfriend,” he said, by way of explanation for the startling volume of his ejaculate. “Maybe you and I could, you know . . .”
“Sure, Josh,” I nodded wearily. “Give me a call.”
I watched him put his glistening, drooping cock away, then pull his shirt down over his fly to conceal the fact that the zipper was busted. Together we went back out front. Everybody knew. All the perverts knew that I had just been fucked in the back room and I found that I liked them all knowing. It made me feel powerful, like I had something over all of them.
“Details,” Jane said as we were driving home. “Big, fat, hairy, sweaty details.”
“I think I’ll write it down for you,” I said.
So that’s what this is. The story of how I learned the true name of my Malomar. And it’s all true. No one can eat just one.