The Continental Midtown seems to be one of those places where the oddities of the male population congregate to prey on women. Despite its pretty façade, it’s a cesspool of sulfur emanating slugs with truly idiotic methods of attracting women. It was, after all, the location where I would learn to hone my kick-a-lawyer-in-the-face-make-a-pretty-boner savvy.
Now this wasn’t one of those dates that shot a caution antenna up through my brain right away. In fact, this was an instance where despite how things were progressing towards weird like a sorority girl in heat on the prowl; I continued to question my sanity in the situation. Maybe I was being too hard on this guy? Perhaps you can be the judge. I was, truth be told, knee deep in Smarty Pants martinis.
So, the story begins with Reggie, a pharmaceutical sales rep living in Exton, PA. If you haven’t traveled to Exton, PA, 1) don’t waste your time, and 2) doesn’t anyone else wonder where this mysterious “town” exists? The only thing there is a highway crossroads and a mall. And now, as the years have flown by and yuppies have flocked to this quaint suburbanite placeless space, there of course exists an Applebees, a Bed Bath and Beyond, a Target, an Old Navy, etc. Anyway, Reggie was about as placeless as Exton, with a vacuous mind included.
We met when I was living in Ardmore, he took the train in to meet me on the way to the city. He told me the reason he didn’t look like his pictures was because he’d recently been diagnosed with some sort of horrible disease that doesn’t have a cure but rather is reduced to chronic once one with said condition limits their intake of certain illness provoking substances. In short, he suffered from a peanut allergy or some such something that had gone awry in Reggie and caused him to lose upwards of 45 lbs. So, he essentially showed up looking rather gaunt and gangly. Boo Reggie!
Nonetheless, he seemed like a nice enough sort of bloke and we rode the train exchanging the common pleasantries that I have grown to abhor exchanging especially now with blokes like Reggie. How did he like his job, how he shat out 45 lbs. of weight over the last four months, how he loved living in Townless Town, how I ate zucchini for lunch and would rather be fucking my twat with said zucchini right now rather than training to the continental with twiggy Reggie. Somehow, we got to the fire pit at the Continental, I got the first Smarty Pants into my system, and the date went from lukewarm to sizzling in a matter of minutes.
Actually, that didn’t happen at all. What did happen was that Reggie pulled a carefully folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket, and looked at me as seductively as a 14 year old, braces clad bar mitzvah attending chump jerking off into his eyeglasses case lined with tissues and a sandwich baggie. The paper was a printout of a list that Reggie had compiled from various websites offering advice on how to learn more about your companion on a first date.
And, as lame as he was, after three Smarty Pants and twenty four get-to-know-you questions, Reggie started to grow on me. He seemed to have a genuine interest in me and at least put in some effort into helping me feel comfortable with him. This is precisely why I decided to give him the blowjob of his life after taking him back to my apartment.
Reggie seemed pretty into it at the time. And despite discovering him to be thinner naked than he appeared in clothing, I went to town on his dick. A funny thing occurred as Reggie got close to orgasm. At first I wasn’t sure if there was some sort of animal stuck in my radiator, but as I focused longer on the noise I realized that it was coming from Reggie. As per my usual policy, I refused to stop mid blow, but thank god it didn’t take more than one more dick dive down my throat. As Reggie built up to and came, he squeaked like a dying animal on the side of the road. (To do it justice, read this last paragraph while listening to the following sound bite courtesy of this squeaky ferret: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_rNc6pAbyI). It went on for a good 54 seconds because I started to count in order to focus my attention away from laughing so hard I would eternally bruise Reggie’s ego.
I didn’t know what to do. What does one do when an otherwise normal man starts squeaking like a dog toy? I looked for any sign that this wasn’t standard operating procedure for a Reggie-gasm, but he looked as content as could be after he finished, and fell asleep by the time I returned from the bathroom. Twiggy Reggie was lucky Reggie that night, for if he had encountered me one week later, I would have been armed with my digital recorder and made him squeak into my microphone for all to hear.
