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Whenever
a new drug comes out, I just have to try it. Back in '86,
it was  crack.
Rock-cocaine scare stories were all over the news, so naturally
I drove up into Harlem, scored a butter-colored gumball-sized
rock, and went to the Catskills with my girlfriend. We puffed
crack from a glass pipe and went to watch Jewish nightclub
comedians, my heart pumping so ferociously that it felt
like a balloon trying to squeeze out between the slits in
my ribcage.
Recently,
the drug-of-the-moment was Viagra, a PILL which gives you
a more robust erection, or at least an erection where none
was before. The butt of a million retarded jokes, and the
subject of hilariously gauzy TV ads with sixty-year-old
codgers symbolically square-dancing again with their
pruny-dry wives, Viagra was a drug I was just itchin' to
try. Using Exotic's extensive underworld connections,
I was able to secure a small stash of Viagra in both pill
and liquid form.
There
are three types of women in the world: blondes, brunettes,
and redheads. I determined that I would test-drive the world-famous
Boner Drug with one girl from each tribe.
I
would not, of course, tell them I was under the influence
of this notorious erection-raiser. That revelation would
be saved until...well...now.
 THE
REDHEAD
DESCRIPTION:
She's a diagnosed sociopath with tattooed boobs. Giant full-moon
eyes. Short, round body. A smart girl. Mensa material. A
bit of a chameleon, too: sometimes bespectacled and preppie,
sometimes all Gothed-out and silent-movie-star-lookin'.
We'd had sex a dozen or so times before. She has
a
tangy, sour-tangerine smell that I find erotic. Her hair
is dyed a bright rusty  color,
so that qualifies her for the redhead's role.
Her
boyfriend hasn't been giving it to her. In fact, they've
been going out for something like four months and have
NEVER had sex.
That's
where Gordo can help.
She
swings both ways and has recently arranged a threesome
with her, me, and a stripper. That's why I don't mind
when she forgets her wallet whenever we eat breakfast.
MY
VIAGRA EXPERIENCE WITH HER: She called me up and said
she was taking a "personal day" away from work, which
means she wants to come over and have sex with me. There's
an incomparable thrill knowing that someone is on their
way over to your place strictly for the purpose of having
sex with you.
I
pop two 50mg Viagra tabs about a half-hour before the
time I told her to arrive. While sudsing my genitals in
the shower, I notice them starting to swell. Then I feel
all flushed and horny. I feel drugged in a pleasantly
speedy way, rollin' along like a hyperventilatin' caveman
in cocaine/amyl nitrite-styled white-water rapids. I feel
supercharged.
While
leaning over my kitchen sink and shaving, I accidentally
brush my cock up against the sink, causing it to become
erect. This is like high school all over again, where
even featherlike contact with another object would cause
massive penile engorgement.
She
gets over to my crib and says, "I have to tell you--it's
my period, and we can't have sex."
My
Viagra-enhanced boner doesn't want to hear this.
"Oh,
we're having sex," I insist. "One way or another,
WE'RE HAVING SEX."
I
never act this way normally, but I'm taking orders from
a really hard, really angry penis.
Red
seems aroused by my forcefulness.
We
start fumbling around on the bed. I grab her hand, place
it on my granite-hard bulldog cock, and say, "I'd like
to PUT this somewhere."
"Where
do you want to put it?" she asks, somewhat guardedly.
"How
about your ASS?" I suggest with an arched eyebrow.
"This is the meaning of life:
To have a cute little gaptoothed truck-drivin'
blonde girl from the South hold your
cock in her hand and use the word 'big.'"
She
pauses. "Well, if you have lube, then sure." 
With
a hop, skip, and a jump, my naked body and thick boner
bouncing up and down all the way, I'm in the kitchen,
fetching some aloe-coconut oil from under the sink. I
slather a greasy handful onto my lobster-red cock, get
in bed, and lay on my back. She sits down on that cock,
wincing and groaning.
My
pole is easily hard enough to jam it right up that ass
without struggling or bending. Frankly, I enjoy her expressions
of pain. That's what she gets for being on the rag. It
feels good to be stuffing myself up her ass. Harder, thicker,
veinier. I'll give her something for a girl to hold onto.
A lightning rod with which to ground a skittish female.
One has a weird sort of power over another person once
you've been in their ass. I think you all know what I'm
talking about.
I
drill her butt for a LOOONNG time. I finally cum in her
poop chute. When she dismounts to go to the bathroom and
wipe up, I shampoo all the doody off my schlong in the
kitchen sink and then treat myself to a bagel. While munching
on the circular doughy treat, I check out my naked self
in the mirror. My hangin' hammer looks impressive. Your
dick's lookin' REAL good tonight, Gordo. NICE.
After
another round, Red and I go out for coffee and ice cream.
I feel ecstatic. I feel at ease. I feel rubbery. I feel
witty. I feel things more intensely. And I think the Viagra
has something to do with it. It would make sense that
a drug which is powerful enough to give Bob Dole a woody
would have some euphoria-inducing effects.
Red
tells me that I have a "friendly penis" and that she's
becoming obsessed with it.
Sweet
afterglow. We loll around in bed amid the dewy sort of
bliss you only see in 70s ads for douche products. I'm
happy that I'm a man and she's a woman. The feeling in
the room is THAT corny.
 THE
BLONDE
DESCRIPTION:
A tiny skinny miniature Tonya Harding doll with a beautiful
gap in her teeth and naturally blonde hair she sometimes
wears in pigtails, making her look about six years old.
She drives a truck and is from the South. We have very
little in common besides a very strong mutual chemical
attraction. Once we get close enough to one another to
sniff the pheromones, it's almost maddening.
HER
boyfriend of four years (I love being a male mistress)
is only delivering the groceries to her once a month,
and that's where Gordo comes to the rescue.
MY
VIAGRA EXPERIENCE WITH HER:
Blondie says she feels guilty even making out with
me and doesn't want to fuck me until she moves out on
her boyfriend. But this doesn't stop her from calling
me to hang out a few times a week for insanely passionate
dry-humping sessions.
For
some reason, I'm sure we're going to fuck tonight.
I
swallow a vial of liquid Viagra in the bathroom of the
Matador, a bar
where Blondie has been tankin' herself up all night on
beer and mixed drinks. She looks like she weighs about
twenty pounds, so it shouldn't take much to
get her plastered.
She
gets so drunk, she forgets where she parked her truck.
It takes an hour in freezing February weather to find
it. When she finally starts driving, it's the wrong way
down a busy one-way street.
When
we get back to my pad, I'm fairly limping around with
a steel-hard observatory-telescope erection. We plop down
on my bed and start making out teenager-style. I pop open
my belt buckle, unzip my tight jeans, take my diving-board-hard
cock out, and place her hand around it. Li'l Gordo seems
twice as
thick
as normal. It's so hard, so bloody full of blood, it's
comical.
This
is the first time she's made contact with my prong,
and I'm glad she's feeling it in the vibrant fullness
of its tumescence. I wanted to give her a really good
first impression. While she's grabbing it, I distinctly
hear her say "big" or "so big." Joy and happiness! This
is what it means to be a man. This is the meaning of
life: To have a cute little gaptoothed truck-drivin'
blonde girl from the South hold your cock in her hand
and use the word "big."
But
the little C.T. still doesn't want to go all the way,
what with the guilt and all. So we make out for about
three hours, her hand on my crankshaft all the while,
whispering in my ear that one day we'll fuck so much
we won't have the strength to get out of bed.
We
fall asleep together. When I fall asleep, my cock is
hard. When I awake two hours later, it's still hard.
Blondie has to be at work. She gathers her belongings
and is gone.
About
two seconds after she leaves, I start jacking off
with Tasmanian Devil ferocity. I cum so hard that
I splat my face twice--one squirt on the forehead,
one on the chin.
 THE
BRUNETTE
DESCRIPTION:
A six-foot-tall salty marshmallow from Arkansas with
a beautiful hot pale body. Crow-black S&M bangs
hanging over huge blue eyes. Thick muff and great sense
of humor. She gets a nice slick of sweat going in bed,
and I love licking it off her ivory skin. I can't think
of anything bad to say about the girl. I like her so
much, I'm kind of glad she doesn't live in Portland,
because I'd probably lose my head about her, and I hate
when that happens.
Although
she's quite the tasty snack, she hadn't had sex in over
two years before flying up to Portland last summer for
the express purpose of having sex with me. And it was
great...I'd almost forgotten how great until
she flew up recently to remind me.
MY
VIAGRA EXPERIENCE WITH HER:
Around Valentine's Day, we decide it's high time she
fly in for another three-day snugglefest with me.
I
drop two 50mg Viagra tabs right after picking her up
at the airport. We go back to my apartment, which is
roughly the size of a desk drawer, and get busy. I power-fuck
her hard and long, then pull out and squirt all over
my ugly beige carpet.
But
I'm not sure the Viagra makes much of a difference in
this case. She stays for three days and we fuck a lot,
and a few of the sessions are better than the Viagra-fortified
one. The drug just didn't match the natural juices that
are flowing between us. "God, you made me cum so much,"
she exclaims after one particularly sweaty round. I
MADE her cum so much, as if she had no choice in it.
This is the only thing a man wants to hear. This is
his fundamental project. Hearing a girl say "you made
me cum so much" is one of life's greatest treasures,
regardless of whether one's stiffie was chemically enhanced
or au naturel.
*
[I'd
like to apologize to Blondie, Blackie, and Red if they
see this and are embarrassed. Sorry if I kinda used
you like guinea pigs and stuff. You're all top-flight
gals, really good sports. And have I told you lately
how pretty I think you are? No, "pretty" isn't the word--you're
BEAUTIFUL. All right? Don't get pissed. Look, girls,
nobody knows who you are...just me...you...and now every
strip-club-crawling deviant in the greater Portland
area. And hey--at least it proves you actually read
the magazine like you told me you did, right? I'll
buy the next breakfast, OK?]
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