IOU

I didn’t get Marla wet enough before stabbing it in. I know we both like a forceful penetration from time to time, but I also know it is going to take longer to get Marla off.

I didn’t make her cum the last time we had sex.

When this happens I have to write her an IOU

Embarrassing? Yes.
Emasculating? You betchya.

Over the course of our relationship, when I give her multiple orgasms, I try to establish the same accounting but to no avail.

I stopped giving her multiples six months ago.

If I ever drop the ball twice in a row I end up in the sexual doghouse. No blow-jobs.

The pressure is on.

When we first started living together I developed a technique that would get her fucking crazy and blast off in minutes. Stride, depth, angle, hold, I had that shit down. Over time this wasn’t good enough for me. I started to feel like a typecast actor. But director, I can do drama, I’ll grow a beard.

I don’t know why I thought two people getting off in three minutes was a bad thing, but I did.

I also wish I was six feet tall, my dick was bigger, and that I would never lose another bet in my life.

This took us to some strange places. Exhilarating places, deviant places. Oh yeah, that’s why. That’s why the IOU was born too.

Exploring the unknown is not always going to be successful, but without it you are going to miss out on a lot.

I have pointed this out to Marla to dissuade the IOU. I have reminded her of the time I put two fingers in her ass, applied a choke hold and gave her just the tip before power fucking the shit out of her while stuffing a dildo in her mouth from my mouth. I brought her to the brink of passing out because her orgasm was so powerful.

Airways be damned!

She places the IOU’s on the fridge. For the last two days, I have been reminded of my failure every time I get a beer.

I have friends who ask me what the IOU’s are for and I can’t tell them. They ask me why I never carry money around, why I don’t pick up the check more often, they don’t know. They don’t know the pain of pleasure.

Do I go back to my fail-safe technique?

I slowly manoeuvre Marla into that perfect angle.

I am cheating. I am a lazy cheater. I am disappointed in myself. I suppose these are the natural feelings of someone in debt.

I am not a bum at the horse track. Is that how Marla thinks of me?

Harvey, you can forget ever getting your dick sucked again if you fail today!

Harvey, I will break your fucking legs if you don’t get me off this time.

Harvey, if you don’t make me fucking cum, your dick is going to end up in the fucking river!

How do you fuck someone in the mob? I roll us both over so she is on top.

“Slap me!” I yell staring at her right in the eyes.

She does. Her face goes flush, and her eyes roll slightly back in her head. She starts pounding down on my cock and slaps me again.

I feel powerless and powerful at the same time. Marla starts screaming in ecstasy. She looks sexy as hell.

I am in trouble now, I know she is going to be cumming in moments but I need to cum right now. I close my eyes and think about having my ear cut off.

Then I think of my sexy mobster cutting my ear off naked.

She clenches and screams. We made it. I squirt.

See ya at the track.

Advertisements

About Brett Butler

if my dick were a gun is a collection of short stories by Brett Butler. He is also an award-winning filmmaker/screenwriter and co-creator of the Toronto based entertainment production company SubProd. View all posts by Brett Butler

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: