The Gooed, the Fat, and the Slutty

*The following short story is a work of fiction. The characters, organisations, brands, and events portrayed are fictional. Any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental. This material does not reflect the author's opinions. It may depict highly unsuitable topics and language for sensitive demographics and should not be read by minors.

At the University you are sitting in your classroom, thinking about the tormenting meaning of life—especially because you are scrolling down on your phone in search of a decent sex doll on Shein because you are the only one of your friends who has not gotten laid or had a girlfriend or even kiss a girl, and frankly, your hopes are under the soles of your shoes; which smell of dog shit.

“Hey, man! What’s crack-crack-cracking?” Jeremy smiles before grimacing. “Oh, you smell like shit.” Jeremy is the delusional guy who thinks he is friends with everyone, but much to his disgrace he is extremely fat and smells like sweaty balls, you want to puke whenever he is around you. “Listen, the fraternity needs a real man who can drive standard, you in?” He pitches, and makes you feel important instantly. “It’s a truck.” You picture yourself driving a nice SUV.

Jeremy and you exit the classroom to wander towards the parking lot. “Did you bring your car, man?” He interrupts your mind’s eye. “Oh, it is right here.” He says before you even stammer an excuse. Jeremy guides your 2009 Volkswagen Jetta instead of telling you where to head. “Make a left in here… Then make a right after the stop sign… Then straight until you see a traffic light.” But the panorama of the street keeps getting worse and worse, and after driving half an hour without a clue you managed to ask.

“I will need something for the gas, dude.”

“Oh, obviously man. You will be rewarded.”

Your car rolls into a dangerous neighbourhood with potholes and abandoned cars—some have garbage bags instead of windows, and others have their tyres completely busted. You see a shit minivan—the shittiest Honda Odyssey—to think it was a 2000s model would have been a long shot.

“Let’s wait for my secretary to show up… Dude, she is hot…” The fat fucker smiled, disgustingly. “She has a great ass, man… Let me tell you… And her boobs… Oh, bro! She let me touch them once… They felt like two full bags of rice…” Jeremy was also virgin as fuck. “Let me show you her InsTaboo profile.”

His phone displays a picture of the girl at the beach—the worst part being that she is far from hot—and not even her thong, which is deep inside her butt-crack, helps her camouflage her flat ass.

“Do you like her? She is hot… Do you want to fuck her?” Jeremy nudged.

“Yeah… I want to rip my dick off…”

The plain-assed secretary arrives and shows you the so-called truck. Indeed, it is the rusty-red 94 Honda Odyssey with a spare tyre. Two grannies step out of the house in front of the minivan asking for help to take the cages out. Jeremy goes inside and brings cages and cages and cages of homeless dogs. You cannot believe what the fuck Jeremy had gotten you into. The first thing you see after plunging inside the minivan are some lambskin condoms on the drink compartment, and that the gear level is behind the wheel and its velocities have erased with time.

“Great…” You mutter.

You inhale profoundly as you watch your white Jetta stay behind, and then a big fat head pops in your rearview mirror. “Hey, did you know that Susan sings?” Jeremy says, as if he had not just shown you semi-nude pictures of her like a pimp.

“That is right.” She says, entitled.

“Oh, no. I did not know.” You say.

“Do you want a demonstration? Hey Susan, sing something to...” He tries to remember your name. “My man, right here!”

“I just don’t know what to sing!” She says smiling—for getting these males’ attention.

“Sing the song you sang last night.”

“OK.”

She proceeds to squeal over the loud bark of dogs. You feel your eyelid throbbing.

“Isn’t she the best singer?” The fat fuck says.

“Oh, Jeremy you are making me blush…”

After an hour of hearing a boring ass conversation about her family tree, you finally park the truck inside the Campus at Sebastian—without using reverse because you didn’t make out where it was.

“I thought you knew standard…” Susan calls.

“Oh! Dude, she is destroying you!” Jeremy yells at your ear, she smiles bitchily, and you want to be dead.

You and Jeremy unload all the cages from the minivan and enter the Dog Adoption Event that their fraternity organized—very poorly. They invite you to a group photo, and because they acknowledge your invisible presence you accept. Susan stands between you and Jeremy, but you feel Jeremy’s chubby hand grazing your belly, he is pulling the girl towards him while holding on tight to her waist. You don’t manage to smile for the picture, you just exist.

“Hey, bro. I want to thank you for everything.” Jeremy admits.

“Yeah… No problem…” You lie.

“Before I give you your generous fee… I know this is going to sound weird but… Susan told me we should have a threesome… I know, weird, but if you are interested… Like right now, her place or yours?”

And because your sex drive is more powerful, the three of you appear at her house in your 09 Jetta. Her house was smaller than the University’s restroom. Jeremy and you sat on the sofa as the secretary cleaned her bedroom and prepared herself for the action.

“Hey, dude. I am not gay. So, please do not touch my junk. I swear I’ll punch you.” Jeremy advises you.

You gaze at him and remain quiet. You see a cockroach climbing the wall in front of you. The plain-assed secretary emerges in smoky lingerie, startling both of you. Since Jeremy and you are insecure, you both unzip your denim pants and are ready to go, Susan didn’t mind. You are fingering Susan’s moistened cunt as she sucks Jeremy off, who lays a hand on your neck delicately. You slap his fubsy hand.

“Do you guys have condoms?” The secretary gulps.

“No, I thought you had…” Jeremy says to her. “Do you?” He asks you while getting his short dick suctioned.

A rat racing between your shoes scares you. You really doubt whether to take the lambskin condoms from the Honda Odyssey out of your pocket or drive away towards a precipice. You do both, in that order. And that is the story of how you lost your virginity—and contracted syphilis.