Jeri finally admitted to me that for years she never could get that image out of her head and she just always wondered what it would be like. She had only been with 3 guys her entirely life and all of us were ‘average’ at best. She never intended to sleep with him, never planned for it to happen, barely remembered it happening and that if she could do it all over again, she would never have even gone to the reunion.
She claimed that they never finished, that they barely got started and she made him stop because he was ‘too fucking huge’, and his size snapped her out of it and made her realize what was going on and that they couldn’t have been at it for very long, etc.
So…how is she was fucked raw? I mean, that’s pretty big, but its not THAT big. And, we have had marathon sex sessions in the past that went on for HOURS and she was never made raw. Even when she said she was sore for days afterwards, she was never fucked ‘raw’.
The facts didn’t add up to her story.
The whole thing almost ruined us.
And it ate at me for a long time.
Eventually I became obsessed with size or the lack of it. How to make mine bigger, what was average, what was above average, did size matter, etc. I remembered from bootcamp that race had little to do with size. Body size had little to do with size. I was actually a bit bigger than average, but there were a few guys in our company that were pretty good size. And there were a few poor bastards that you’d have to look twice to make sure they even HAD a penis.
Eventually I hatched a plan. A very devious plan.
Again, fast forward two years. By this time, our sex life was as dry as the Sahara desert. Once every six months is no exaggeration. And it was sucking big time. She had sworn off alcohol and if I tried anything, she wasn’t in the mood, she was sick, had a headache, SOMETHING.
I began searching swinging sites. No luck. I searched out some forums. No luck. I hit up Craig’s List and found out that it’s full of a bunch of lying pricks. And apparently people don’t know how to use a damned tape measure. Their idea of a nine inch dick is more like five inches and a whole lot of imagination. Besides, I wasn’t really looking for length, I was looking for GIRTH. That does the most stretching. What good is smacking the bottom if you can’t stretch the barn doors, right? Who wants a foot long pencil? Nobody. All the women I read who posted said they’d rather have seven really thick inches than ten skinny inches any day. So my search was on.
Eventually I ran onto an ad for a BBC. I didn’t care if the guy was black. Actually, the contrast in skin color kind of turned me on. My wife, being an auburn redhead has pale skin and the contrast? Yeah, I liked that. Anyway, this guy Marcus advertised eleven inches as thick as a beer can. So I contacted him. Would he be willing to show proof? Was he measuring from the top or from his sack? Etc. Some guys who advertised their size..I swear, I think they were measuring from their ass cheeks, or using the centimeter side of the tape, but Marcus was really cool. For my plan to work, we had to be near the same age and he was only a year older than me. I was really hoping.
Man, he did NOT disappoint me. He emailed me back with pictures. Not only was this guy HUGE, he was good looking. I mean, he was PURDY. Short trimmed beard, nice smile, super nice body, the works. I was actually thinking that maybe somebody pulled pictures off the internet and was trying to pull a fake out. He sent me a picture of him in clothes holding the local paper so I’d know he was real. I actually felt better about that. I did feel bad for him though. He took a lot on faith because I had NO nudes to send him. The best I could do was scan a couple of pictures I had of her and email them to him but he liked what he saw.
We talked on the phone and I explained what was going on. It was about a two hour conversation and I laid out my ideas. He listened a lot and he told me where he thought my plan would go wrong, where it was too unbelievable and what he would suggest to make it more workable.
He was a really nice guy. And even though he knew there was a big chance that it would go nowhere, he agreed to go along with it. And since he lived really close to OKC at the time, it wasn’t like he’d have to travel a great distance for this to go down. We exchanged the needed info and laid out the plan.
About three weeks later, Jeri and I went to the city to ‘do some shopping’. It was a nice warm day and she was deciding what to wear. I was pretty nervous, but decided to help. This was actually a tactical decision that would play a large part in my plan. I talked her into wearing her white shorts with the elastic waist and her blue tank top with a light overshirt. Since she has such a huge chest, she actually has these custom made bras that are a total bitch to get in and out of. Any type of ‘flashing’ would be impossible, but she always wears them. The tank top was a must. Lucky for me, she liked what I picked out. My reasoning was, it would be comfortable for a day of walking the malls and shopping.
After a day of shopping and me having an almost constant erection and having to go to the bathroom at JC Penney to rub one out a time or two, we finally decided to call it a day and go eat. Here is where the trap was to be sprung. She always lets me pick and this time, I was picking Red Lobster off I-240. I sent a quick text to Marcus when she was checking out and helped her pack her stuff in the car. He was supposed to already be there ready for the setup.
When we got there, it was pretty busy and we were sitting in the lobby waiting. Marcus walked past from the bathroom headed back to the bar and stopped and stared at me for a moment. Then excitedly walks over, “Tom?” I look up and, man, who do I see? My old Navy buddy, Marcus!
Setup!
We chat it up a bit, I introduce him to my missus. He explains that he’s in town on business and got stood up by a date, invites us to eat with him and viola! The trap is sprung. So, we spend the next hour or so eating lightly and pouring Long Island Iced Teas down her throat. After her third one, we add a little bait to the trap. We bring up ‘our past’ and Marcus’ antics in the Navy and his many female conquests…all because of the ‘Alabama Black Snake’ in his pants. And yes, it catches her attention.
“You any idea what this SOB used to make me do when I would stand Shore Patrol?” I ask Jeri. Marcus laughs and plays it off. “He used to make me come into the EM Club and stand where the security cameras couldn’t see him, then he’d stand up, roll out his pecker and knock over all the drinks and salt and pepper shakers on the table just to watch the reaction of the ladies at the table!” She nearly shot tea out her nose. Marcus laughs harder.
“That was the only way I’d know which one to take back to the barracks!” he chuckles.
“Half of them would scream and run out!” I said!
“But the ones who didn’t…” he said slyly.
Her eyes were as big as saucers. Finally, she asks, “So how big is this thing?”
“As big as my forearm.” I stated plainly.
“Oh, now, come on.” Marcus replied a little defensively. “You’re arms aren’t that thick!” and he laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up.” Then I turned to Jeri again, “This guy would whip it out on a dare. Any where, any time.”
“Well, those days are over. I’m a changed man.” He came back at me. “Now I make the ladies show me first!” and he laughed again.
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