More Rejected Penthouse Letters
I never believed these stories were real until now. I used to think that if they were real then they must only happen to hunky, beefy, well hung men with fantastic genes and an affinity for playing things fast and loose. Those attributes are almost the polar opposite of what I bring to the table. I’m just an average Joe. As a matter of fact my name is Joseph and some of my bowling buddies have taken to calling me Joe. Is that ironic or what?
See I’m 5’6 and ½ 180 pounds (I’m starting the Atkins next month) so I’m not exactly pornstar material. I have curly reddish hair and I don’t tan well. I try to stay out of the sun anyway, what with my hyperhidrosis and all. I do have a secure job at least; I do the accounting for my parent’s pest removal and taxidermy company.
Last month while I was in Reno for my annual bowling league championships it finally happened for me, it really did! I was in the back of one of the seedier casinos, playing the nickel slots and putting away the Bailey’s like a heavyweight when she sidled over to me on legs that could carry her clear across town, assuming she had plenty of water and sunscreen with her. As she sat down a few seats over I couldn’t help but stare, she was unlike anything that I’ve ever seen before.
She was stocky and somehow bull-like, with an olive complexion and bright platinum hair. Her nearly flawless skin was only marred by a series of sensational bruises running up and down her arms and legs, as well as what I could see of her ample bosom. Her round and cheeky face featured stunning gray eyes; although the skin around one was blackened and half closed and half of her upper lip appeared swollen. Other than those minor and temporary imperfections, she was an image of pure allurement.
After she noticed me staring at her she winked at me with her good eye and spoke in a surprisingly feminine voice, “Hey ginger. I’d ask you to buy me a drink but they come for free, even in this hellhole.” It was as if she had hypnotized me with her non symmetrical lips right then and there. I knew at that point that I had to have her and would never rest, never sleep, never eat, until I did. Luckily it wasn’t really that difficult.
As we sat there talking, her drinking Jim Beam and Diet Coke while I continued to down my Bailey’s, I was delighted to learn that she was what they call an enforcer for the Reno Roller Girls roller derby team. It’s her job to go out there and kick the crap out of the bad broads on The Bad Broads. I guess that they are the only other derby team in Reno.
Before I knew it she had asked me if I wanted to go look at her trophies. On the off chance that trophies was a euphemism for breasts, I agreed. Then, in what felt like a whirlwind of electric pheromones, I found myself in the back of her camper van being ridden like a rental car with a teenage driver. She was hard, rough, scary and a little mean but it was the best sex that I’ve ever had in my entire life. Even though the copulation only lasted for mere minutes it left me hopelessly spent.
She gave me her pager number but I never did use it. I knew that nothing could ever live up to that first, magical encounter.
Joseph Lester Weinwright.
I find your letters to be so long and boring. I have created a new style that your readers will find more to their liking, I’m sure.
..answered the door.. rubbing glistening breasts…pulling.. meat stick… thrusting steel… proding… hot pink.. wet… pungent(!) gasping, moaning, screaming, exploding… look of regret…next time…had a shower.
Dear Penthouse Bro’s,
I met her where I meet all of my conquests, at a fraternity party. She was young, naive and curvy, just they way I like them. I sat next to her on the ‘wallflower couch’ and got her to play a drinking game that I had created for just these occasions. The rules were that she had to drink every time I pointed out a college student with an MMA t-shirt. I had to drink every time she could hear any two people having a conversation about ‘the arts’ that didn’t include either Dave Mathews or Dane Cook. I always win this game!
After my fleshy blow up doll was truly wasted, I got her yet another drink, slipped in a few roofies to induce the mood, and settled in for a killer night, bro!
Once I knew that the last of her resistance had melted like M&M’s in her pouty teenage mouth, I half walked/half carried her to my place across campus. I had her passed out ass inside my apartment, her shirt over her head, and I was just ripping at her bra when I lost a good bit of my motor control. I was frightened and immediately tried to stand up but I found myself unable to work my appendages at this point. WTF Bro?
To my shock and horror the little bitch suddenly sat up, put her shirt back on, and began laughing in a cruel way while opening the door to a gaggle of big boned coeds. As the realization that I’d been duped and drugged struck me, they were carrying me out the door. I soon lost consciousness.
I finally came to three days later while lying on a plastic covered mattress in the back room of a biker bar. I had a pierced nipple, a bleeding rectum and no memory of what had transpired. I only knew that I had finally come home.
While others may find this tale disturbing and sick, I only see redemption. For myself, for mankind.