Putting the Madge in Danna (9 page)

Zeke’s dark foreskin and veiny manhood with
its massive length had no girth. None. I mean, zero girth. Is that
weird? Maybe he hadn’t grown into it yet, I thought? He’s only
twenty. I don’t really know how that works. The big kazoo does not
look like that, and as far as I know, it never had.

He leaned forward and I didn’t hesitate. I
accepted the strange appendage into my mouth. I liked the way he
looked at me doing it - like he respected me, you know? I
appreciated that, wondering how many times Madonna had found
herself in this very same situation. It was easy to let my mind
wander as I worked the thin boner. It kind of felt like sucking on
a fat straw or swallowing a cigar, you know, one of those bubble
gum cigars that Yaya used to get me from CVS. No, I didn’t chew it,
come on! But, I don’t know, I’m still a little shocked by the
experience, I guess – I just know that I didn’t even have to
stretch my jaw much to take it all in. It wasn’t anything like
Zeus’ cock, as I’ve mentioned.

Zeke saw me gently grab
the bottom of his shaft. I held it steady so I could give it
stimulation while I sucked the head. I licked the native cock and
tasted his musky pre-cum. Wow, I didn’t think he’d go the distance,
him being young and all. That was fine. I expected a five-minute
lick-lick, but this was more impressive. I wondered if it was the
shaman in him. He moaned and squeezed his balls. He arched his back
and for a minute, I thought he’d banged his head on the machine’s
footboard somehow. It was like he went into that shaman’s trance,
like he wasn’t even there. He held his eyes shut tightly. I moved
my hand from side to side. My palm could hold the whole thickness.
My fingers overlapped my thumb. I felt so happy for some reason
clutching that skinny thing. It was effortless to suck Zeke off and
I seemed to be good at it too. I liked the idea that this event was
so mutually beneficial. We were both getting something out of it.
He was getting a primo BJ and I couldn’t wait to check the personal
trainer off my
fuck do
list, couldn’t wait to let him slide his shrunken head into
my hooey to finish me off.

I was going to stop for a second and say
something witty to suggest a position change but when I looked past
his balls and into his eyes, he seemed absolutely hypnotized. He
began to thrash like an epileptic as he forced his long cock down
my throat. It sat in my larynx, and all of a sudden, I couldn’t
breathe at all. I tried not to panic, although I was thinking death
by girthless weiner would have made me the laughing stock at the
pearly gates. I’ve often thought about that conversation with
Jesus’ right hand man, and how it would change depending on the
type of death I’d have. But this way….

Pitiful
, Saint Peter would say.

Zeke swirled his hips
around a bit and pulled out. I took a deep breath before he banged
into my throat once again. My mouth wasn’t catching dreams, but
nightmares. The pounding increased. WWMD? I wondered, what
would
my pop-icon do?
Madonna generously sucked cock. In none of my research did
Madonna’s lovers pan her fuck prowess. She wouldn’t have given up
the fight – she would have taken control! Thinking about her kept
me focused and on task, kept me strong.

So I took Zeke’s cock for all it was worth.
It would hardly bruise my jaw, I realized, as it seriously looked
the size of an extricated tampon, only much longer of course. It
was a simple case of mind over matter. I’d be fine, I thought, once
I adjusted the angle of penetration and could breathe again.

The pounding persisted, taking on a more
rhythmic vibe like the drum to a rain dance. I tried to grab hold
of his balls and tickle his taint, to calm him, but his violent
pumping continued. My mouth was gagged so extremely that I couldn’t
cry out to adjust the pace. I didn’t panic. I ended up passively
accepting the peace pipe and smoked it of its juices.

Eventually, Zeke pulled
back, clenched up, took a deep breath, and finally unloaded thick
pus-style globs of cum towards my mouth. It jettisoned from his
prick-prick like ribbon streamers. It seriously looked like the
streamers I saw on-line the other day, the ones that you attach
along with the
just married
sign to the back of a limousine.

I tried to swallow the cum, which I always
do because I read somewhere that it is a sign of respect, but it
came at me so quickly, young spermatozoa filled cum. It spilled in
and out of my mouth, landing in wet spots all over my dress. And
you know what wet spots look like on gray, right? It looked like
gooey sweat.

Zeke moved aside and helped me get up,
although he looked exhausted - like maybe he needed a nap.

I said, “That was fun.”

“
Yeah,” he replied, all
winded-like.

“
Let me know when you’re
ready to launch dreams into my dreamcatcher, and I’ll start the
sequence,” I added, but I was a little impatient. “I’ll just start
it anyhow and you can catch up when you’re ready.” I used my robot
voice for this next part. “Commencing launching sequence in
ten…nine…eight...” He looked like a track-a-lete that had just run
the marathon. But he was young, I thought. Seven seconds would have
been enough time to recover. “…seven…six…five…”

Breathing heavily, he smiled and started to
say something. It was at that moment that a man entered the gym
with the matching red lanyarded key. He gave Zeke the evil eye. He
parked himself behind the counter by the front door.

“
That’s my dad,” Zeke
said.

“
And launching
sequence…aborted at five.”

He picked up a towel from
the back of the adductor machine and wrapped it around his naked
bottom then he went to speak with his older twin. I could hear the
quiet grumblings, and I knew it wasn’t candy and roses. Still, I
waited until they finished because it was so awkward. I still sort
of wanted my hooey reward, my notch, you know? But at the same time
I wished I was home. I even tried clicking my heels together to
make myself disappear, but that didn’t work, of course. When he
returned, no surprise, Zeke said I had to leave. The show was over.
I wiped my mouth of lingering dribble and tried to cover the cum
stains on my dress as best as I could before passing the senior
Feathertoe on my way out. Hooey denied. Life is a
mystery.
Comments: 5

Now I know this is real. I knew it. I told
you, didn’t I? Bluejay Hawk, New York
Madonna was in love with Carlos Leon. They had a relationship. He
wasn’t just a blow job, you bitch. Maria-Elena, Brooklyn, NY

If you really want to learn, Dani, you’ll
meet me. I fucked Madonna and I’ll fuck you the sameway. Rob, NY,
NY

It wasn’t the Chippendales, Danna, it was
the Manhattan Troupe, remember? Gina, Schenectady,NY

This is the best blog I’ve read besides my
own. Let the muff diving commence!
Ro, Miami, FL

****

The Lioness

Tuesday, August 4, 2009 - 9:00pm

I went back to Macy’s
tonight to return the sheets. Thought for sure I’d see that gay
salesgirl there. I mean the one I thought was at least bi-curious.
I wouldn’t say that word describes me, since I’m simply looking for
a Madonna-worthy one-off hook up of the female presuasion. Lady
kiss-kiss isn’t such a big deal in the Greek community, by the way.
Didn’t we invent the term lezbo? I think so because they came from
the Island of Lesbos, right? It is perfectly normal for girls who
go to my church to kiss each other hello. We always do a double
cheek, except when I’m greeting Appollonia Phylos, who has a
massive moley-mole on her cheek. It’s ghastly, by the way,
especially when you’re heading towards it and can’t scream lest you
get the evil eye from Appollonia’s mother. Lots of time, we lip
kiss instead and when I do that with my cousins or besties from
church school, I’m never thinking
this is
gay
. It just seems natural.

As I was thinking about this stuff on my way
to the mall, it made me feel less embarrassed at failing to go all
the way with my male companions. I started getting almost excited
for my lez-lez conquest, as though it was going to be the very best
one. It would jumpstart my hooey in a sort of Sci-Fi regeneration,
which would lead to better success with the remaining male
conquests!

Sometimes Zeus jokes about
doing a threesome. We both love that old movie
Summer Lovers
, where the young
couple fucks a Greek girl during their summer vacation on Mykonos.
That movie is super sexy because all the people involved are
attractive. Zeus and I agreed that if we were ever to add a third
party to our love making it would have to be Mila Kunis and no
other facsimile. He doesn’t like the idea of doing a girl who
doesn’t look exactly like me, and I don’t really feel comfortable
sharing him with anyone in case that girl tries to steal him from
me. So we made a deal that the only way we would ever go for it, is
if we ran into my famous actress doppelganger and she agreed to
it.

Naturally, that would
never happen. Hmm. What are the chances, really? We
are
very lucky people. I
guess she could conceivably be in Hawaii if we go there on our
honeymoon. That would definitely be weird, especially if she were
behind the front desk, like she was during the movie
Forgetting Sarah Marshall
. She looks so much like me, it’s actually eerie. It would be
like me fucking Zeus and fucking myself at the same time like a
giant narcissist. Would she fall in love with Zeus then try to
snatch him away from me forever using her acting wiles? I shudder
to think it.

I had planned to waltz into Macy’s the way
Zeke Feathertoe had danced me over to the leg press machine – and I
was going to point blank ask the sales girl on a girl date. Then
after plying her with drinks, I’d get her to lick me up, maybe she
could even strap one on and fuck my hoo-ha silly, which it needs
badly. Are lesbians as easy to persuade into the sack as guys, I
wondered? I didn’t know, but I would learn quickly, I thought.

I had the scenario’s dialogue in my head,
how I would say, “I bet your hooey smells like Hostess Twinkies,”
and she’d say, “Indeedy-do. Care for a whiff and a taste?”

“
Yes, please,” I’d say.
“Let’s get into the groove.”

She wasn’t there. What was I thinking? It’s
true that like Madonna, my life’s trajectory thus far had been
positively successful, so I guess I thought that my blog-mission
would take on this magical voyage type of aura. Like everything
would just fall into place the way it does in a movie – the way
Dorothy works out her problems in her Oz dream.

That story would have made much more sense
had Dorothy been a little older. She could have had heaps more fun
in Oz. She would have been happy boffing the Lion for a time while
living in that green city, don’t you think? I mean who doesn’t love
a talking cat? Plus they all thought she was super powerful and
wonderful even though she was a malicious witch murderer. She could
do no wrong. They thought she was a good witch, like Glinda, whom
they all adored the way I worship Madonna.

Before
my
dream, I doubt I would have ever
even thought about having sex with anyone besides Zeus, and now
look at me. I’m a woman with good witch gusto, right? I couldn’t
start this thing without ending it – without having contact with
all six fuckers. Everything about this missed opportunity felt
frustrating.

She not being there left me feeling terribly
empty. You must know what it’s like when you plan to go somewhere
and you take your last pee and you are so ready, like a filly about
to run the Preakness or whatever. Then you have to abort, at the
five second mark, with no hoo-ha fill-up….

I’m so not used to failure. I felt so
incredibly glum, as though I wanted that particular lesbian
experience the way I really wanted that Madame Alexander doll from
FAO Schwarz that had been way too expensive. I was six years old at
the time, in my defense. She was that baby doll that looks so real
she even pees after you give her this fake watery milk. I cried
until I got her. Then I abandoned her on the porch swing (not sure
where she is today). I think I was too young to take care of a
baby. Have no idea how I will do it when I do get pregnant, truth
be told, unless our mothers and Yaya step in.

Mom loves kids. Her world practically
revolves around us, especially my brothers whom she treats as gods.
I feel sorry for Penny and for the woman who marries Dean, because
they will have some big-headed babies on their hands. Please god,
don’t give me boys, even though we’ve already picked out their
names. Of course, a boy who looks like Zeus wouldn’t be bad at
all.

I didn’t want to go home and sulk or type up
this blog empty handed. Thought I’d lose my audience if I did that
– on the off chance that there is an audience out there. All talk
and no action is a sort of pitiful work ethic thingy. With the
extra time on my hands, I decided to head over to Jasmine’s for my
wedding gown fitting instead of waiting until tomorrow night. I
guess I was using the remains of my positive energy, thinking that
since the lez-lez event was a bust, the staff at Jasmine’s would
stop whatever they were doing to assist me. I would only need a
drop of good luck for that to happen, and I only thought this
because every time I go to Jasmine’s everyone falls all over me
showering me with compliments on the way I look in my wedding gown.
They are so sweet and always make me feel good.

I figured now would be a good time to hear
pleasant comments. It was either that or make an appointment with
my priest to rid me of my disappointment guilt. Do you know that
the way the Orthodox Church does confession is face-to-face? No
secret playhouse box, like in the Catholic Church. I’m not sure if
anyone has ever used that sacrament, except maybe that woman,
Joanne, the one who makes excellent spanikopita. She went to jail
for tax evasion, and I’m pretty sure she had confessed to Father
Phillip before she left in case she gets shanked in the big
house.