My 21st birthday is why I cannot smell whiskey let alone drink it. Everyone has certain expectations what it will be like to finally be able to legally drink in a bar. I went out with a handful of my Beta guy friends and few of my Pitt girlfriends in Oakland late in the evening. It was my birthday at the stroke of midnight. Everyone was buying shots for me, so I did not get to pick what kind of alcohol. I did a total of nineteen shots that evening. I did not remember anything after shot number fourteen that was Jack Daniels. The guys carried me out of the bar and put me into the car. I crashed at their place.
The next day was my actual birthday. I was dead. I was barely able to drive home. I had thrown up the night before. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. I slept all day at my house. I was going out to Touch, a club in the Strip District, with some of my friends from high school. I pulled myself together and went out. I had half of a beer and felt like I wanted to die all over again. I called my mom to pick me up to go home. I was at home watching TV in comfy clothes. Ken text messaged me asking how my birthday. I told him what happened and that I was at home. He asked me if I wanted to come over his place to get my birthday gift. I got the biggest smile across my face. Yes, please. I told him I would be over soon.
I got to Ken’s house and we sat on the porch for a little bit. We went inside and up to his room. It started out like normal foreplay between us. I was laying down on my back while he was showing my Miss Lucy some attention. He pulled himself up on top of me and pushed my legs a part further. I was so ready for birthday sex. However, the next feeling I felt was not his dick. I did not know what was going on or trying to go in me, but I was in pain. I sat up and let out a yelp in pain. I sternly said to Ken, “What in the fuck are you trying to do to me?!” He replied, “Madison said she loved it, so I wanted to try it on you.” Madison was a mutual good friend of ours. She was dating his friend, Luke. Ken attempted to fist me. I do not judge what some people like as their strokes, but that shit was not for me. My poor pikachu was almost torn a part by his big hands. I asked Ken if we could take five and then have our regular, fun sex. He nodded in agreement. Thank God!
God bless any woman who likes to get fisted. It felt like someone was trying to shove a baby in my pikachu and break my vagina bones in the process. Lord have mercy. I am not a vanilla broad in bed by any means, but I would like my vagina to not turn into muff cabbage.