Mouthful of COC

60e2716e8bd5fde97bf8de42415c46b4No, friends. I haven’t misspelled my favorite word. Those are actually the initials belonging to my ex-fiance and the father of my only baby girl. We may not have made the greatest couple, but we certainly excelled at making a beautiful, intelligent, quirky young woman. Oh… and fucking. We were always fabulous at that.


I truly must thank Charles. He has been a never ending source of naughty material for this blog. Over the 25+ years that we’ve been friends, he has been nothing less that an endless archive of unique sexual experiences… good, bad, and unusual. If you think I’m a freak, YOU TRULY HAVE NO FUCKIN IDEA! I am tame and, indeed, quite innocent compared to this crazy mother fucker. However, there’s no possible way that I could even guess the number of orgasms I can attribute to his wild freakish escapades. And for that, I say thank you. (But real low under my breath where he can’t hear it.)


Truthfully, he was one of my greatest addictions. I could never guess what he would do next. Always clever and charming and the center of attention, Charles has never met an enemy. Oh, he has haters, I’m sure. I just don’t know anyone with balls big enough to tell him so. You see, he was always the life of any party, so, despite his many narcissistic ideals, there was never anywhere that he wasn’t welcomed with open arms.


That includes the damp underwear of many a slut and dirty tramp. Yes… I would be known as said slut. I’m surprised you even felt unsure on that one. OF COURSE, I’M THE FUCKIN SLUT. But I certainly wasn’t the ONLY slut to drop my skirt for his heavy headed dick. He put more notches in his belt on my watch, than probably any other.


Sure. I provided the perfect environment for his devilishly naughty imagination and a forgiving atmosphere for his dark desires to take root. All that other crazy shit he did when he was with me… Um. I really couldn’t tell you. The man’s a total nut. I take no credit for his kinky fetishes. NO ONE CAN MAKE THAT FUCKER DO ANYTHING! He always volunteers first.


We were friends for years before I ever allowed him to take me to my game room and fuck me stupid over a barrel of clothing. His outrageous behavior had always been a source of intrigue for me. I still recall the first time I ever saw his cock firsthand for myself. You know, it doesn’t look as big when it’s in the mouth of your very best friend. I gave him a look of utter disgust and hurried off to work, but, truthfully, couldn’t get that picture out of mind all day. He had just looked up at me and given me the most devilish grin while continuing to plow repeatedly through my bestie’s willing lips.


I always just assumed Charles was a whore. I mean, he didn’t have any preferences for women. If they were women, he fucked ’em. No discrimination there. The man loves to fuck. Like me, his sexuality is a major part of his being. Unlike me, the man had no standards. I can honestly say, though, I must give him quit a bit of credit here. His ability to  charm and insatiable sex drive was the catalyst for many of our wildest deviant sexual experiences.


I’ve always been just like one of the guys. I find taboo subjects the most alluring, and have no problem speaking my mind. Not very feminine, I know. I’m sure we made quite the scene when we hit the strip clubs. In walks a beautiful, young woman followed by five or six horny males, and she’s the one that goes racing to the stage with a pocket full of ones.


I don’t know how he does it. Charles is accepted universally no matter where he goes. We wouldn’t be at the club a half hour or more before he would have the numbers of the nastiest sluts there in heels. I really didn’t think that there were any strippers that doubled as freaks. But if they existed, you better believe that fucker could sniff them out in mere moments. 


He just didn’t care. Her boyfriend could be right there, and usually was. It didn’t matter. Before I knew it, that fella would be ramming my azz full of meat, and there would be Charles… smiling and high-fiving me from across the room where he’d be sticking it to the dancer. Talk about intense. He actually made me question my own kinky nature. I mean, if he’s a freak… What the fuck does that make me??


I loved that he never felt inhibited. And I hated it, too. I spent most of my pregnancy trying to keep that man from contracting something. If you had a hole, he was determined to stick something in it. That put me in the awkward position of defending my man against the countless sluts he left by the wayside.


Just imagine. The phone rings. It’s a three-way call between me and the two females I considered to be my very best friends. They had been going off on each other, and now felt the need to involve me. I speak slow, so that it won’t have to be repeated.


“You know he’s a dog. You fucked a dog. What do you want from me? I live in the DOGHOUSE. Who’s side do you expect me to take? The only thing change he ever made was you.” (Didn’t think I could handle it. Did you? You underestimated me.)


Of course, I’ve never judged him or any of his perverse habits. That’s just him. He is the same boy I met years ago. It may sound insane coming from the mouth of a whore, but… I JUST DON’T KNOW WHERE THAT MAN’S BEEN. But I’ll bet it was one helluva trip.


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