[Winter Contest Entry 2014] Dysfunction

My balls were cold and I couldn’t get a boner.

I had a nice piece of Latina ass glued to my crotch, ramming her tongue down my throat and I couldn’t get a fucking boner. Not even a half-mast. Hell, not even a wiggle. It was beyond embarrassing. It was fucking horrifying.

She kept asking me what was wrong. How the fuck was I supposed to know? I’m not a dick doctor. Just because I was born with it doesn’t mean I understand the inner workings of the male genitalia. My cock was just limp.

At first, I thought it was the cold. Winter was in full bloom and we were out on the street at the crack of dawn, after all. But then I realized how retarded that sounded. No matter where you are or how cold it is, if you have a girl on top of you and she has her tits out, your dick gets hard. That’s just science.

Was I turning gay? I didn’t think so. I still jerked off to relatively normal shit. You know, blue-eyed brunettes with big fake tits getting pummeled in their big fake butts, petite, strawberry blonde girls fucked stupid by big, menacing black dudes. Nothing extremely out of the ordinary. At least in my opinion.

Was I jerking off too much? It couldn’t be that either. At best, I jerked off five times a week and I knew guys who did it at least three times a day and still managed to perform when the time came.

Was it the booze? No. Six beers aren’t enough to kill a boner. Seven, maybe. If you’re a lightweight. But not six. Was it her? No. It couldn’t possibly be her. I mean, she was hot. Not like, Victoria’s Secret hot, but still, pretty fucking sexy. There had been at least eight other guys besides me who had hit on her that night. Even Tom had tried to get in on the action. And Tom had pretty high fucking standards.

I just couldn’t figure this shit out.

After another half hour of aimlessly sucking on her tits, I decided to call it quits and take her home. We kissed good night and never saw each other again. I don’t even remember her name. It was probably something I couldn’t pronounce.

The very next night, I got together with Tom and the guys at this dirty old pub we called Chico’s. It wasn’t actually called Chico’s or had anyone named Chico working there, but everyone called it Chico’s anyway.

“So, how was it? Did you fuck her?”

What the fuck was I supposed to say? That my dick decided to screw me over? That she had her tits out, but I still couldn’t get a boner? That I probably have some major dick problem? Fuck that noise. It’s not that I have some big reputation to uphold when it comes to pussy, but I sure as shit wasn’t about to admit to four guys I knew from college that I couldn’t get it up on game night.

So obviously I lied and said “Yeah, I fucked her.”

They cheered and laughed and shouted and gave me high-fives and patted me on the back and bought me beers and did all that stupid frat house shit guys do when one of them gets laid with a foreign girl, like it’s a big fucking achievement.

That night I barely spoke to any girls. I just drank, got wasted and dragged my ass back home to rub one out. Or at least that’s what I meant to do. Once I started googling sexy milf sluts gone wild, I decided against it and went straight to bed instead. Figured that if I started cutting back on the porn I wouldn’t have any problem getting a sizable boner once I got lucky again.

Still, I had all sorts of weird shit going through my head. Insecure, candy ass thoughts like “Will I ever get a boner with a girl again? Will I ever have normal sex again? What if my friends find out I can’t get it up? What if my parents find out?” Really dumb shit.

That week I barely jerked off. Barely. I could still get stiffies when I watched porn. That was a relief, I guess. Can you imagine going through the rest of your life being unable to get a decent hard on when you watched two busty gingers getting creampied by four dudes? Fuck no.

When the weekend arrived, I decided to hang out with my brother Ryan and Alice, his girlfriend at the time. Alice was really short. Just like a ten-year-old. But cute. Really cute. My brother liked them like that. Small and cute. Like a pet you can sleep with. The reason why I decided to hang out with them though, was because I knew, from what my brother had told me, that because she worked for a well-known modeling agency, pretty much half of Alice’s girl friends were underwear models. Not famous underwear models, but the kind you see on billboards when you’re driving to work. You know, those Calvin-Klein’s-new-Spring-collection types.

Sure enough, when we arrived at their usual hanging spot, some fancy-ass lounge bar called Lust, the place was crawling with them. Tall, long-haired, well-dressed broads that went to the bathroom every five minutes just to check on their make-up and measure their waistlines. They looked as if they had all been mass-produced in some Austrian geneticist’s laboratory. They were the kind of girls you only see in L’Oreal commercials or low-budget, sci-fi horror flicks.

Fucking jackpot.

Alice made the introductions and not three minutes after we arrived I found myself hitting it off with this green-eyed German stunner called Melissa Wellenkamp.

Melissa smelled like she bathed in expensive oils and high class perfumes. It was ridiculous. Her smell was literally intoxicating. But she was gorgeous. Nearly perfect facial symmetry. Never seen anything like it. Unfortunately, she had small tits. And was about my height. I’m not exactly super tall, but I’m way above average height and it’s kind of a turnoff when a girl turns out to be as tall as me when she’s not wearing heels. Melissa was wearing boots.

We talked about the usual shit. Work, hobbies, movies, TV shows, places we’ve been, people we knew. Trivial, boring shit. She seemed to like me, though. She kept messing around with her curly hair and wouldn’t take her eyes off of mine. Finally the time came when everyone wanted jump ship and hit another joint.

“Will you take me dancing?”

You don’t need to be a world-class sex guru to know what this means. When a girl asks you to take her dancing, what she’s really saying is “I want to grind my ass on your crotch until you can’t stand it anymore and we start making out.” Mind you, it’s not when they say that they want to go dancing, it’s when they tell YOU that they want YOU to take them dancing.

When she asked me that, I knew there was about a 90% chance that I was going to end up hooking up with her. I also knew that that was going to be it. Just a casual hook-up; no strings attached. She might let me grab one of her small tits on a rush, but I had some serious doubts it would go much further than that.

Needless to say, I wasn’t looking just for a casual hook-up.

Fortunately, as if the Universe had heard my prayers, I got a text from Tom.

Need a wingman. NOW. Meet me at Chico’s.

This could have been one of the worst decisions of my life. I was basically dumping a sure thing with a German underwear model over the POSSIBILITY of hooking up with one of the girls that Tom was hitting on. Now, as I’ve told you before, Tom had some pretty high fucking standards, but it was very unlikely that the girl he wanted me to “distract” from his “target” was cuter than the one I had now.

But I was twenty-one and didn’t know better.

I made up some dumb excuse that I had to wake up early in the morning, got Melissa’s number (I may be an idiot, but I’m not a complete fucking retard) and practically ran to Chico’s.

When I got there, I found Tom with one beer on his right hand and another on his left, talking with a drop dead gorgeous brunette with long, silky auburn hair and a short, average-looking, chubby blonde chick. With pimples.

I wanted to fucking kill him.

When he spotted me, he shouted my name and gave me a beer. I tried my best to disguise my disappointment. I knew he wanted me to have the chubby blonde, the bastard. I felt like telling him to go fuck himself and get back to my German underwear model. But that ship had sailed and I wasn’t about to leave one of my best friends hanging. Besides, after this shit he would be owing me big time. So yeah, I took it like a man.

I don’t remember the brunette’s name, but the blonde was called Pascaline. She was an Erasmus student from Belgium and her English was fucking horrible. Also, she was drunk. Completely shitfaced. So much so in fact, that she had to lean her back against a wall so that she wouldn’t fall over. It was actually kind of funny. I couldn’t help but smile when I looked at her. After talking with her for while though, she started gently grinding her waist against mine.

I’m not really sure if this was voluntary or not, but slowly, and progressively, she literally started rubbing her crotch against mine. Like some mating ritual. Really going to town with it. And it really turned me on. Holy shit! I was getting hard just by getting grinded on by a chubby blonde chick. With pimples! This was un-fucking-believable. She could barely finish a cohesive sentence, but her waist “technique” was really turning the fuck on.

I was so shocked by this that before I even knew what was going on, she grabbed me by the back of my head and we started making out. I was so hard I felt like fucking her right then and there.

And this girl, let me tell you, she was an animal. Not five minutes after we started making out, she slid her hand under my jeans and grabbed my cock. Sweet baby Jesus. I was ROCK hard. She wasn’t a particularly good kisser and she wasn’t particularly good looking and she had way too many layers of clothes on and she was way too chubby for my taste, but holy fuck. The moment she started stroking my dick I almost came. Tom, on the other hand, wasn’t getting anywhere with his brunette. So much so that once they were finished with the usual shitty topics, they just awkwardly stood there, not doing anything.

“Hey man, I’m going home. You staying?”

I knew that if stayed there I was going to fuck this chubby Belgian chick. I knew that, even if her friend tried to cockblock me, I’d find a way around it. I knew that I could get laid that night. And yet, I decided to join Tom and go home. Didn’t even get her number.

What the fuck, right?

I had a girl with her hand on my cock, willing to fuck my brains out on a dirty alleyway of our choosing and I decided to go back home with my friend. Just because she didn’t meet my “standards of quality.” And because I knew my friends would make fun of me if Tom told them I fucked a fat chick. Peer pressure. The ultimate cockblock.

To this day, I still think of her when I jerk off. FUCK. How I wish I'd slept with that Belgian chick.