The Devil Made Me Do It

My first encounter with real lust was in high school. She was beautiful. She was perfect. I longed to be hers. But before I could muster up the courage some Neanderthal scooped her up, screwed her, and dumped her.

She was heartbroken. Sobbing tears in the hallway consoled by her friends. I thought, this was my chance. But I’ll be damned if the same thing didn’t happen again. The last time I saw her she was fat, haggard, and dragging around four or five rugrats. Sweet revenge. Even if I had nothing to do with it.

As hard as trying to figure out what makes women go after men they know are going to hurt them is men's behavior in a feeding frenzy.

I was once a member of the Jaycees in a small Alabama town. Each year the Jaycees sponsored a carnival as a fundraiser. We all took our turns at the gate selling tickets and some concessions. This was back in the day when carnivals still had deformed babies in jars, a freak show, and a “Gentlemen Only” tent.

At the end of the last night of the carnival, we all gathered at the Gentlemen Only tent for a private show. The air was electric with excitement. Thirty or so young men ready to party, and a party they got. A good buddy of mine, a local attorney, long and tall with a giant handlebar mustache, had a pint of Black Jack and, being a veteran of these things, situated us at the back of the tent were we could watch the proceedings from a safe distance. He cautioned me that, “ We don’t want to be too close to the stage.”

In short order the girls came out. A loud cheer arose from the gathered horneys. I believe there were three of them. Butt fucking ugly. (Now you have to understand dear reader that during the day, these young men were the future pillars of the community. Bankers, accountants, attorneys, businessmen. Most of them married with children.)

Well, the music started and so did the girls. Dressed in the cheesiest outfits imaginable, they gyrated and rotated and grinned and taunted the testosterone crazed crowd pressed against the stage. One of the girls, dressed only in her G-string, got right down in front of a chubby boy whom I had worked with that night, grinding her pelvis inches from his face. She took off his glasses and rubbed them up into her crotch and seductively placed them back on his face. They were so covered with glop that it must have been impossible to see through them. But he was loving it. Then, to my compete disbelief, she pulled aside her panties, spread her legs, and he thrust his face right into the quagmire.

Having by now consumed most of the pint, my buddy and I were bowled over with laughter. But the best was yet to come.

The girls got together and taunted the boys, challenging one of them to come up on stage. Even as crazed as they were, none of them took the dare. Finally, the crowd selected one of their own to be a volunteer and they grabbed him up and threw him onto the stage. Before the girls could get hold of him, he scrambled to his feet and leaped head first back into the crowd. Kicking and struggling, he was again hoisted back onto the stage. This time the girls got him.

Two of them held him down as the third one undressed him. She began fondling him until he finally got an erection and squirted his essence into the air. The crowd roared with laughter. Totally humiliated, the boy grabbed his clothes and ran from the tent buck naked.

When I got home that night, the smell of sweet magnolias filled the soft summer air. Fireflies flitted about the yard. I knew it was a night to remember.