There is one thing that can always guarantee a good time – and often a saucy, little hookup – the Sunday Funday. However, if you’re on WorstHookups.com, and you’re not a complete r-tard, then you know I’m not going to provide you with a story about a sexy encounter. However, my story does involve a Brazilian girl. Let me preface this story with the fact that I wasted a few years of my life dating a girl who wanted to “save herself for marriage.” I know…it’s heresy…stupid bitch. That unfortunate situation also led to several WorstHookups.com stories because she never let me do what I was put on this earth to do (P in V), but I digress. This story begins after the break-up, when I began trying to have sex with other fish in the sea.
I wasn’t having much luck at first…I couldn’t remember how to catch my prey like the wild beast that I knew I was deep down. A few months went by, and I started to catch back on, but wasn’t there yet. Then, on one fateful Sunday, I met the girl who would get me back in the game…we’ll call her Shmaniella. The reason this Brazilian princess was so perfect was because I got two chances to feed her lines, since she didn’t understand English very well, if at all. The first thing I would say to her (probably something like “I’m really into your fat ass”) would not be understood. She would respond with a smile and a, “Hehe whaaaa?” So I’d have a second chance to say something like “Let me take you on a date tomorrow night.” She understood this, and probably wanted her green card, so she agreed.
Shmaniella and I met up at a bar for drinks the next night. One thing led to another, and the next thing you know she’s telling me (in broken English) what it’s like to be an au pair, and we’re sucking face…aggressively. I distinctively remember thinking while her tongue was down my throat “I’m gonna eff this crazy Mexican.” As the lights came on for last call, and my boner was at its peak from rubbing up on her foreign, foreign parts, I told her I’d walk her to her car. We walked out, stopped on the street a few times to suck face some more, and got back to her car, where we dry humped against the hood like a couple of 7th graders. I asked her for a ride home, and as she dropped me off, I argued that she had to come inside because there was an open parking space in front of my apartment, and that never happened. She said, “Ehhh…okay,” after I explained what I was trying to say six times. We walked into my apartment and up my stairs to my bed where this tan-skinned babe unrobed. We got in bed and starting heavy petting–once my knob made it’s first appearance, it went straight for the goal, and I muttered, “Condom?” because I didn’t feel like using more words than I had to. She responded with a nod, and I sprinted into my roommate’s room to grab his condoms since I had none due to my previously pathetic state (please see above).
Finally, it was game-time. Poon was getting smashed – and not just any poon. It was Brazilian poon (the best poon). Now, I don’t know if you know this, but real Brazilian babes do not wear deodorant (at least this one didn’t). She lifted her arms up and I got a nose full of donkey dick. However, for me, this was perfect; getting laid after such a long time of being on the bench means that you’re not used to getting your D wet…when you finally do so, you might not last as long as you’d want. This was the case for me…until of course I got real close to her and breathed in her body odor like it was a bouquet of roses. That kept me going for a while. Finally, I took the grand finale hit. What a finale it was…until of course she rolled off me and I looked down at my raw dog. The condom was nowhere to be found. I looked at her and made hand motions while saying, “Inside vagina?” a few times. She shook her head “no” but I knew where that jimmy cap was hiding. Finally she reached in and pulled it out. There was a little man-juice in there, but not nearly as much as I had thought there should be. She raced into the bathroom for some reason –probably to do something Spanish, and I start to freak out. I couldn’t stop thinking about the prospect of having a Brazilian son. I want my kid to play football not fútbol. Anyways, here is the conversation we had right then:
Me: “Are you on the pill? The one that stops pregnancy?”
Shmaniella: “Nooo nooooooo.”
Me: “Oh frickin great! Why are you not more nervous?”
Shmaniella: “I no nervous about pregnant. I am uh…I am on ehhh…I don’t know how you say I am on…”
That’s when I turned on the light and looked at my previously white sheets.
Me: “You’re on your period.”
I never saw Shmaniella again. So let me take this time to say, Shmaniella, thanks for stinking up my room with your foul, human smells and covering my pelvis and bed sheets with your lady blood. I’ll never forget the time you re-took my virginity.
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