Fucked On The 4th Of July: Part 1


I came back to the world groggy and out of sorts, vaguely aware that my roomie, Dylan, was shaking me and telling me to wake up. I’d stayed up late the night before – very late – working on an erotic story for an adult website that I write for. I’d then gone straight into my day job, the one that pays the bills, for which I also work from home, working all morning editing medical treatises and other writings before they get published in medical or scientific journals and made available for peer review. Most of those guys… well, I can only hope they are better doctors and scientists than they are writers!I’d fallen asleep right after lunch, and now, less than three hours later, he was being very annoying.“Dylan, fuck… what do you want?”“Come on, Kev, get up. We’re going to the Fourth of July celebration downtown, remember?”I sort of remembered telling him I would, but I didn’t want to. “Why don’t we just blow it off and order a pizza or something?”“Blow it off? C’mon, man, there’ll be bands, patriotic music, hot dogs and beer, bratwurst… even fireworks later.”“You don’t give a shit about any of that stuff.”“But you do, bro’! I’m doing it for you. You love that patriotic music shit, the ‘Star-Spangled Beaver’, ‘I’m a Dandy Yank My Doodle’… ‘Amber Waves of Pubes’, all that shit.”“Uhh, I don’t think…”“That’s the way I sing ‘em, so fuck off. And GET UP!”I wearily sat up, swinging my feet to the floor, resigned to the fact that he’d never shut up and go away. “Okay, Dylan, how about a little honesty now? What’s your real reason for being so hot to go?”“You nailed it – it’s because it’s so hot! It’s about 100 fucking degrees out there.”“Well, that paints it in a whole new light. How about you fuck off, while I stay here in the air-conditioned apartment, or maybe go down to the pool?”“You’re missing the big picture, my friend; hot weather equals women in very little clothing. Tiny little shorts or bikini bottoms, halter tops, tissue-thin t-shirts, no bras – it’s gash city out there, and they’ll be looking up at the fireworks so we can scope out the tits and ‘toes without getting busted!”Knowing Dylan, I knew he meant cameltoes, that lovely condition caused by tight, thin pants on pulchritudinous, often horny women. I did enjoy that, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “You’re always a class act, Dyl. Besides, you know I’m not good at picking up women; what do you need me for?”“Because you’re pretty.”“Gosh, and I didn’t think you’d noticed.”“Fuck you. You know what I mean – you attract the chicks, and when they find out that you get all tongue-tied and are about as interesting and sexy as a bucket of mud, I swoop in and pick off the hot ones. It’s a shame, really; with that big cock of yours, you should be swimming in pussy. Such a waste…”Distracted, suddenly thinking about the erotic stories I write for Lush, the adult site I mentioned, I almost immediately came up with a dozen ways to make a bucket of mud sexy and mentally jotted down the ‘swimming in pussy’ line. I filed them in the dark recesses of my mind for future consideration.Dylan doesn’t know about my late-night activities, and I write under a pseudonym, a nom de plume, so even if he stumbled across it he’d never know it was me. Also, I’m not entirely sure he can read…“And that means I should go… why, exactly?”“Um, to help out a horny friend?”“I’d rather just give you a hand job – you know, if you get me some extra-thick rubber gloves, a hazmat suit… oh, and a face shield, just in case.”“Wellll, hmmm… sounds great, but naah. C’mon! You need to get out more. You never know, you might get lucky.”“Uh-huh. Sure.” He was right; I’m not good around women. I get tongue-tied, and the more attractive the woman, the tighter the knot. I do have a big dick, and I’d love to give it a non-solo workout more often, but alas, that does not seem to be my forte. I just can’t find it in myself to believe that flopping my dick out would be the most successful way to meet women.Dylan was nothing if not persistent. “Just c’mon. I’ll buy you all the hot dogs and brats you can eat and all the beer you can drink.”“And a hat.”“Huh?”“A hat – a baseball cap, something patriotic, with a flag on it or something.”“Okay, I’ll buy you a fucking hat.”“Pro-back, not one of those cheap plastic adjustable piece of shit things.”“Okay, okay! You’ll get a damn hat. Now get dressed.”I stood up, and he looked at me. I was in only my tighty-whities, but we’d been roomies a long time. Still… “What?”“Take off that fucking kiddie underwear.”“Gosh, Dyl… you haven’t even bought me dinner yet.”“Asshole. No, you’re going commando. It’s hot out, remember? Let that python flop around in your cargo shorts where women can admire it; let it get some air and draw the chicks. You gotta bait the hook.”“You don’t bait hooks with pythons.” I slipped out of my Jockeys.“Depends Ankara escort on what you’re trying to catch.” He eyeballed my cock where it dangled long and heavy between my legs. “Lucky fucker… what a waste! To think of the ladies I could please with that thing…”I just shook my head. I embarrass easily, but I’d become immune to Dylan’s crudeness long before. “You’d still have that problem of getting them to notice you in the first place, chump.”“Not with a bulge like that in my pants, I wouldn’t. I’d be emphasizing it, not hiding it like you do.”“Women don’t notice stuff like that.”He laughed at me. “Ha! What world do you live in… you really are that naïve, aren’t you? Trust me, they notice – why should they be different than us?” It was rhetorical and I didn’t reply, but I could think of a million wonderful, amazing ways they were different from us. He went on, “You gonna take a shower?”“Yeah, I guess. You really wanna go, huh?”“Absolutely!” He gripped his crotch and squeezed himself obscenely. “There’s a hot, wet pussy just waiting for me out there. I can almost taste it.”“Jesus… just when I think you can’t get any lower, you start digging. Get out, slimeball.”He left, and I took a quick shower. Getting dressed, I automatically reached for a clean pair of Jockeys, then paused and considered his words. It was hot out… and it might be fun to freeball for the evening. It might even inspire a new Lush story for me! I put my drawers back in the drawer and slid into my cargo short sans undies.I looked in the mirror; even in the baggy shorts my apparatus was readily apparent, and I hung to within an inch or so of the hem. I’d have to try to avoid anything arousing and not awaken the beast, or else it would pop out and I’d be busted for public indecency. Now that would be humiliating!I finished it off with a brightly printed Hawaiian shirt and sandals, and I was good to go. I felt naked, but I was good to go.When I walked out, Dylan grimaced. “You’re going to wear that shirt?”“Why yes, dear, I am.”“Knock it off. That shirt is ugly.”“Sure, but bright – you want to get noticed, right?” I was also sort of hoping that it would distract eyes from my pendulum-like bulge.He considered that. “Good point – it will also scare the ladies away from you more quickly, so I can have them.” His eyes dropped to my crotch. “I see you took my advice. Feels pretty good, huh?”“Feels weird, but I’ll try it just this once.”“You’ll love it – word to the wise, though; when you take a leak, be sure to squeeze out those last few drops really well. You’re sure to wet-spot otherwise, and nobody wants to see trouser tracks.”“Sensei is wise in the ways of the penis. Makes Grasshopper wonder about Sensei.”“Asshole. See, that’s the kind of shit that chases the chicks away.”“I didn’t say it to a chick.”“Yeah, but they can spot a nerd from fifty yards. Come on, let’s go.”We left, walking downtown from our apartment. It was only a few blocks and parking would be a bitch. It felt very weird but kind of nice to feel my cock flopping with my stride. As we drew close to the town square and the park where most of the activities would be held it got progressively more crowded, and most of the streets were blocked off for the parade, so even those were thronged with people. I got to people-watching and forgot about the flopping.It soon became apparent that Dylan, despite being a clown, knew stuff; women were indeed scantily clad in the summer heat, with patriotic bikinis and halter tops and thin t-shirts – as well as the otherwise unencumbered breasts within them – represented in abundance. It appeared that another new style of which I was previously unaware had also caught on; shorts were extremely short and tight, and often exposed half or more (invariably the southern hemisphere) of female backsides.There was a beach at the lake, but that was half a mile from here, so I didn’t understand all the skimpy swimwear in town… but I ogled anyway. There was even an occasional bikini bottom that was nothing but a tiny ribbon running snugly between soft, delectable cheeks, leaving all hemispheres available for our discernment and delight. I wholeheartedly approved of the new fashion, but I was beginning to feel a tension in my nether regions which might quickly become problematic.I cast my eyes elsewhere for a while, ignoring all the feminine pulchritude to the best of my abilities as I tried to re-route my blood flow. I had resolved, however, that if reincarnation actually exists, I want to come back as the vertical seam in the crotch of a pair of those ultra-tight shorts, or maybe even (dare I hope!) as the butt string on a tiny bikini.Once my cock reversed field and began to deflate, I was able to relax and enjoy, and I made him buy me my hat before he could back out. The Ankara escort bayan scent of charcoal smoke and roasting, artificially smoked, processed meat filled the air, there was a band playing somewhere, and the whole town was lousy with patriotism. There were flags everywhere, lots of red, white, and blue banners and bunting, a few members of the military sweating in full dress uniform, and an air of festivity suitable to the holiday was omnipresent.Dylan was right about that, too; I loved this kind of shit!We rounded up some sizzling brats, and cold beers in big red Solo cups, and found a place off to the side where we could watch the ladies. They were plentiful, beautiful, and wonderful, and available in all colors, shapes, and sizes.One of my favorite sights was the soft crescents of perspiration beneath a pair of lovely breasts in a tight sports bra. I dreamed of tasting the saltiness of her heat as I licked it away before progressing to a hard and eager nipple… and I started to get hard again and had to purge my mind. I should have worn underwear.A few of the women looked at us looking at them, and some that passed close by nodded or said hello. Occasionally, one or a pair would stop to chat, but my stammering and Dylan’s over-eager attempts to both ingratiate himself and turn the conversation sexual would usually send them scurrying away.I spotted one woman about our age that looked particularly slutty, and I pointed her out to Dylan. “There’s one that looks like your type.”As he turned to look, he said, “They’re all my type.”“Good to know you’re so selective, but unfortunately for you, they seem to disagree.” I indicated the one I was referring to, and he stared.“Wow! Great jugs… I could do a serious motorboat on those babies.”To the extent that ‘great’ is a synonym for ‘large’, he was right; if he was using the word as an analogy for excellent, amazing, beautiful, or anything of that nature, he was exaggerating. I mean, they weren’t bad, but the tiny bikini top she wore didn’t offer a lot of support, and it showed. That overstressed bit of fabric and Lycra looked like it was ready to call it a day – or perhaps a career – and pack it in. It served to cover her nipples and help her avoid arrest, but even those were attempting to pop out and say howdy.She was fleshy, overweight but not fat, and her tiny denim shorts looked like they’d probably fit her – tightly – about twenty pounds ago. I’m not sure how she’d even gotten into them that morning, but a significant amount of her hadn’t. There was a whole lot of overtly sexual woman being advertised in the general vicinity of those two small scraps of overworked fabric, and Dylan was panting like a dog in heat.He grabbed my arm. “C’mon, we’re going to go say hi!”I pulled away. “Who’s this ‘we’, Kemosabe? You got a hamster in your pocket?”“No, c’mon! She’s got a friend, so I need a wingman.”I looked again, and he was right. Almost lost in the considerable shadow of the boobular one was a fair-haired, slender wisp of a girl. She wore a conservative, almost Fifties-style cotton dress of some ivory color with small pastel flowers on it. While it was subtly sexy, showing the upper swell of her breasts, her trim waist, the feminine flare of her hips, and her bare, shapely legs from just above the knee on down, alongside her ample (and amply underdressed) friend it looked like a burqa.Still, I found her slender form and subtle sexuality appealing, so I went along. Dylan was almost running, eager to get to her before some other walking boner did, and he pulled me along in his wake; as a result, when we pulled up in front of them we were both sweaty and slightly out of breath.We somehow managed to get out that we were Dylan and Kevin, and it turned out that the one with all the tits was Maxine (because of course she was…) and the far prettier of the two was Linda. Maxine – Max – and Dylan soon discovered that they were kindred horny spirits, and in a matter of minutes they were touching each other and exchanging banter which was made up primarily of sexual innuendo.Linda and I stood off to one side, trying to exchange small talk and get acquainted, both beginning to figure out that we’d just met someone as shy and introverted as ourselves. Before it became painful, I said, “Can I offer to buy you a beer or something?”She smiled and looked into my eyes with her beautiful gray-green ones, and my heart stuttered. “I don’t drink beer, but I’d love some lemonade.”“You got it!” We walked to the concession stand and I got a lemonade for her and a beer for myself, and we sought out a quiet, shady spot beneath a spreading oak tree and sat down. We drifted back into small talk, discussing the parade, the music, the decorations, the crowds… we hadn’t sunk to discussing the weather Escort Ankara yet but I sensed that we were drawing close, so I veered off to another banal subject instead.“You know, I usually prefer a dark beer or a microbrew, nice and cold, but even this lukewarm Budweiser is better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.”She started to laugh, then stopped and stared at me. “Where have I heard that expression before?”I shrugged. “I don’t know; I think it’s a pretty common expression. Pretty sure I didn’t make it up.”She shook her head, frowning. “No, I’m sure I’ve only heard it once before… where was it?”“Does it matter?”“I guess not, but it’s going to bug me until I figure it out.” We continued to chat, killing time more than getting to know each other, but I could see that she was still pondering on where she’d heard the dumb expression I’d casually tossed out. I had no idea why it mattered, but it obviously did.A few minutes later, out of nowhere, she said, “You know what? I didn’t hear it, I read it. Now, where did I read it… hmmm…” She concentrated for a few more seconds, then suddenly her beautiful face brightened. “Wait, I know – I saw it on Lush Stories!”She blushed crimson as soon as the words left her mouth, but her embarrassment at blurting out the name of Lush didn’t prevent her from noticing what must have been my deer-in-the-headlights look. She stared at me. “You know Lush Stories?”“Umm, yeah… I’m, uh, familiar with it.”She continued to look at me, her face still red. Maybe mine was too. Suddenly, she said, “Oh my God, that’s it! That’s why you seemed so familiar to me. That expression you used, the way you speak, the way you phrase things… You’re him! I mean, he’s you!”“Uhh, him whom? Who, uhh, what?”“You’re that guy, the guy that writes all those amazing stories! You’re ‘BentCarrot10’, my favorite author on Lush!”“Uhhh…” She was right.  I’d written a lot of smut, a lot of erotica, and some truly explicit sex stories, but all behind the safety of my secret identity. Nobody knew it was me that wrote that stuff, nobody… but now my anonymity was blown!“Ohhh, please say you’re him! I love you… I love your writing. I’ve read every word you’ve ever written, every story, lots of them several times. They’re wonderful!”I was blushing furiously now, no doubt even redder than her, but flattered nonetheless. I took a deep breath and copped to what she already knew to be true. “Yes, Linda, I’m him; I’m BentCarrot, but it’s a secret identity. Nobody is supposed to know, that’s why we pretty much all use a nom de plume to write that stuff. You have to keep my secret.”“Oh my goodness, don’t worry, I will! This is so exciting. Oh wow, you’ve made me come so many times I feel like we’re old lovers!” When I laughed, she realized what she’d said and her blush renewed itself five-fold.“Gosh, Linda, thank you! I’m pretty sure I’ve never had a better comment on any of my stories than that one right there.”“God, Kevin, I can’t believe I said that… it’s true, though. You’re like a celebrity!”“An unknown celebrity, huh? Not sure that’s possible, but it’s wonderful to hear. I like the idea that you’ve gotten so much enjoyment from it, and I appreciate your honesty. Sort of makes all those hours hunched over a keyboard seem worthwhile.”Having finally found common ground, and now sharing a secret, our comfort level grew. She proceeded to chatter on about Lush and all the authors she liked to read – Curvygalore, “who writes such amazingly realistic period-pieces that are so much fun”; KimmiBeGood, “who does such great, hot stories and is so talented and prolific.”I added ‘sweet’ as an adjective for both of those because I know them, and she went on, listing Dronette56 and her “funny, filthy stories”, Jen, who “doesn’t write enough anymore”, and “the sexy, mystical, magical” krystalg among her other favorite female authors.On the dangly bits side of the ledger, she liked “SventheElder… he’s so funny – and hung, I’ll bet!” and “the suave, urbane, and ultra-sexy, ChrisM”, as well as a couple of Wannabes, Wordsmith and writer, and el_henke, another talented friend of mine. I was surprised at how many she could list by their pseudonym, and in fact, I knew and was friends with many of the people she mentioned. Several, however, like some guy named Stormdog, on whom she’d commented, “he writes sexy and hot stories, but he’s kind of long-winded” I was unfamiliar with but promised myself I’d check into.As I’d expected it would, the conversation eventually worked its way back to me when she asked, “How’d you decide on your name, the ‘BentCarrot10’ thing? Does it mean anything?”I laughed. “No, not really. There are these ridiculous commercials on TV for some drug to treat Peyronie’s disease, which I guess means the guy has a kink in his cock when it gets hard. I mean, it’s not funny, because apparently it can be very painful and it can even keep the poor slob from having sex if it’s bad enough. They obviously can’t show bent erections on TV, so instead, they have all those very phallic-looking carrots floating around. The website is called bentcarrot something or other.”

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