THIRTY-ONE DAYS…PART 3CHAPTER SEVENI met Danny at The Wing Hut on Monday night. Nine p.m. sharp. Danny was holding our favorite table. As I approached I could see his scorecard on the round table top. With three empty beer bottles. A fourth in his hand. Not good. I was expecting to see two names on Danny’s scorecard. There were none.The four Amigos were using golf scorecards to record our game. From the Wisconsin Breeze Golf and Country Club. Two cards each, eighteen holes per card. For a total of thirty-six holes. Holes. How appropriate. How many holes could we plug? How many holes-in-one could we sink? There were thirty-one days in December. Therefore, two scorecards were required. We crossed out the last five holes on card number two. They would not be needed.I filled my card out accordingly. Hole number one, Lisa. Hole number two, Jenna. I also gave the girls their attraction rating and their sexual fun rating. We agreed to be diligent in our documentation. One needed to be careful when chasing the record.Hole number one read Lisa, six point five for body, face, and over all attraction, and a six for fun in the sack. Hole number two read Jenna, six and six point five. I tossed my scorecard on the table for Danny to peruse. He didn’t bother. I could see his depression along with the empty bottles.I was shocked when he admitted his failure. Was he angry. At both himself and his ex.What? Women couldn’t fuck while they were on the rags? Says who?Danny dumped her the next day.Danny was the guy who brought us this big sexcapade story from the internet, and he was having a tough time grasping the fact he was already out. Day one. Day one and done. Pathetic. Of course I called him a no-fuck loser, which didn’t help matters. I bought him his next two beers and a plate of wings.He seemed to be calming down when his ex-girlfriend walked into the place. She was a looker all right. Twenty-four years old, short to medium height, long dark hair. Nice face, small ass and small tits. About a seven, perhaps seven and a half on the scale. She looked hot tonight. Angry hot. At Danny. She was already plastered, drowning her sorrows from the big breakup.What sorrows?They were together for two weeks. Actually, three times total, in those two weeks. Not exactly a lifetime commitment. Especially for one of the Four Amigos.Too bad about the rag thing though. What a bummer. Women and their stupid problems.Whatever, not my problem.Susie blew past our table, calling Danny an ignorant jackass or something. Danny ignored her. He was thinking. About his failure, I suppose.I was busy doing some thinking of my own. I did some research on this supposed California sex record. The criterion was one chick for each twenty-four hour calendar day. This meant my ‘two-for’ methodology was a sound and accepted principal. One before midnight, and one after midnight. I would be doing as many doubles as I could. Maybe some triples, for the fun of it. Perhaps, I would drive the thirty-one day total through the roof. Put it out of reach for the next stud.“Why not her?” Danny slurred.“Who’s her?” I responded, not sure what we were talking about.Danny spit out the words.“Little Miss No Fuck Susie,” he answered.I nearly chicken wing choked.“Susie? Your girl?”“I’m done with the bitch. She’s already toast. Go ahead and do her. If you can. You have to get by the rag thing though.”Yes. As does she.Wait.What?I shook my head out. Danny’s girl? What?“Are you serious dude?” I questioned.“Yep. Go for it. Do her at her place. The bitch. You don’t want her mess all over your sheets.”I was surprised as hell, but then I wasn’t. The Amigos rolled as a team. Bros before hoes and all.I never did a raggedy doll before, but I knew there would many firsts during the big quest.Actually, plenty of firsts. Fat chicks. Married chicks. Siblings. Kinky stuff. Sex in cars. Sex in bars. Something. Anything. Everything. The ‘thirty-one girl in a row quest’ was bound to open up some brand new territory.I never did an ex-girlfriend raggedly doll before. This was definitely going to be a first. Danny finished his plate of wings and stood up to leave. I stood up as well.“Stay,” Danny said. “Tell me how it goes. Good luck. I’m out of here.”We shook hands, he left, and I sat back down. Not stunned. Yes stunned.What other sacrifices would be made for the cause?I looked around the Wing Hut. The cheap pitchers were going down fast. Loud laughter and shouting and good times and the hook up game being played at full speed. Loud music covered the sports chatter from the flat screens.I caught little Susie’s eyes across the bar. I gave her the sympathy look. She was eyeballing lonesome me, possibly wondering where Danny went. She was alone in her world. Despite her two female drinking buddies, she had lost her man and was in the vulnerable zone. I only met her once before, but I could offer her my condolences, or some such crap. Talk to her. Be there for her. Listen to her. The things a guy has to do to get laid. Later Susie, I will get back to you.I wanted to scope the place for number four. Susie would be my Monday, my number three. I wanted to bag Tuesday as well. Right after midnight. Then get to bed. Tomorrow was another work day.Low and behold, number four crossed through my field of vision. This waitress was new. Brand new. Shiny as a penny. She sure was. My cock sensor began to tingle. Here in our town, new was exciting. I pricked right up.She moved in a mysterious way, the swaying, sensual walk.Long, hard, bare legs. Nice to see in the dark, cold of winter.Gorgeous ass.Older than me, maybe twenty-nine or thirty. Immaculately maintained. Lots of aerobics and road work. Long blonde hair in corn rolls, beautiful face and smile. Tanned. I could watch her sling beer and wings all night. This chick was at least an eight, some might argue, an eight point five.The age thing worked perfectly. If she was interested, she would make a quick decision and pull the trigger. I thought a little more about the türbanlı gümüşhane escort older chicks, never an interest to me. The married chicks would fuck and then throw me out. To get back to their lives, their offspring and their obligations. Good for them. Good for my mission. Yes, a couple of ringed ladies would be a nice fit for me. The domestic set. There might be an attraction there, after all.The new girl walked by my empty table. Stopped. Charlene was the name on her tag. Wow. She was good looking. The eight point five became a nine. The usual hellos and nice to meet you and chitchat and what time to you get off tonight ended with Charlene promising to drop by my place at midnight. I gave her brief directions on a napkin. As she walked away, her ass swayed a little extra for my benefit, and my head swayed with it. The nine rating turned into a ten. Yes it did. A long, lean, rock solid ten.It was time to move on Susie.Susie was good and hammered; my offer to drive her home was met with such an appreciation for her wounded psyche. Nice of me, she kept repeating, ad nausea. Easy Susie, I’m not such a nice guy, as you will find out very soon. If you remember anything of this night. Which you probably won’t.Susie was pretty when she was sober, not pretty when she was wasn’t. I will be generous and give her a seven. As the car ride began, she snuggled over beside me. Her seat belt off, the alarm beeping quietly, I simply turned the music up louder. A small hand found my thigh and began the comfort rub. Maybe she thought I was Danny. My sympathetic arm was around Susie’s shoulder, rubbing her neck, fondling her hair, showing her the way down. The zip of the zipper and the warm, wet mouth indicated Susie was already getting over her ex. Or pretending I was him.Should have gone to hers, but back at my place, we got down to it. The rag thing made everything a lot more slippery. Her panties resembled a small diaper. Gross. Sick me for attempting this.As I drove into her, the blood began to splatter. I didn’t mind the sensation, but the smell was overpowering. Nasty. A bleeding deer. Then the smell controlled itself, settling at a feral level. I got used to it quickly. The red on my white sheets was, different. Exotic. Dangerous.Ten minutes later we were finished. Susie was in danger of passing out on my bed. No way, number three. Tick went the counter in my brain. You need to be stepping girl. I got her dressed, not fun; it was always better undressing them. Got her shoed up and jacketed and bundled back out to the car. I got Susie home in record time, despite her sniffling and clinging and ‘nobody loves me’ bull crap.I needed to get back to my place for the cake. Charlene.I checked the time. The new girl was on her way.I blasted home, showered the raggedy girl off my crotch, stomach and legs.Four minutes later, Charlene was at the door.Did she ever look hot.Her work outfit was on, except for the footwear. The work shoes were gone. Replaced with heeled ankle boots. The heel was enough to amplify every muscle and curve in her legs. My apartment once again screamed sex, bloody sex, and I cringed as I inhaled. Either she didn’t notice or she didn’t care. We didn’t make it out of the kitchen before it started. By the time we stumbled into the bedroom, she was naked, save her boots. Her boots were staying on.I was about to shove her down onto the bed when I saw the dark stained mess from the raggedy girl. I should have listened to Danny. Taken her to her place.The bloody sheet reminded me of a predatory kill. Me doing the killing.I pushed Charlene into the mess and climbed on. Because I shot twenty-five minutes earlier, my cock was flushed and holding in the neutral zone. I was able to saw at Charlene for a quarter of an hour. I pulled off once to give her some tongue. Very sweet tasting. Something about matching pheromones. I could have eaten her all night, but she yanked me up by the hair. Once again the begging oozed out of a girl’s mouth.‘Fuck me please’.Sure babe, if you insist.I grabbed her by the boots and folded her up. I scolded myself for not having a video system running. This Charlene was hot. Smoking hot. Fuck me senseless hot. I did. The poor girl thrashed and cried and screamed and of course, she saw god.It was me after all. Woman’s conduit to God.We collapsed in a heap when I blew, soaked and spent. Another cunt’s blood all over Charlene’s back. Awesome. The pussy slayer, in action.Check.Number four. Four up, four down.Charlene, I could get used to. I was actually thinking of her as girlfriend material. I would love to parade her around my bar and buddy circuit. I don’t believe we scratched the surface of our mutual sexploration.Sadly, duty would be calling me soon. There was a long way to go before taking her again. The long way being, twenty-seven more days.Well, not necessarily.I could get together with Charlene regardless of my quest.She wouldn’t count any further on the scorecard, but she would always be my magic number four.CHAPTER EIGHTTwo full weeks have passed since my infamous debut. The fag was right. I came back. I am in the parking lot across the street from the House of God. Slowly sipping a can of beer. I am not going to get hammered this time. I am not going to lose control of my bodily strength and functions. I am not going to be ‘servicing’ anybody tonight. I am here for redemption. For answers. To some exceedingly disturbing questions. About me. About what happened to me.For two weeks, I have replayed in my mind, what went down on ‘the’ night. Okay. Bad choice of words. I mean, what went down, other than me. The four beers in the parking lot. The two beers I brought in. The twenty dollar, no-tip drink at the bar. Things got fuzzy then. A basketball game on a giant television screen. The Lakers and the Clippers. World Peace and Kobe Bryant. Talking to the leather pants fag in the bar. The ugly Pit Bull Man dragging the towel man türbanlı gümüşhane escort bayan with the stupid name away, at the end of a dog leash. Too unbelievable. Me, back in the small mirror room. Where the memory thing got fuzzy.Me in the mirror room, with Stevie.Was I actually kissing the guy? On the mouth?Damn, he was such a girl. The lips, the face, the tongue, the shaggy hair. The ass. The leather girl ass. Suddenly, I was immobile, kneeling, and his cock was in my mouth. I was sucking on his long white cock as the sensation of separation took me away. Even now, I am separated from the ugly fact a cock was in my mouth. It wasn’t me doing it. Not the everyday me. It was the other me. The dumb-ass who was taking a walk on the wild side. This was the only way my brain could deal with it. Good thing I spent most of my life as the normal me.Still not making sense, but making sense enough to survive this bad episode of my life. The sickest part is the domination. I recall him with fistfuls of my hair, shoving his cock down my throat. Pumping his leather ass, wearing those big black boots. I was choking, suffocating, trying to heave my guts out, trying to breathe, trying to stay alive. The salty, hot taste of his cum, staying with me for three days. What an idiot I was.Why would I allow this?The straight me? The sick me? Any me?Why?Right this second, and every single time I have thought about this over the past two weeks, my cock is stirring. It must be the domination thing, or the super submissive, punk-ass thing. I am not sure which. I know it’s not the fag thing or the gay thing. Not at all. I have always loved chicks in tight leather pants. High boots. Lots of jewelry and bling. Wet painted lips. Big lips. Stevie had big lips. Soft, puffy lips. Girl lips. Stevie wore jewelry in his nipples.What was with my nipples?Never, did a nipple touch driven an erection. It certainly did two weeks ago. I jerked off twice in the last week from rubbing my own nipples. Standing in the shower. Hot water cascading down my back.It can’t be a fag thing.Sure.What about the kissing?I was kissing a fag. On the mouth. With my tongue. Moaning. Loudly. Exaggerated. The men in the hallway could hear us. With my near exploding cock. Then my cock did explode. In my pants. My cock exploded when Stevie shot into my throat. I think. I am not exactly sure, where in this scenario, my cock blew.Stop fooling myself. I know when I came. I think about it. I have thought about it for two weeks. I came while a guy fucked my throat. Why isn’t this simple true fact, a fag thing? Because of the separation. The wall between the two worlds. As long as the two worlds don’t crossover. I would have to make sure they didn’t.I would have to make sure the fag thing never happens again.The last chick I tried to nail was wearing latex pants. Over a year ago. Not leather, but latex. Something hotter than leather. The spread at her crotch was legendary. Wide and tight. Shiny and black and edible.How did this play out for me?Not good. She was the one who sent me down this path.I shook my head. The bitch.I paused.Honest to god, two weeks ago? I thought in my brain, in my mind, in my soul, I was necking with a chick.Those puffy lips, the smooth, curvy, tight leather ass.Definitely, a chick.Now, here I was, back at the House of God, the return visit. Across the street, sitting in my car, dark outside, late in the evening. Watching the perverts and the desperadoes and the old chicken hawks going in. It was much busier tonight at the club and on the street outside. More vehicular traffic and more foot traffic. The convenience store next door was open, bringing people very close to the front door of the House of God. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get past those junk food buyers, and slip in unnoticed. I best pop a second beer to up the bravery level.A lot of time crawling on the net has opened my eyes. Curiosity might end up killing this cat. The House of God is a true S & M Club. Domination. Submission. Pain. Pleasure. No holds barred. Quite hard core in fact. The leash and chain were fully explained. Pretty frightening stuff. Pretty disgusting stuff. I was lucky to get out with a load in my belly. Much worse could have happened to me. Especially in the condition I was in.This was a lifestyle choice for these freaks? Men offering themselves up as worthless little fuck toys? Men ascending to positions of domination? Collars for the weaklings? Leashes for the masters of the universe?One master reigning above all?Yes, God himself held the throne in this house. Some idiot who called himself God, anyway. He was legendary in the seedy gay underbelly. There was a blurry picture of the exalted one on the internet. It showed him sitting on some kind of throne. Clad head to toe in leather and studs, his face covered in a mask, his hair long, flowing and blonde. Rumors of his gifts and powers were the subject of much chatter on the web.I watched the pedestrian flow. I didn’t notice the convenience store on New Year’s night. It must have been closed with lights out. Not now. The place was lit up, resembling a Christmas tree. Flashing lotto ticket signage. Cigarette logos. Beer logos. Potato chip logos. Soft drink logos. I observe the riff raff going in and out. Spending dollars and quarters on junk. Flabby, unhealthy purchases by weak people. I adjust my car radio up and pop a third beer. I might have to run a gauntlet to get into the club tonight.Speaking of weak people, how did I dissolve into such a pathetic condition two weeks ago?How did it happen?Granted, I consumed an awful lot of booze, and I was previously off the bottle for a long, long time.Did the booze shock drop me into such a feeble, submissive state?Could have.Whenever I have gone over the line on the booze, the result has been aggression, slapping some jackass or pounding some pussy, and then straight to dreamland. None of this weak-kneed, no muscle türbanlı escort gümüşhane response, swooning, submission garbage. I researched the magic blue bottle Stevie stuck in my nose. Some type of nitrate, allowing complete relaxation by thinning your serum. Apparently popular in the fag culture. You could buy hundreds of brands, styles and flavors on the net. Or in any sex shop. The tag line on the bottle was to sniff and relax. Mostly relax your ass.Bottom line was, what the hell came over me?I have drank twenty-four beer in the past and not fallen apart. I have pounded back shooters and whiskeys until the cows came home, and not fallen apart.So, what gave?I don’t know. I am here to find out. I crack my fourth can of Bud.The original plan for tonight was to stop at two beers and head in. The lingering folk and the cigarette buyers are preventing this from happening. I am into my fourth beer because I have to get in there tonight. I have to go back into the House of God and prove something to myself. Two weeks ago was definitely, a one of.One of those impossible synergies of not drinking, then drinking too fast, seeking drastic answers to a giant problem, and whatever else happened to be running through the cosmos. All colliding in the crazy, multi-mirrored room. Perhaps the multiple mirrored surfaces refracted enough energy to create some kind of sick wormhole.Perhaps.Another thread was running through all of this. The black leather pants. The bulge in the black leather pants. The touch and feel of those pants on my fingers. Mysterious. Hot. Erotic.In fact. Look at what I am wearing tonight.My own pair of black leather pants. Beautiful. Tailor made for my shape. The smell of them. The crackling of the skin when I pulled on the pants in the sex shop change room. The instant hard-on. The power I felt surging through me. I fully understand why Stevie the fag was so cocky. A bulge in the front of a pair of leather pants is the same as a nice, tight spread on a chick. It fans the hunger of anybody who possesses a sexual bone in their body. Same sex or opposite sex, I don’t think it matters.Did I say that?I did. Because leather is feral. Feral is sex. Raw, passionate, aggressive, dominating sex. One creature over another. One creature eating another. The way it has always been. The food chain, exemplified.These magical leather pants are why I am having a tough time strapping it on and walking across the street, through the malingering junk food buyers, and pulling open the door to the House of God S & M club. This is a tough neighborhood. I don’t need to be singled out or high-lighted as a fag. Because I am not a fag.Remember, two Decembers ago, I nailed thirty-one chicks in thirty-one days. For sure some kind of American stud record. Probably a world record. Nothing has shown up on the net or anywhere since to eclipse my accomplishment. I know I am not a fag. No fag could achieve such a task. Ever.Things then went off the rails.Badly.Barren. Nothing. Empty. Dead. Faded. Gun-less.I am not a fag. I am not a sick, disgusting, worthless piece of twisted garbage. I am confused. I am working my way back.By starting at a more primitive level?I don’t know. I know things aren’t right. Haven’t been right. Haven’t been right since the last day of last year. Something is going on here, something I have to see through.Nevertheless, strange things are not for me. Two weeks ago was an aberration. A sick aberration. I am going into this place tonight. I am going to watch the hungry creatures as they wittingly or unwittingly lose their inhibitions and succumb to the magnetic pull of my new leather hide. Then, because I am not a fag, I will leave them all hanging and walk out uns**thed. To show myself the truth. The aberration known as my last visit, will never happen again. I will not go untouched on tonight’s journey, because I know the fingers and hands will be glomming to my crotch and ass. They will not be able to help themselves. They will be sick with desire. Desire for me. I will smile, probably laugh at them, and leave.I put the fourth beer can down. It is empty. There are two cans left from the six pack. Two shiny silver cans with clear plastic nooses around their necks. The parking lot is chock full of cars. The pleasure seekers have parked on both sides of the street in front of the club. In fact, as I crane my neck up and down the street, there are no parking spots left. The House of God is full of worshipers tonight. This reminds me, if faggot Stevie is in, first thing I am going to do is tell him to go fuck himself. Whatever was going on with me two weeks ago, he sure took advantage.I am thinking, he owes me one.Yes. He owes me a blow job.To even the score.How does this work?It just does.How else do you even the score when you have sucked somebody’s cock?The answer?He has to blow you. Simple. There is no other way. Because ‘sorry’ doesn’t work. ‘Let’s forget it happened’ doesn’t work. Beating the crap out of him doesn’t work. No, Stevie needs to blow me to erase this thing from my life. It has nothing to do with me being a fag. It simply levels the playing field. I blew him. He blows me. Negative one, plus one, equals zero. And therefore, it never happened. The math was sound.He doesn’t need to be cruising through life with a big one-up on the straight guy. Telling his fag buddies a straight guy blew him. Building his reputation on my stupidity. Even though he is a fag, he is a guy. Guys love to brag about their conquests. And a straight guy as good looking as me, as physically imposing as me, would be an incredible, once in a lifetime conquest for a fag like Stevie. I sure didn’t need a dirty little secret in my closet. Spilling out into the world, should asshole Stevie ever walk into my life again. He didn’t need a ‘one-up’ on me.Once he was done swallowing the meat and sucking back my juice, we would be even. Then he would tell me all about this god character. I was somewhat intrigued by this mystery. God was, after all, one of my fellow leather gang members. A legend with legendary powers.The damn curiosity thing was running rampant within me.To put a nice hetero punctuation on this entire situation, I might beat Stevie to near death.Show him who the dominant one is.Good plan.[To be continued……]Visit RONAN JACKSON JEFFERSON on Facebook.Watch ‘TRAILER FOR THIRTY-ONE DAYS’ on YouTube.