True Story©... That Time I Wrote To Penthouse

True Story©…
                Wait, I need to set up a little background before I get all the way into this one.
One of the things for boy children that comes from the separation from your father right as you enter adolescence is that sex ed is left to a gym teacher who is uncomfortable dealing with presenting factual information while being responded to with snickering.  The only other place to get it is from the streets, and by “streets,” I mean the older dudes in the neighborhood and peers and such.
Fact: this is a SHITTY way to learn something so important and is one of the reasons that teenage pregnancies were so prevalent when I was in high school.
                Now, True Story© time.

One time when I was 18 or 19, I was CONVINCED that I should write in to Penthouse Forum.  For those who don’t know or won’t Google, Penthouse Forum was a magazine with raunchier pictures than playboy and a section where people would write in to brag of their sexual conquests.  At 37, I am CONVINCED that none of that shit was true, but from ages 13-17, I was a lot more naïve about such things.  Armed with no real education on the subject and pretty limited (2ish years) experience, I took up my pen/pad and got to work on writing the letter.
                Without much experience in terms of years or sheer number of partners, I figured I should embellish on what I HAD done without using names or anything, so as to protect the names of the people involved.  I spent at least 3 weeks and 10 drafts on this damned letter.  I had plenty of time, I didn’t own a car at the time and was riding the bus to work at the mall, which gave me an hour and a half every day with nothing but my Walkman (c’mon, it was 1998-99) and headphones on my way to work and at the bus station.  I wanted to make sure it was good enough for them to look at and publish.
I forgot to account for the fact that I had gone from underinformed adolescent to sexually active pretty quickly with my only sex-ed after the childish language people used with their kids in the 80s and early 90s being porn and talking to similarly uneducated people.
I guess at this point, you all want to know how the letter went?  Well thank you for asking.  In a word, "emfuckingbarrassing" is how it went.
I will have to make my best guess at what it was in its entirety, because 18 years and alcohol will have made remembering it verbatim nigh impossible.  It went a bit like this...

“Penthouse,
                I’m only 18 years old right now and know that the submissions you guys normally receive are from older and more experienced people, but I felt this was worth sharing…
One time I after work at the amusement park I used to work at, a coworker approached me and told me of a party that she and some of her friends were going to, asking if me and my buddy would care to tag along.  Well, he was my ride home – we lived 3 blocks apart – so after consulting with him and gathering the address, we were on our way.
                I don’t know WHAT I was expecting when we got to the party, but when we arrived, we quickly realized that we WERE the party.  Opened the door, boobies and cookies out everywhere, not another man in sight, just me and my friend.  Only two of the girls here worked with us, the rest were complete strangers, so it made sense that the ones from work were looking to their friends with an “I told you” kind of look on their faces.
                Enough of the setup.  9 teenage girls in the apartment between 17 and 19 years old, I had just turned 17 and my friend was still 16.  All legal here in the great state of North Carolina.
Anyway, we walk into the apartment and the girls are all kind of giggly and playful, as if they KNOW what is about to go down.  Thinking back over it now, I think my buddy did too, but that was made moot when four of the girls took me by my arms and led me to a room.  They slowly removed my shirt and pants and felt up on my weewee through my briefs, then one of them reached over the band and pulled it out.  Ever the willing pleasers, before making their next moves, they checked with me for my preferences...

                “So what would you like for us to do next?”
                Me: “…  um…  I dunno, what would YOU like?”
                “We’re here for you, you can have whatever you want.”
                Me: “Well, umm…  I hadn’t really thought about it.”
                “Well what do you enjoy?”
                Me: “Well, I guess I could get you and her to lick my winky a little bit, then--…”
                “Did you say ‘winky’?”
                Me: “Something wrong with that?”
                “Well…  Awkward, but no.”
                Me: “I didn’t bring any rubbers…”
                “We did.”
                Me: “Oh, y’all have done this before?”
                *visibly rolling eyes* “Yes, a couple of times”
                Me: “Wow.”
                “So after we lick your--…  Look, I ain’t saying that crazy word.  After that, then what would you like?”
                Me: “Y’all are in charge here, surprise me and make my day.”

And make my day they did.  They did things to me that I had only seen in the video tapes that I found in the trunk of my uncle Bill’s BMW back in the day.  Each one took special time and attention to make me and my wee-wee feel like we were special invited guests.  This was easily the best my dingdong had felt in my whole life.
                They took turns kneeling in front of me and at one point all four of them shared.  One of them put the rubber on my winky and two of her friends held the 4th open for me to do my part.  This goes on for about 45 minutes to an hour until we were done.  We were advised that we couldn’t stay the night because while the one girl’s parents were out of town, she could be subject to random inspections when her uncle got off of work at like 3am.
With that, my buddy and I hopped back in his car and went home.  The next day at work was kind of awkward with the two girls we worked with, in that “you and three of your best friends know what my winky tastes like” kind of way.  Strangely, we were never able to finesse a repeat of that night with those girls, and my nickname around work with not only those two girls but dozens of others became “Winky” and I never figured it out until just before I left for greener pastures.”


I was SO proud of myself and just KNEW they would publish my letter…
Now, 19 years later, I am hopeful that they still might.

Post a Comment