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I never had any attractive teachers during my school years. My third grade teacher Mrs. Holden doesn”t count. I don”t even think I got boners back then. But I would imagine that if I did have a hot young teacher in high school, I”d probably have felt an urge to fuck her. I wouldn”t consider myself “hot,” but I would say I”m sexy. I can understand why that in my first year as a high school math teacher why some eighteen-year-old girls would want to take me home.

I had just finished my first week ever as an official “math teacher.” I was still getting over the initial aura of consistently being called “Mr. Glenn,” as opposed to “Dave.” There was a big party in San Diego, and a bunch of us made the hour-and-a-half drive down there. I felt like celebrating a week”s work in “the real world.” I felt grown up. I felt like a man. I knew everything.

Though saturated with a high volume of meatheads and tweakers, the party was impressive–about two hundred people, three kegs, and a couple twenty-year-old bartenders making mixers. Kimber, one of the girls who had come with us, had invited a bunch of her girlfriends she knew in the area. After my second drink, she introduced me to two of them.

I remembered she once told me a friend of hers thought I was cute. After some small talk with these two, I could tell it was one of them. They were both eighteen and inexperienced at hiding their attraction, especially after Kimber told them I was a high school math teacher. It was obvious. Their shoulders squared towards me; they smiled in excess; and they stared at me 90% of the time, even when Kimber was speaking.

I went for Tanya, the cuter of the two. She had long brown hair, great legs, a nice smile, and a spunky attitude. I liked her immediately. Although the other girl, Roxy, was an attractive blonde, she was so quiet and timid she didn”t participate in the conversation and just stared. I had already forgotten her name.

After downing a couple beers together, Tanya cut in line to get us another one. After close to an hour of chatter, we were holding hands. A few minutes later we were making out in plain view of everyone. We didn”t find a dark corner. We didn”t go looking for secret alleys. We didn”t give a fuck. We were going back to her place. Soon.

We took off around one. Some schleprock friend of hers with a popped collar and loudmouth girlfriend drove us home. I was too buzzed to pay much attention to them, but I do remember going through a Del Taco drive-through. Tanya and I didn”t order anything. We made out in the backseat while the schlep ordered something called “Dan”s Deal.”

When we arrived at her apartment, we took turns peeing and retreated to her bedroom. When Tanya turned the lights on, I was delighted to finally find a room messier than mine. Clothes were strewn all over the place; she didn”t even have a designated laundry pile like me. Besides clothes, there were old candy wrappers, crumpled up printer papers, a photo, two nacho cheese Dorito chips, crumbs–probably from a cookie, and at least six pairs of shoes.

Everywhere I looked were more clothes, more wrappers, more shoes, more wrinkled papers, even another bed. I almost didn”t notice that there was a real person lying on the bed–the timid blonde. Either I had hit the jackpot or I had hit a massive roadblock. The blonde awoke as soon as we turned the lights on and gave a friendly, “Hey.” The two girls briefly discussed their night and how they got home. While I lay down on Tanya”s bed, horny as hell, she turned off the lights and walked over to join me.

The glow of the girls” two computers illuminated the room as Tanya lay next to me.  She was unsure whether to hook up with me just yet with her roommate only ten feet away. She got over it quickly when I got on top of her and started kissing her. She even pulled the old “So, Mr. Glenn, are you gonna send me to detention?” I played along, and we fooled around some more. A few moments later, she looked over at the roommate and asked, “Roxy, what are you doing?”

Startled, Roxy hesitated and then replied, “I”m just lying down.” I sensed an opportunity. It was now or never. I smiled and said, “Roxy, come over here,” I invited her in a half-joking, half-serious tone. I awaited the girls” reply.

Most girls would throw me out for the suggestion I”d made. But Tanya was cool. I only gave it a 15% chance Tanya would be mad. I was right and Tanya remained silent. Roxy slowly got up and staggered over to our bed. I was lying across Tanya”s legs, and when Roxy hopped on the bed, she lay next to Tanya. I got on top of Tanya and started kissing her. Fifteen seconds later, I made the critical switch over to Roxy–for all the marbles. I started kissing her, and she kissed me back. Tanya remained quiet.

THIS WAS HAPPENING! I switched back and forth in intervals of twenty-five seconds while taking off the girls” clothes at the same time. When they both were completely naked, I started “checking their oil” simultaneously. It was at that moment that the consummation of all my wildest dreams began. They started making out with each other as I fingered them. This was too much. I went down on them, switching off a couple times. They continued to make out. The threesome was on.

After going down on them, they laid me on my back and took my pants off. They shared my cock ravenously, although Roxy was a bit selfish. She definitely got more suck time. They then pulled out a condom and rolled it onto my dick. Roxy sat on my face while Tanya sat on my dick. After a while, I bent them over and took turns fucking them as they made out with each other. Ultimately, I ended up casino online fucking Tanya doggie-style while Roxy played with herself until she started squirting all over the place. When we had finally all climaxed, we lay, exhausted, in the bed, a trio of hedonistic pioneers.

That didn”t happen. I wish I could say my pants came off. I wish I could claim my dick actually got wet. I wish I could declare that sex organs went “squirt.” But I can”t. After checking the oil and going down on them, I started to unravel. I made out with them in turns again, this time in quicker intervals. The intervals soon became so quick that I probably broke the sound barrier with my speed. Like most people, my mind and body have a way of doing things at warped speed when I get nervous. I remember in my first year of teaching–just a few months after my night with Tanya–when the principal showed up unannounced for an observation. I”ve never said “y=mx b” faster in my entire life. He brought me into his office after school that day and confessed that he couldn”t understand a word I”d said. While he explained my disastrous instruction delivery, I remember having flashbacks of this night. From the bedroom to the classroom, I was a spaz, and spazzes always fuck their shit up.

After the fifteenth frantic switch, Tanya stared at me, “Look at you. Who do you think you are?” A few moments later, Roxy got up and left the room. If there is such a thing as a negative orgasm, it was at that moment. For all of us. My sexual fantasies just weren”t ready for their coronation. Not on that night.

There is a time and place for aggressiveness, but it definitely isn”t during the infancy of a threesome. I had blown it. The girls could sense my eagerness and inexperience from a mile away. After Roxy left the room, Tanya and I continued to go at it, but I had lost all touch with reality. I still thought I was hot shit. As Tanya dry-humped me over my shorts, I jumped the gun and asked her if she had a condom. She stopped, “Uh, what kind of girl do you think I am? I don”t do that.” Thirty seconds later she got up. “I”m going to watch TV in the living room with Roxy.” I lay there in anguish, a pathetic lump of skin, bone, and cloth. Cock too.

After a few more futile attempts at Tanya–in one pathetic attempt I even followed her into the living room and tried to cuddle with her only to get kicked off the couch because I was making things “crampy”–I realized she had lost all attraction to me and I didn”t blame her. I had let the situation go to my head and I deserved the result. She ended up driving me back to a nearby friend”s house a little after four. I instantly went to the bathroom to jerk off to my imagination of “what could have been,” but when I discovered a Cheri magazine hidden in the cabinet beneath the sink, I took the visual alternative. I passed out on the couch, a galactic disappointment to single men across the universe.

The next day I awoke in my clothes and saw the stain of Tanya”s pussy juice on my shorts. It was sad. I even sniffed it a few times to torture myself. My sorrow didn”t stop me from lying to all my friends, “I got in a threesome last night.” The regret of my failure lasted for over a week.

I think the government should capture guys like me and throw us on an island somewhere designated only for guys who blew a threesome. We could all discuss our woeful stories and drink away our sorrows. It would make for good constructive therapy. I have some friends who could be sent there. Ron blew a threesome because he got too greedy. Axe blew a threesome because he had to take a leak. The list goes on. But it”s all the same. The stories all end in broken dreams and painful regrets. Writing this story is my therapy, my woe, my unfortunate destiny. There are no happy endings to this tale.

Howdy all. My name is Dave Glenn. This is officially my first post on Our Thursday. I hope you enjoy my stories…

This happened about seven years ago right before I started grad school, and I still remember it like it was last night. I haven”t told anyone this story yet–at least not all of it. It made me feel so idiotic that I planned on taking it to the grave, but I”ve decided to finally go public.

            I was still quite innocent in the art of walking the Vegas strip after 2 a.m., which was littered with screaming fat chicks, homeless men, stumbling couples, and hookers. As I walked across a bridge beneath one of those blaring fifty-foot TVs, two black chicks approached me. “Hey sexy! Where do you think you”re going?” I”d never been too much into black girls, but a handful of TV stars have wowed me into busting a semi. On the top of that list is Jada Pinkett from Menace II Society before she chopped off her hair. One of these girls was a carbon copy of her (Halle Berry is overrated–sorry). Even though the other one looked like Play”s chick Sharane from House Party who had dripping hair and was always wearing yellow (http://images2.cinema.de/imedia/2389/1972389,EGxloAICFWSu_r7y GPq9EciiZbCW3Mw4jOkFo1C99M4KkaxWF1KrjFCZBNmk5MvxRKEDJ8TNqn25i_p1iCAHQ==.jpg), I was hooked on Jada and Sharane from the start. I hoped they weren”t hookers.

            They were hookers. After they faked a few interested questions about my night, it came: “How much money you got on you?” Sharane asked.

            “Nothing, actually. I crapped out,” I replied, continuing my stroll. I wasn”t lying; I”d just lost my bankroll and gone over my $300 ATM-allowance for the day. Until I was ATM-eligible again in about twenty-two hours, I was more useless than that one time in fifth grade when I went to the mall arcade and only had two dimes.

            “Don”t you got an ATM, sweetie?” Jada asked, caressing the back of my neck.

            “Yep, but I already tried to take money out. It won”t let me. Sorry, girls — I”m broke.”

            Expecting to see them flee my hopelessness, they continued to walk alongside me as Jada persisted, “I”ll make you a deal: We find an ATM. If you get money, the three of us party all night. If your card denies you again, we give you a blowjob for free.”

            I stopped. “What?”

            “You heard her,” Sharane added. “If your ATM don”t work, we”ll suck yo dick anyways.”

            This was too good to be true. To suddenly be offered a free blowjob from two girls who depended on such acts for survival was something completely foreign to an unlucky, threesome-blowing guy like myself. Because I am a believer that free blowjobs exist, I accepted their proposition as we made our way down the escalator.

            The girls had a suspicious bounce in their step. “Oooh, you gettin” your dick sucked,” they kept saying musically, squeezing my ass, hooking their arms in mine, thrusting their hands up the back of my shirt.

            Jada and Sharane stood attentively at my side watching the screen as my ATM card failed, which was what I was hoping for. If my transaction had gone through, I would have had to make up some story about “my friends waiting for me” and flee. No way was I paying for sex. 

            “Try one more time,” Jada insisted.

            At this point, I knew I was in the clear: I had no money and there was nothing the girls could do about it. To satisfy their empty demand, I tried my card again. Declined. I put the card back in my pocket along with my ID, room card, and gum (I never carry my wallet in Vegas; it”s too bulgy and at risk of getting stolen.)

            The three of us stepped away from the machine almost simultaneously. “Don”t worry, sweetie, we keepin” our promise. You gettin” yo dick sucked,” Jada affirmed.

            We walked to Sharane”s white Expedition, which was parked just around the corner in a rundown parking structure. A pale obese man was pissing in front of the car next to them. Sharane interrupted, “What the fuck is this? Get yo” fat ass out my eyes. Go pee in the alley next to the garbage can you Chunk mothafucka.”

            The fat man–the timid kind with floppy hair and a lost gaze–zipped up and walked away.

            Sharane drove while Jada slowly eased my pants off in the back seat. “Where we going?” I asked as I wriggled out of my jeans.

            “We need to get condoms,” Jada said. “But don”t worry, you gettin” yo dick sucked.”

            My casino online hard-on flopped out and boisterously smacked into my lower abdomen as Jada pulled down my boxers.

            As a man living in America with an average sized penis, I”ve heard all sorts of commentary on my member. While most girls never like talking about wieners, several girls have spoken up: a couple girls called it “big”; some called it “the perfect size”; one called it “bigger than my boyfriend”s”; one called it “medium sized” (which probably meant “below average”); and one girl called it “small.” (While titty-fucking her, she looked up at me and said, “Dude, you have a small dick.” This prompted me to immediately stuff it in her mouth. Fuck that bitch.)

            So when Jada got a glimpse of my willy and the first words out of her mouth were “Daaaamn boy, nice dick,” I felt like calling up the titty-fuck chick and putting her on the phone with Jada. When a black woman compliments you on your Johnson, you take it.

            Jada slipped a condom on me and began sucking. I was officially a member of the Bang Bus. Too bad condom blowjobs are about enjoyable as getting a neck massage while wearing a spacesuit. 

            After a few minutes of rubbery head, we pulled into a Walgreens parking lot. Sharane immediately got out of the passenger seat and switched spots with Jada, who got out of the car saying, “I”m-a go buy condoms. Sharane will take care of you.” Jada slammed the door and Sharane wordlessly went to town on my space dick. Sharane was way better than Jada at blowjobs, corkscrewing and making that slurping noise that sounds like a half fart half oink. But when I put my hand on her head, she went ballistic. “DON”T TOUCH MY HEAD!” She glared at me a moment and then continued sucking. I was trying my best to work up a load, but the condom was blocking the sensation too much. I”d have a better chance at attaining arousal from a dry pocket-pussy–which I haven”t tried yet, but my friend McBride would highly recommend. I tried closing my eyes and using mental stimulation, but the peeing fat man kept entering my thoughts, which was unacceptable.

            I instinctively put my hand back on Sharane”s he–“I FUCKING TOLD YOU–DON”T TOUCH MY HEAD, YOU STUPID ASS!” She stopped sucking and began the peculiar act of jerking me off while turning her head sideways to look out the window. I felt bad because I honestly forgot about her no-touching policy. I was surprised Sharane even demoted me to a jerk-off rather than kicking me out. It was as if she had a job to finish even though I”d paid her nothing. These chicks were idiots.   

            Sharane finished me off with what had to be the fastest handjob of all time. I didn”t know human hands could jerk something so furiously. As I was still finishing my last orgasmic contraction, Sharane yelled at me, “Now pull yo pants up!” I pulled up my pants like the time after I guiltily asked the babysitter to wipe my ass for me when I was four (I was a late bloomer with the butt-wiping). Then as if on cue, Jada returned from her fifteen-minute trip to Walgreens.

            “We good,” Jada told Sharane as the two girls both sat in front, while I sat in the back, my cummed-in condom still on. They drove me back to the strip and left me on the side of the road. I felt used…like a chick. I stood alone beneath the glimmering lights of the strip, trying to figure out who”d gotten the best of that exchange. Something just didn”t make sense. After sneakily taking off my condom in public and tossing it in a trashcan, I walked home in utter bewilderment. I couldn”t decide whether to be satisfied or worried. 

            When I got back to my room, the door was propped open and the guys were still partying. I told them a brief summary of my free blowjob, which created a mass confusion. Too tired to think of any explanations for the girls” motives/stupidity, I curled up in a ball on one of the beds and crashed. 

            I awoke to noises of zipping and rustling. The guys had an early-morning flight to catch, obliterating my hopes of sleeping in. After a curious early-morning dump, I began packing my things. When I reached into my jeans pocket to grab my two most important items, my ATM and ID, something was wrong. The gum was still there. So was my ID and keycard. But my ATM was missing. I searched the other pocket. Nothing. Checked the floor. Nothing. The bathroom. Nothing. The bed. Nothing.

            No fucking way.

            I got the Wells Fargo number from the back of one of Vince”s buddy”s cards, and called the operator. It went like this:

            Me: “Yeah, can I check the recent activity on my card.”

            Customer Service: “Sure, one second.”

            [Long silence]

            Customer Service: “Okay, looks like we got some activity here. Walgreens at 2:35 a.m. for $241. Then Walgreens again at 3:20 a.m. for $350. Another Walgreens for $320. And two more Walgreens for $288 and $260.

            Me: What the fuck! “Uh, those aren”t my transactions. Can you cancel my card?

            Customer Service: “No problem. I”m canceling your card right now. And you said those aren”t your transactions?”

            Me: “Nope.”

            Customer Service: “Okay, I”m going to transfer you to the Fraud Department. One second.”

            [“…all the vampires walkin” through the valley. Move west down Ventura Boulevard. And all the bad boys are standin” in the shadows. And the good girls are home with broken hearts. Now I”m free! Free fallin”! Yeah I”m free! Free fallin” Whoa-oo-Whoa…”]

            Fraud Department: “Fraud Department, this is Lucy.”

            Me: “Hi, Lucy. I”d like to report a stolen card.”

After five minutes of going over questions about timelines and possible culprits, Lucy had one final question: “Would you be willing to testify in court?” Testify in court? That meant that when they found Jada and Sharane, all the sleazy details of that night would be revealed. Not only that, but then they”d find out I had gambled student loans, which was apparently illegal. I”d get unfairly labeled as a gambling dirtbag who buys prostitutes, eliminating any chances of me ever getting hired as a teacher.           

            Me: “Uh, do I have to?”

            Lucy: “Yes, we”re going to investigate this and find out who stole your money. We”ll need you to testify.”

            Me: “Yeah, I guess that”s fine. Can I call you back?”

            Lucy: “Sure. I”m going to need to fax you some documents and have you sign and send it back to me. And we still need a full written report.”

            Me: “Okay.”

I hung up, harshed. Jada and Sharane had gone on a shopping spree spending close to $1,500 of my money, and there was nothing I was going to do about it. In a gruesome epiphany, all the pieces fell into place. Their plan: Watch me punch in my ATM password (twice), then snag my card as they eased my pants down my legs while I sat there like a giddy Humbert Humbert getting swindled by two Lolitas.

            Case closed. Putting my future at risk for an illegitimate $1,500 condom blowjob just wasn”t worth it. I cut my losses and drove home.

            I didn”t do another Vegas trip for close to a year. One, I couldn”t afford it. Two, none of my friends got the Vegas bug, which helped curb my obsession. Three, I”d worn the city out worse than Lady Gaga”s “Poker Face.” I needed a break. I re-focused my life on healthy things like school, exercise, and normal partying.

            Somewhere out there, Jada and Sharane are still laughing at me, telling stories to their hooker friends about that idiot who thought he”d get his dick sucked for free. And all their hooker friends are giving them props saying things like, “Daaaaamn! Good idea! I”m gonna start doin” that from now on!” Sadly, I have made prostitution an even more corrupt business. Or maybe their card-snatching technique is widespread, and I”m just another sucker. Either way, somewhere in Vegas two thieving whores are probably still going through the $1,500 worth of condoms they purchased seven years ago. Sharane could have at least let me touch her hair.