xTx & me

I've been a fan of fiction writer xTx for some time now and you should be too. Her stuff is raw and funny and sick and excited and pained and I relate to it. There's her blog, her book Normally Special, countless stories on the web and her free ebook, Nobody Trusts a Black Magician. The first story I read of hers is a hilariously exaggerated self-effacing screed of sexual ineptitude, CIRCLE SLASH ERECTIONS. It's Lena Dunham on steroids before Lena Dunham. I wrote a male response to this, I BET I'M MAKING YOU EXTREMELY NOT WET RIGHT NOW, and to my delight xTx rather liked it. She's allowed me to reprint both after the jump. Caution, these are pretty raunchy, thoroughly unerotic, and hopefully funny. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

by xTx 
I have no sexual prowess. Inability to engorge penises is my specialty. If you feel ‘boners are bothersome,’ look no further. I am the girl for you.

If you enjoy your penis in its flaccid state, give me a call. I will awkwardly fumble around in your crotch using my face, mouth, and hands. After bumping your nuts softly with my forehead for twelve minutes, you might want to encourage me to try using my mouth. I will make motorboat sounds against your limp noodle for a while and you might stifle a giggle because, while not eliciting feelings of ecstasy, it does tickle a bit, and oh what a funny sound it makes!

At that point I might recollect a porno or two and decide to fellate you properly. I’ll take you into my mouth and gargle your listless member like it was congealed Listerine. You—with your head resting on your arms crossed so casually behind your head—will marvel at my incompetence. You will think, "My dick hasn’t been this soft since that one time I accidentally watched that beheading video. This girl is truly amazing!"

I will struggle for maybe an hour while you never get hard. You will especially enjoy when I use the backs of my hands to trap your droopy wiener and softly rub it back and forth like a germaphobe attempting to create fire from sticks. You will watch it twist and untangle, twist and untangle: a peach-colored festival toy.

Whenever I look up to your eyes—so full of failure that I am a hair’s breadth from crying—you will whisper, "You’re doing fine, really." Even though I think you’re lying, your smile is so kind that I get back to work, playing the ‘where’s your nose’ game with the four inches of floppy flesh you have so graciously chosen to share with my ineptitude.

Your ejaculation is my hard work. Your climax is my perseverance. Your nut bust is my can-do attitude. Your orgasm is my never-say-die determination in the face of mounting failure.
Nobody has ever worked so hard for you, accomplishing nothing, but so content in the trying.
Could this be love? you’ll think, and later, when we’re both quiet and resting from it all, you’ll ask me questions that matter. You’ll commit my answers to memory because now, you want to try....for me.

by Casper Kelly

I have no sexual prowess. If your vagina is a hot house flower than consider me the winter frost. I'm like Arid Extra Dry for your vagina pit. If you’re wearing a thin blouse and find nipple erections uncomfortable or embarrassing, look no further. I am your “man.”

If you enjoy your clit the exact opposite of swollen or enflamed, shoot me a text. I will blunderbuss about your secret garden using my fingers, tongue, and penis. After biting the area around your nipples for twelve minutes, you might want to mention that doesn’t do much for you. I will stick my tongue down your earholes before working my way “downtonw” leaving a trail of slobber along your torso. I had Mexican for lunch. I will tongue your urethra, or is it your anus, who can be sure? Enjoy the short breathed snot whistles of my clogged sinuses as I tongue your thighs with all the panache of a day laborer applying paint to drywall.

At that point I might recollect a comedy routine about cunnilingus and decide to do it “properly.” I’ll mistake part of your vagina lips for your clit and “lick the alphabet,” although in reality I basically stick to the letter “I.” You— marveling at my incompetence —will point me in the right direction. As I chew your clit like bubblegum it will be a decision you come to regret. You will think, “My pussy hasn’t been this dry since I got sand in it at the beach. This dude is truly special!”

I will struggle for maybe an hour while you lie that you’re getting closer and your clit goes directly from not aroused to sore without passing “go.” You will finally throw in the towel and say you want me “inside you.” Get ready to be pounded! My massive frame will make you breathless in ways my unmassive member can only dream of. 

Whenever I look up to your eyes—so desperate for validation that my rickety erection is constantly on the verge of collapsing completely—you will stop thinking about what you are going to do this weekend and moan, “Oh god.” Even though I think you’re lying, I am already ejaculating. You suddenly realize I am finished and start to fake an orgasm but I am already limp and slipped out. No worries! I will perform my patented move of grinding you with my pelvis.

Your fake orgasm is my honorable mention. Your pretend climax is my “puss”-a-verance. I have the curly hair stuck to my tongue, and you the numb/sore clit, to prove it. It is a lie but it is our lie.

Could this be love? I’ll think, and later, when we’re resting from it all, I’ll ask you about things that interest you in order to compensate for my failure in bed. You will answer vacantly, busy imagining how you will put this event into words accurately when you call your friends, while waiting the minimum polite length of time to bid farewell, saying something came up. I will joke that something indeed has “come up,” motioning to my penis, but since it is still flaccid and almost turned inward on itself in it’s own dried semen the joke isn’t as funny/flirty as it could have been.