Sexy Book of Sexy Sex (29 page)

But that’s exactly what she did. Three hours went by. I thought I saw something in the water, but it was just a bird skimming the surface. Five hours went by. I fell asleep staring into the darkness looking for her green glow. I dreamt I was back in my vintage suit. Only this time there was no light in the black water. No life source from which to breathe. I felt a warmth again and I thought maybe it was her. But now it was my own piss. I hadn’t moved from my spot since the bus left. I was afraid I might miss her. At dawn the sun lit up the gray sky to a dull silver. I sat up and stared back at the lake. It was serene. My chest hurt. I told myself it was because I was alone in a foreign country with pissed jeans and an empty stomach. But I knew the real reason was heartbreak.

I stood up and began to walk back up toward the road. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do next. Find some food. Maybe hike around the lake a bit and try to find her from the other side. Perhaps make my way back home. Call Rita.

And that’s when I heard her. Something in the water was moving. I heard a cry. It sounded like Chewbacca. I hate to compare her to that, but that’s exactly what it sounded like. It was guttural and high-pitched at the same time.

I turned around and there she was in the lake. But she looked different. Her luxurious peacock-colored velvet scales were replaced by a leathery olive green skin that wrinkled across her body like a sick elephant’s. Her neck was much shorter, only about three feet. And her head was smaller and less shapely, like a nub without the horns. Those magic green eyes that I loved were replaced by two beady black ones. I tried to make out an expression on her face, one of love, or at least recognition. But it was empty.

I was torn. I was disappointed that this monster didn’t match up to the love of my dreams. But I was also overjoyed that she was real. Validating my sanity. She wailed out to me again and pounded her tiny head in the water, creating ripples that crawled right up to my shoe. I knew that she wanted me to come to her. I hesitated. If only that J.K. Rowling pub were closer so I could work up some serious beer goggles. On the hotness scale of one to ten for mythical beasts, this one was rocking a four. I’m not a snob, but when you’re used to fantasizing to a ten you sort of have to retrain your brain.

I locked eyes with her. She held my gaze with a blank stare. It was now or never. I dove face-first into the water and swam frantically. I’m not a spectacular swimmer, but I have finessed the doggy paddle.

The water was cold and it numbed me to my core. I opened my eyes, surprised by how clear it was. I could see Nessie gently paddling her unusually tiny fins. Her body was lumpy and awkward. I swam up next to her, unsure what to do. So I treaded. She lowered her small head close to my face. She didn’t smell like salt at all. She smelled like rotten fish. I shuddered back a wave of nausea. And that’s when I saw it. The smile. Just like my fantasy. A little Buster, a little Rita, but all Nessie.

I reached out and held on to her leathery neck so I wouldn’t drown.

She howled again, but this time it was softer. I swung my leg over her back and straddled one of her humps. I could feel something moving inside Nessie, but it wasn’t fish. There was an eruption in the water directly behind me. The sulfur smell almost knocked me unconscious as I became the first human to witness the Loch Ness monster farting. I smiled. Nessie began to swim farther out. Her muscles moved under me. I squeezed my legs tighter around Nessie’s back, my crotch getting massaged from the movement of the hump. Instinctively the creature sensed she was carrying an extra bulge. She snapped her head around and buried her snout in my crotch. I gasped. She flicked her head up and licked me with a catlike tongue and then gunned it to the nearest shore.

She dropped me on a tiny patch of beach closed in by thick trees. She laboriously waddled her bulky body next to mine and wasted no time.

I threw off my soiled jeans and boxers and offered up my nervous cock.
I
was shaking with excitement and fear.

Nessie wrapped her tiny mouth all the way down to the base of my cock and held tight. She then swirled her sandy tongue around my shaft like a machine. I never could have dreamed it would feel this good. Soft, firm, rough, and relentless. Round and round, her tongue had a life of its own. Her eyes stared dead into mine. If her tongue wasn’t so amazing I would have lost my erection. I closed my eyes and conjured up my fantasy Nessie. The colorful elegant beast lifted her gorgeous head above the water, and I came uncontrollably into the real one’s mouth. I opened my eyes and watched Nessie suck out every last drop. She was starving for it. She pulled back and licked up and down my shaft in case she missed some.

“Ease up, Nessie!”

She let go of my cock and stared at me again with her black eyes. Only now there was a spark of green in them. She smiled. And I knew. Flying back to the United States was going to be even more cramped.

CHAPTER 8

The Dark Side of Sex

The Dark Side of Sex:

This Is Where the Tragic Happens

Life would be so much easier if sex were always a good thing, be it a physical bond between souls or a pleasant way to kill ten minutes until something good comes on TV. Unfortunately, sex sometimes kills far more than time. Sometimes it kills
people.

Did a chill just run down your spine? Good. Because if there’s one thing this chapter should teach you it’s that SEX IS DANGEROUS. Done wrong, it can ruin your reputation, your career, your future, your glass-bottom boat, your cashmere sweater, and scariest of all, your own genitals.

Did another chill just run down your spine? Even better. Because the first time you have sex, you start down a dangerous path. A few wrong turns and you could wind up at a grimy brothel in
Prostitutionville,
a secluded farmhouse in
Bestialitychusetts,
or a beautiful prewar townhouse with a backyard in
Pedophiiadelphia
(real estate there tends to be a buyer’s market).

Before switching over to whistles, many women carried a
rape theremin
to scare off assailants.

Did you just get a third, even chillier chill? That might be overdoing it a little. You don’t want to get too many butterflies in your penis or you’ll fall victim to another sexual nightmare: impotence. Fail to perform in the sack, and word of your sexual mediocrity will spread like mildfire.

The point is, there’s plenty to be scared of when it comes to sex. And in some ways, that only makes it hotter.

HlV/AIDS

One of the most devastating STDs is the fucking human immunodeficiency virus, also known as fucking HIV. Spread by unprotected sex or needle sharing, this shit-stick of a virus attacks and destroys white blood cells, hampering one’s ability to fight off infection and other, less cocksucking viruses. Then, like a real asshole, HIV progresses to its final shitty stage, known as Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS). AIDS is characterized by dark skin blotches, dementia, difficulty breathing, and being even more of a god-awful bloodfart than HIV (if you can imagine such a thing).

Because AIDS (which, it should be noted, is a cunty shitstain) is both fatal and incurable, nothing has done more to discourage people from practicing “free love,” which ended after the 1970s because of the party-killing evil dickbag AIDS. Thankfully, scientists are hard at work developing new drugs that will not only cure the pus-guzzling blight on humanity that is HIV, but kill it in the most slow and agonizing way possible (since that’s what it fucking deserves, the scum-sucking sack of shit). In the meantime, research continues, and people everywhere hope that AIDS dies of AIDS.

Fucking asshole.

HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU SLEPT WITH?

It’s probably more than you think. Because when you sleep with someone, you sleep with everyone that person has slept with, and everyone those people have slept with, and so on and so forth. In fact, your list of partners is so long that if you lined them up single file and walked them over a cliff, the death march would never end, because the people at the back of the line would be having babies … with you. Because apparently, you’re the type of sicko who gets turned on by forcing people to march off cliffs.

Sexually Transmitted Diseases (STDs)

If your genitals are burning, it’s not because someone is talking about them. Chances are you’ve picked up one of nature’s little hitchhikers, and now that it’s riding shotgun in your reproductive system, it’s decided maybe it’ll go wherever you’re going. DON’T LET IT! Unlike the people who transmit them, STDs never just wait until you fall asleep and sneak out of your apartment. You’ve got to kick them to the microscopic curb with the help of a bouncer named medicine. Remember: love is a battlefield, but sex is all-out biological warfare. Wear your protective gear, or pieces of you are going to start melting and falling off.