Taking a Readers' Virginity
In my 2005 Chevy Astro
I fucked a virgin last night. She was 19. I was 25. We were in the back of my van, on the twin-sized bed I built into the back.
She’s the second girl to be fucked in there. I’m starting to notice the frame isn’t built completely even, because we fell down into the aisle of the van about 20 times. That happens to me when I sleep there and I’m parked on an uneven street, sinking down into the sidewalk.
She met me through the blog. That’s how I meet everyone lately.
She messaged me telling me she was a half-asian college student who got wet reading my blog, with a winky face, and that’s all it takes to bait me out, apparently, SIX HOURS NORTH, FROM SUNNY LA TO SHITTY SACRAMENTO, BACK INTO THE WIND AND COLD AND RAIN, IN DECEMBER, IN MY 20 YEAR OLD VAN.
She was visibly disappointed to see that I was visibly homeless. I think she was hoping this was all fiction.
She must’ve been looking forward to some suave, well-dressed, sharp-jawed, olive-skinned, snake of a man, because who can conjure all these stories if not him?
Me, that’s who. So when we first sat together in the front seat of her car and I said “I want to touch you…”
and she said “if you touch me I’ll scream,”
I understood why she was still a virgin at 19, and why she’s never had any kind of sexual relationship with a man:
Because she was raised on the internet and she’s terrified of reality. Many Zoomer girls are like this.
But this one reached out to me, the Worst Boyfriend Ever, she was kinda asking for it…
So despite her verbal warnings I slipped my hand around her neck anyways, I looked at her and said “that wasn’t so bad was it?” and her heart rate increased at first but then in a few seconds she was okay.
It’s almost like she needed me to just take it or it wasn’t going to happen. Remind me to stop listening to women in general about what they “want” or “don’t want,” and just trust my instinct.
At first she was terrified to get in my van. It took me a sec to remember why. Sometimes I get so deep into this, mentally, I forget I’m literally a homeless creep driving around fucking teenage girls in my van. But laymen are always aware.
I asked her if she wanted to get in the van and drive to a park or something, ‘cause people could see through the windows of this Camry, you know, in this bright parking lot here, and my hand traveled down from her neck to her chest and her pierced nipples (oy vey) and eventually down to her pelvic bones and before you know it this girl who told me 10 minutes ago “do not touch me, if you touch me i’ll scream” was fucking convulsing in the front seat of her car while she got fingered by the dirty homeless hands of the Worst Boyfriend Ever.
My conscience floated above it all, judging me, but my body has not been listening to Jiminy Cricket lately, as a way of life, so I just kept going and she kept convulsing and moaning and I said “you ready to get in the van now?” and yes she was.
Poor Lucy. She only wants the guys who are brave enough to ignore her.
I told her “this is a dangerous trait to have…” and she said “I know…” and that’s all we could say about that.
I didn’t fuck her that first night, though, it would’ve been more sad than fun.
The most fun-tastic part came the next day, when we were at her house, and no one was home, and we were all ready to fuck, and we made it into her room and stripped down to our barest clothes, and I was finally about to pulverize her virgin half-Chinese pussy,
when I heard the door open in the living room.
I heard it before she did— and she’s actually a virgin, so this is like the worst moment of her life, and we’re both high on weed (don’t judge me),
and after half a beat she heard it too, and she understood what was happening, and she immediately freaked out and said HIDE IN THE CLOSET! and I said okay— and I hid in the closet. I think I was just in my boxers.
I’m at this point lately, with my life, and all these circumstances, that it’s hard for me to tell my stories because people think I’m making it up.
But I’m not making it up, I’m just stupid. That’s what I thought as I stood nakedly inside that girl’s closet while she audibly greeted her brother with a “hey whats up..” and her brother said “hey…”
and I heard him go “OOOOHHOOOHOHHOH WHAT???!?!” as he surely looked past her, onto the floor of the room and saw my backpack, shoes, jacket, all strewn about, which she forgot to put away, because no one was prepared for this, he came in so suddenly, we’re both high as fuck, she’s 19, etc.
I smile hard at his reaction from inside the closet, cause I know that’s the same reaction I would have if I walked in on my little sister, in the midst of a comparable situation.
But my smile soon faded when I learned that Lucy, the virgin, the stupid fucking virgin, she showed her older brother my blog, a few nights ago, prior to my arrival.
Yes, my blog, THIS blog, the one where I wrote about driving up to Sacramento to fuck his sister in my van. Brother if you’re reading this, it’s all fiction. I swear. I know this can’t last forever.
She thought he was at work from 4-9pm but actually it was 11-4.
She said “I swear he told me 4-9” over and over, enraged, feeling bad for herself, which is understandable— you were just about to get fucked by the legendary worst boyfriend ever when your brother walked in and ruined it,
I’m trying to calm her down but she won’t have it,
She says we need to get out of here right now, like her brother’s a violent psycho or something— I bet he’s not, but I don’t want to take any chances, so I just comply.
In our haste, I think I left my beloved grey velvet “sex bag” on the floor of her room.
But we had to get out of there, so we drove away to some parking lot, both of us super high, finding a way to laugh about what had just occurred.
I assured Lucy I would not be writing about all this and she said thank you. But asking me not to write is like asking a beaver not to build a dam. It’s not possible. Have you seen that video where there’s a beaver kept as a pet in some suburban white family’s home and he just makes a dam out of toys and clothes between the doorways, because his genetic instinct is so strong he just HAS TO DO IT?
That’s me with writing now.
Anyways, It’s too bright outside to fuck her in the van and we can’t go back to her place and I’m pretty high on Weed so I ask her: uhhh, wanna see a movie? and she’s 19 and does whatever I say so she obliged.
So we watched the gay movie, and yeah it had its moments but overall it was just too slow, still I enjoyed being with her— Lucy, in the back of the theater, resting her 19 year old head on my 25 year old chest, my hand softly gripping her thigh, kissing her temple every 20 minutes or so to remind her we were still alive,
I enjoyed that part, and she did too, and I probably asked her about a thousand times:
“so you’ve really never done any of this before? you’ve never had a guy touch you like this, kiss you, nothing?”
and I looked deep into her eyes so I could tell if she was lying and guys I don’t think she was, I have no tolerance for anything but the truth, that she really Was a virgin,
and I felt guilty at first but then I actually kind of envied her, that she gets to deal with a professional on her first round,
that she gets to have a story as fun as this: where she found an online blogger writing about cheating on his girlfriend and fucking his way down the USA but the prose is so beautiful you can’t help but give him a chance, so you message him saying you’re a half-chinese virgin and you even tip him $25 to get his attention,
and he really is an addict so he can’t help but drive up 6 hours to see you, and you’re terrified at first so you tell him not to touch you or you’ll scream, and that’s why you’ve repelled every other guy so far, that’s why you’re still a kissless touchless femcel virgin at 19,
but this guy has nothing left to lose, he spent all day driving up here and every moment of life is precious, so he just can’t help but start touching you anyway, and he correctly assumes that this kind of forcefulness is exactly what you wanted— no, exactly what you needed,
and Yeah your friends will act repulsed if you ever tell them but really they’ll be jealous, when you shamefully recount that brief two-day episode in which this weird skinny guy with the girly voice and the sniffling cold coerced you into his van and drove around with you until you found a good hiding spot and then crawled into the back on the twin sized mattress he installed just for nights like these,
and he kissed you all over your body and he tongued your nipple piercing and felt you getting sopping wet in seconds, and he mocked you for it, which turned out to be exactly what you like, and maybe you know in the back of your head that he’s just going to use you as Content and type about this and post it online but life is so short and you’re so bored of going in circles that you don’t even fucking care, and you really hope the window blinds are as visually protective as he says they are, and this is so insane but he seems to be comfortable enough with it all, and you really do want to get fucked at the end of the day,
but who am I kidding, Lucy, you’re not thinking any of this— your mind is blank, I knew you were that type of girl from the first moment I touched you, you are built to be used and fucked and killed, you’ve always known this deep inside, but up until now you’ve only felt it as weird uncomfortable spasms in your chest, now you know it for real, and it’s bittersweet because now you’ll never get enough,
and by now I’ve learned that you feel best from behind, not only because face-to-face fucking is a bit too intimate for someone I just met yesterday (you must remember I am still a Sensitive Young Man after all), but also I can tell that this position feels best for you, too, based on your precious little moans, and I don’t even mind that you’re not screaming like I normally would want you to be, because I want you to feel that for the first time with someone who loves you, someone who’s not me, someone who loves you for reasons other than Work.
and yes, this is work, now, for me, this is my job, and while it may be the best job in the world, let’s not pretend I would be driving so far out here if I didn’t think it would produce some words like this,
still I do love you, and I think I am doing you a favor now that you know Sex is not so scary and bad, and now you’ve got a great story, and maybe an STD, just kidding, I don’t know, I should really get tested, (it’s not like i’m fucking a new girl every week but we’re getting to depths unseen here)…
I should really slow down, I’m going to get myself killed, her brother must be following the blog now, and Yuzu’s ex-boyfriend who also found the blog is trying so hard to doxx me, further ruin my life, I know my days are numbered here but I’m content to just keep loving and writing my Completely Fictional Stories and let the good times roll.
after I came, inside a condom, inside Lucy, we fell asleep on each other, in the van, on the bed, in the rain. I think that was the best part.
then I drove her back to her car, in the grocery store parking lot, so she could get back in her Camry and drive home, because if she stayed overnight her brother would ask questions,
and I gave her a kiss, and I left to find a quiet suburb to park and sleep in, and I ate a piece of bread with peanut butter on it, and I fell asleep.
And then I woke up and typed all this.
And I think… this is a good place to stop, for now.
25 years old? Blud is officially the unc of substack
In the past, a man bragging about his sexual perversion could find himself chased by a mob with torches and pitchforks and get burned at the stake, either literally or figuratively. Now, what you get is more women interested in sexual perversion asking to meet you.
Oh, the humanity.