Ugly As Sin
by Greg Scott
All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc. In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it. Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.
I sat at the bar sipping a beer. I never had any trouble being served. Bartenders didn't want to deal with me any longer than necessary so they never asked my age.
I was still enjoying the glow of having fucked my hot roommate less than a week ago. Of course, when the event was completed, Mark went back to his usual behavior of generally ignoring me except for a casual "good morning" or some other utterance of social obligation.
That was fine with me. I didn't expect anything different. I didn't even want it. I had achieved my goal of emptying my treasure trove of cum into his tight college freshman bubble butt.
As was usually the case in my sexual conquests, I had employed more that a little guile to get him to ignore my looks enough to not only allow such penetration but to actually hunger for it. I had years of practice compensating for my appearance.
"Honey, you're 'ugly as sin,'" my Grandma used to tell me every time we would visit her. "But just remember that your grandma loves you anyway."
That probably sounds cruel to you, but I believe that she thought she was doing me a favor. She was. When you are extremely unattractive, you need to start to learn to deal with it as soon as possible. There's no point in wishing that you could be average looking or that people would ignore the obvious shortcoming. It's not going to happen.
What you have to do instead is to learn to survive with your limitations. You can get by if you're clever enough, but it takes time to develop the necessary skills.
I didn't have to face my fate alone. My grandma was every bit as unpleasant to look at as I am. You could say the same thing about my parents if you ever saw them, which is highly unlikely since they don't venture about very much.
My dad's an engineer. Usually when a company needs a brilliant engineer they never give appearance a thought, but that's true only for a standard level of ugliness. Despite graduating first in his class from a prestigious university, he couldn't find a job anywhere, although he got more interviews that anyone in his class based upon the attributes that appeared on paper.
Since even the most homely need to eat and be sheltered, he found a way to survive by becoming an accomplished inventor, working from our home. He persuaded a normal looking neighbor to handle all of the necessary negotiations, although the clever neighbor also negotiated a fifty percent commission for himself on all the license fees that my father collected. Consequently both families led a life more or less free from financial concerns.
I'm not too sure what brought my parents together. Ugly people generally want to find a mate who is as attractive as those handsome people desire. My parents failed in that quest. I presume they ultimately settled on each other out of desperate horniness.
They gave birth to three children of approximately equally distasteful appearance. I am the youngest of the three and the only male, arriving nearly nineteen years ago.
As a child I had a lot of friends, but as my peers reached puberty at their own speed they slowly drifted away. Most adolescents are very dependent upon the approval of their age cohorts, but my grandma had prepared me well for the eventuality of isolation. I really didn't care all that much when the last of my friends stopped paying any attention to me.
I think that I was the first of my group to hit the hormonal milestone. I grew very tall and many of my least appealing features grew to even more grotesque proportions. My nose, already long and crooked, now reached any destination long before the rest of me. (I didn't really come up with that clever description, since I overheard one of my former friends mention it to another former friend at school one day. Of course, the idea received an appreciative roar of laughter from all within earshot.)
For a while, I became a distant object of conversation. Someone started referring to me as Ichabod shortly after my class read the "Legend of Sleepy Hollow." Soon nearly everyone began to refer to me as Ichabod rather than John, my actual name. The only exceptions were my own family and my teachers who continued to call me John, although a high school gym teacher called me by my unflattering nickname. Gym teachers seem prone to that sort of thing. I didn't care. After a while my schoolmates seemed to grow tired of the joke. Instead of mocking me, they simply returned to ignoring me.
Now a teenager does not look far enough into the future to worry about how he will provide for his own support. Instead teens have only two real needs: food in large quantities and sex in even larger amounts. I had plenty of the former even for my six foot five inch, gangly, hunched frame. Of course, I had none of the latter other than that which my own inventiveness could satisfy.
I experimented with every method of auto-eroticism my inherited rather brilliant mind could create. I jacked off in probably dozens of locations, using a wide variety of techniques and eventually almost any household product or utensil that had ever been in an upper middle class home.
I mentally fucked every girl in my class. Once I was finished with them, I moved on to a couple of my teachers. Then I started fucking the boys, although still only in my active mind. I was surprised, although not dismayed, to find that my boy fantasies provided more intense orgasms. Why should it matter to someone destined to be a virgin forever whether he is straight or gay? Either option was clearly out of the realm of possibility in terms of actually acting upon my ample urges. I even tried to fantasize about animals, since they would likely provide my greatest opportunity to have any of my lust reciprocated. I quickly gave up that line of self-satisfaction because I felt no gratification and was never able to reach a climax imagining some loving non-human.
As a high school freshman, for the first time in my life I began to feel sorry for myself. I found that I was having difficulty meeting my one real need--sexual release. Fantasies become far less powerful when one realizes that they can never be fulfilled. At least that was my experience.
However, fate stepped in to provide a glimmer of hope. The second week of school I went to my first gym class. Our utterly boring first class was spent learning and practicing the proper form for a push up. My long frame did not lend itself to good form, although the push-ups themselves were not a challenge.
Fate's role, however, had absolutely nothing to do with push-up form. No, after the class we were all required to strip naked and race to the group shower room. It was during that time that I began to hear whispers. Nothing about the whispers were audible, except that each whisper seemed to include "Ichabod." Then I heard words such as "huge," "wow," "enormous" and "talk about a waste!"
As I glanced around at my classmates, I realized the topic of conversation. Compared to what I had already seen hanging between my legs as I watched myself in my bedroom mirror, all the other boys had scrawny cocks.
I've hinted before that I am brilliant, so it didn't take me any time to realize the importance of this event. I had found an edge in the only thing that really mattered to me or my raging hormones. It made sense after all. My cock would provide my route to sexual survival. It was the only part of me even more prominent than my nose or my huge crooked teeth. It was the only part of my physical being that didn't appear to be slouching.
As I realized that my penis was the focal point of all the other boys' vision, it started to grow. As it did, I noticed that several other boys began to develop erections, too, although they quickly cupped their hands to hide their hardening dicks. I made no move to hide mine, not that I could have anyway. No, I put it proudly on display and went about my shower in my normal fashion although probably a little more slowly than usual.
It didn't take long to learn that my new path to happiness was a virtual super highway. A guy, who was in my gym class, a former friend, appeared at my locker after last period. I wasn't surprised that he would be the first.
He was a bit on the feminine side. I knew he was gay whether he knew it yet or not. I wasn't confident of his sexual orientation because of his feminine actions, which over the years I would learn is not a reliable clue. No, I knew because he often developed a glazed look as he gazed at some of the hunkier upper classmen. I noticed this, because this particular fellow freshman was exceptionally pretty, so I had spent a lot of time watching him watch others.
This boy had not spoken to me in three years, but today he invited me to come home with him under the pretense of playing a new video game that he had gotten the night before. I accepted only because I knew that wasn't his real reason.
Of course there was no reason for me to not walk with him to his house, but he made an excuse and told me to meet him there in half an hour. When I arrived at the time he had suggested, he made a point of telling me that his parents were at work and wouldn't be home for at least two hours.
I didn't see any reason to make him go through an unnecessary seduction, which would have been a waste of our time. Instead, I unzipped and pulled out what I knew it was that he had really invited for a visit.
He immediately dropped to his knees to kiss it. He began a leisurely tour of my cock, kissing and licking each part as he explored. He interrupted his lustful adoration long enough to totally strip off his clothes right there in the living room.
"Have you ever done anything with a guy before?" he asked without ever looking at my face for the response.
"No," I said. I didn't need to add that I had never done anything with a girl, either.
He returned to my cock with even greater vigor and skill. I made a mental note that guys like to be the first to pop the metaphorical cherry of a virgin. As far as any of my partners are aware, they are the first to seize my virginity. It's the least that I can do for them.
This boy took my cum like the hungry slut he was. His cock started shooting as soon as mine did. He sprayed all over my feet and the living room carpeting.
"Wow, that was great," he said looking only at my cum covered shoes.
"Well, I gotta go," I replied, letting him worry about how to find all of the cum on the floor before his parents returned.
As I continued nursing my beer at the bar, four years after that first encounter, I settled on my target for the night. He was a middle-aged guy, sitting at a table with other guys his age, all doubtless married with kids at home. They were obviously talking to each other but they were watching the odd collection of young hustlers shooting pool in the back or the few closeted college guys, seated or standing alone, interspersed with the neighborhood patrons. The college boys looked to the door each time it opened to see if someone worthy of their attention had arrived or, alternatively, if one of their preppie friends from campus showed up to blow their cover and destroy their futures as they envisioned them.
As for the rent boys, they were just having fun until it got late enough for the married guys to desperately pull out their wallets to interrupt the pool game, each choosing one of the working lads to take into the not so secret, dark back room. In the meantime, they paid attention to no one except their friends involved in the game.
I waited patiently until the inevitable moment that I could put my usual plan of attack into motion. The married guys ordered another pitcher of beer, and I knew I wouldn't have to wait much longer. That was good, because I liked to get to bed early.
My prediction came true, of course. My target stood and walked back toward the unkempt men's room. I followed about twenty seconds later. Timing was important.
I entered the bathroom mildly disgusted by the strong smell of urine that had dried on the floor days before. The guy was mid-stream just as I had calculated. I chose the urinal next to his. Of course, when I sidled up beside him he looked into my face and immediately gazed downward toward his shoes to get me as much out of his peripheral vision as possible. I wasn't offended. It always happens. I am, after all, ugly as sin.
I hurriedly whipped out my cock and started stroking it with long deliberate strokes. The purpose of the stroking was not to get it hard, as you might think. I stroked only so that the movement would be picked up by his vision and attract his attention to my prize.
He didn't take the bait, but this did not throw me off my game. This had happened before, so I was prepared. I moaned. He looked.
"My god," he said when he saw it.
"Follow me," I said.
I didn't look back to see if he would follow my instructions. I knew he would. I exited the smelly room.
I waited in the cramped hallway until I heard the door open signaling that he could now see me in order to follow my path. Walking about ten feet ahead of him, I walked to the end of the corridor and turned right through the door that exited into the rear parking lot.
I allowed the door to close behind me. He appeared.
"I don't have a place," he said.
Of course everyone has a place, but I knew that his place had a wife and kids.
"I do," I said.
"How far?" He asked. "I'll follow you in my car."
"We're there," I said.
"But we're in a public parking lot," he said.
Of course he was wrong. It was a private parking lot belonging to the bar, but that semantic distinction didn't contradict his real point. He was afraid, as I knew he would be, as I wanted him to be.
I pulled my cock out through my fly that I had not bothered to zip up in the bathroom. I knew that seeing that again would overcome his caution. I was correct as always.
He practically thrust his warm mouth around it. Obviously, I was not his first venture into the world of cock sucking, although I suspected I was his most challenging. He gagged a couple times, but he brought that reflex under control.
I allowed him to thoroughly coat it with his saliva, which also gave my magical precum factory the time to work up to full production capacity. When I felt that I had all the lube that I needed, I reached under his arms and pulled him upward. It was a bit of a struggle as he did not want to release his prize from his hungry mouth.
Once I had him standing, I opened his belt and pants button and unzipped him. He looked around the dark parking lot nervously. I jerked down his pants and briefs at the same time and pushed him around so that he was facing the wall of the building.
"Use your hands to brace yourself," I instructed and he obeyed.
I spit once into my hand and placed the meager amount onto his asshole. I immediately steered my uncut cock against the target.
"Are you safe?" he asked.
"I've never even done anything with anybody," I lied.
"Oh my god. I'm the first to experience that thing?" he asked.
I didn't answer. I have learned that closeted married queens like to pretend they care about being safe, but they don't really give a damn. They think that being married is some sort of magic potion for them, in the same way that they seem to believe that having a wife means that they're not really queer. It pisses me off.
I pushed fully into him with one determined stroke. He pulled one hand off the wall of the building to cover his mouth in a futile attempt to muffle his scream.
When he recovered enough to speak, he said, "You gotta take it slow. You're going to rip me apart!"
Apparently he hadn't noticed that I had already paused to let him adjust to my size. I do possess compassion, after all.
After a surprisingly short period of time, he nodded and told me to go ahead. I pumped him forcefully. It must have been fine with him because his moans and groans and cursing seemed to indicate approval for my actions. As I continued, the guttural sounds he made grew more urgent, so I increased my force and speed until I was pounding him.
Despite having his hands against the wall, each new thrust pushed his head firmly against the brick. He didn't seem to mind. I'm not sure he even noticed.
As I fucked him, I noticed the spot where his wedding ring would usually be. He apparently had pocketed it before his night out with the boys. I wondered who he thought he was kidding.
I felt my climax building, my cum working its was up through me preparing for its long journey through my cock. When it hit, it poured into him with force and my usual copious amount. I thrust even harder into him, driving him against the brick.
When I finally pulled out, he stood. On the brick of the wall I saw white globs at about waist height. He had apparently cum at about the same time as I had. A few feet higher, where his head had been, I noticed a little blood.
I put myself away and zipped. As I was about to step through the door, he called out.
"Wait. Call me," he said, handing me a business card. "Only on the cell phone; not the office or home numbers."
"Tell your wife that I said 'hi,'" I said as I continued through the door.
"Do you know my wife?" he asked, panic in his voice, as the door closed.
As I walked past the pool table, I tossed his business card onto it. One of the hustlers picked it up and slid it into his tight jeans pocket. I wondered which of the three phone number alternatives he would call next time he needed a little spending money.
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