Climactic Day for a Virgin Guy

Sloan Peabody – known by the guys as Peewee despite nudging six-foot – sighed as night fell knowing he was in for another depressing lonely night. Guys called Peewee rarely ran with the pack and with a name like Sloan Peabody he knew no babes intimately.

In his late twentieth year, Sloan remained a virgin. His mother knew it but wouldn't go beyond a hand-job, his sister Pam was close to giving it to him when she met Kevin and now only came home to rest her pussy.

Sloan tossed and turned and then tossed some before removing his hand. He was so restless that he decided to go for a moonlight walk through Wilderness Park. He called on Meg but she eyed him and didn't move when he said 'Walkies'; the Labrador preferred to walk with other members of the family.

Kicking the dog basket, Sloan slouched off into the night and into his Great Adventure.

* * *

"Hello young man," croaked the old woman selling soda pop at the gates of Wilderness Park. Who the fuck would be buying a soda at this time of night, Sloan thought, handing across the money for a honey-flavored purchase. He walked on, opened the cap and looked back but couldn't see the booth or the soda lady. He took a swig.

Fuck, what shit was in with the soda – Speed? He felt electrified with rippling muscles, which was a bit of a laugh. Muscles – ha! The next thing he knew his trousers had tented. Sloan reached down gingerly to his embarrassingly peewee five and a half inch 'monster' as the guys in the showers jeeringly called it. His immediate thought was soda pop with Viagra: it was thicker and longer.

Unzipping, Sloan found he had his dream in his hand – eight and a half inches and a cool four inches thick. Joy but not of the feminine kind possessed his body. He suspected his mom would now be keen to fuck him.

A horse snorted.

A horse in Wilderness Park? It was a horse, a black horse with just a bridle, and it pointed in his direction of travel. He sweated, wondering if the mare was waiting to test his remodeled dick. To avoid the issue he jumped on her back, taking care to keep his newly enlarged gear clear and they were off. He'd only ever ridden a fiberglass pony at the County Fair but this horse seemed to know what to do with him.

They whisked through the trees, often leaving the path without mishap, taking a northerly direction until they came to a clearing grouped with quaint looking cottages.

"The Horseman Cometh," boomed the village crier. Women screamed and in the moonlight Sloan saw people rushing into their cottages; doors slammed and candles were snuffed. Candles? Well it was unlikely Wilderness Park was electrified – what was the point?

The black horse skidded to a halt in the village square. Sloan flew over her head and landed on his feet in perfect balance in front of an eighteen year old female tied to a stake. He fancied he heard applause from the cottages for his acrobatic flip.

Sloan was embarrassed: he was still tented.

The girl in white looked down at him in naked admiration. "Unzip and make me a woman, Sire."

What sort of talk was that? thought Sloan, unzipping.

"Plow me Sire."

He didn't really know what to do but she did and soon had him pumping like a maniac. He filled her, she groaned and he knew he was good for taking a whole park full of virgins.

He bade her farewell. He what? Sloan shook his head and was about to mount the mare (across her back, silly) when the ex-virgin cried: "Finish the job, take me from the back Sire."

What? She wanted it up her back passage. Sloan swallowed and wondered how people could be so foul. What would his mom say if he attempted to take her by the back chute? But the challenge was too great to resist and, well, hadn't his mom always said, 'Sloan, if there's one thing you must do in life and that is to learn to please a lady'. That was a bit heavy to be told when you're four, but he guessed this present situation was the reason for that motherly advice than all mothers ingrain in their sons. So he shafted the butt, groaning, because she was s-o-o-o tight. The massive ejaculation blew her free of her bounds and through the air into her cottage; the door had opened in perfect timing.

He and his Black Beauty – er, how childish – he and Ranger galloped through the night in their mission of community service. Sloan had never seen so many villages in the park – in fact he'd never seen a single dwelling in all the years he'd walked its depths, always alone. He rammed a virgin at every one of them.

Finally Ranger brought Sloan to a massive castle and he heard the Captain of the Guards call out, "Ah, here is Sloan alone with Ranger." The partly deaf blacksmith shafting a serving wench who was servicing him with great skill, bellowed, "Eh, what's this then I hear about the Sloan Ranger?"

The captain and his men, peeing on the sacks of wheat brought in after dusk by courier serfs, laughed like an operatic chorus which induced the castle jester to chortle, "The Sloan Ranger; that's a laugh." And so the legend of The Sloan Ranger was born because it was overhead by a gay reporter from the 'Castle Memo' stroking his buddy from the kitchen.

"Help, help," came the call from the castle tower. Everyone came out and looked up.

"It's Princess Gweneth," called the Captain of the Guards, "Under threat of the Virginity Plague Attack. Come men, into barracks to plan a safe strategy to rescue the Princess unharmed."

"Oh look – the gallant Sloan is mounting a death-defying rescue attempt," the castle mortician said mournfully, rubbing his hands expectedly.

Sloan had commenced hauling himself up a vinyl down-pipe from Princess Gweneth's tower boudoir en suite. The Planning Commission had stupidly declared such a location for her apartment would be impregnable against the virginal virus.

It was a dangerous climb as the outer walls were shafted with six-inch defensive spikes. However, Sloan's now well-used eight-and-a-half inch permanent erection kept him just clear of those deadly spikes. As it became clear that the virgin princess would be saved, people throughout the forest rushed to witness this historic rescue that would rate as one of the greatest stories ever told.

Just as Sloan looked up to check his progress, Princess Gweneth at the bathroom window spread her pussy and called softly, "Come and get your reward, you handsome charmer – oh God, just look as what you've got!"

Sloan, who'd never seen a shaven pussy, lost his grip and fell 178 feet down...and down...on to his head.

* * *

Sloan awoke to find his mom beating him over the head with the newspaper she brought to him each morning with coffee (actually a different issue of the newspaper each morning}.

"You filthy bitch, you filthy bitch," she was screaming at him. "Those were clean sheets and now look at them."

They both looked down at waist level; the whole area was soaking from multiple ejaculations.

"Why can't you push weights instead of jerking your dick – other guys don't mess up like you do. This room reminds me of a brothel."

Sloan's mom stormed out, leaving him with a very shriveled dick and wondering how would his mom know what other guys did with their dicks and how the hell would she know what the inside of a brothel smelled and looked like.

Meg came in – most unusual for her – jumped up on to his bed, tail wagging and even that was a first; she began licking his top sheet for some reason.

* * *

That evening, with great dread Sloan went to Alec Gee's 21st birthday party. He knew what would happen. He'd be the only guy without a partner and the tradition was for retired prostitute Nelly Wake to perform a strip and at the end of it the guys would stretch out a buddy without a partner on to the table in front of the birthday boy. Nelly would part her hugely haired puss to expose something that looked like a dried-up giant oyster and slowly would lower herself on to the guy's dick that most of the half-drunk party girls had taken turns to suck to full erection.

As fate would have it, Sloan was spared that humiliation, as he never made it inside. The nasty Basil Black was outside the entrance arguing with his girlfriend and smacked her across her head. She walloped him and he just laughed evilly and moved in, so Sloan swatted Basil, who dropped like a stone.

Blonde hottie Gweneth Michaels looked at Sloan appalled. "You've killed him."

Sloan hung his head wishing he hadn't swatted so hard.

Basil stirred, groaned and Sloan pulled him to his feet.

"Bitch," he snarled at his now ex-babe and turning to Sloan asked, "Where the fuck did you get that punch from?"

"None of your business, fuck off you loser."

Rubbing his jaw Basil entered the party venue.

Gweneth looked at Sloan in a funny way. She said, "Sloan, I've never thought about you. All the girls know you have a small dick but let the truth be told – I sick of big over-energetic dicks that leave me sore for days and I've come to believe big dicks hang from big dicks. Let's push off somewhere and fool around, eh?"

"I really don't know what to say; I've never received such an invitation before."

Gweneth smiled through lowered eyes and took his hand. "Let's drive over to Wilderness Park. The gates will be locked but I'm a good climber. You're a virgin, aren't you?" she asked wickedly.

Sloan nodded, face frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

"Oh great – my dream come true. I think about taking a virgin guy whenever I'm playing with myself, which is pretty often."

Fifteen minutes later Gweneth had stripped Sloan and pushed him against a small tree. She tied his hands behind the tree with her bra. Dressed only in thigh-hi black stockings she knelt on her clothes and shaped her mouth into a big 'O' and began to swallow his pre-licked cock, now magically a full six inches.

"Basil the clown is missing out – I give the best head in town."

Sloan had no idea how she knew that. Tensed in anticipation and anticipating that Gweneth's hairless pussy would be wrapped around his dick a few times before night's end, Sloan had the last laugh...

Stupid Basil had gone into the party without a partner!

THE END