You've Been Trolled!

(Not a stroke story - unless your mom's reading it to you.)

Troy didn't look like a troll in the traditional sense of the word, but he didn't look like an ordinary nineteen year-old either. His rounded shoulders, girlie thighs, and pot belly belied a physique born not from living under a bridge, but from surfing the internet every waking minute of the day.

His destination on the web would vary, depending on his mood. If he was feeling macho or mean, he'd go to Literotica.com and make his presence known. If he was horny, he'd seek out one of the many Big Jugs style porn sites. If he was feeling open-minded, he'd go to various Right Wing blogs, absorbing the well-written spin and propaganda as if it was actual information.

There were only a couple of things that would tear him away from his computer; one was work, the other was the beach. He liked the beach because he could look at women's breasts for free, where if he was to go down to the all-nude non-alcohol strip bar, it would cost ten bucks to get in, and then it would be so dark, he could barely see anything but the curvy silhouettes of tits, butts and labias jiggling in the annoying strobe lights.

The beach also gave him the opportunity to play solo Frisbee. It's not that he had no friends to play Frisbee with, it's just that none of his friends liked him. But he was okay with that, because he was a Man's Man. He was Independent. He was On His Own, and his mom even let him decorate his room any way he pleased. She didn't say word one when he replaced his Star Wars poster with a Pam Anderson spread. If his mom would have said word one, he would have told her to fuck off and die (even though he'd never actually said that to his mom before), because she was intruding on His Turf, and a Man's Man wouldn't stand for that.

What he liked about solo Frisbee at the beach was the fact that it facilitated his second-favorite activity of all time; smashing sandcastles. He'd wait till the kids were almost finished planting their little paper-cup turrets and popsicle-stick cannons, and then he'd throw the Frisbee over in their direction so he could run after it and 'accidentally' trample their architectural masterpieces. He didn't particularly like the sound of the children crying after their sandcastles had been destroyed, but it gave him a sense of power; validation that he was, in fact, a Man's Man, and no one was going to fuck with him.

But his number-one first-most-favorite activity of all time was trolling the Literotica website, one-bombing stories at random, whether the story was good, bad, or in between. Red H stories were especially attractive, since red is the color of blood, and it would excite him even more. Sometimes he would even make airplane noises as he dropped his one-bombs, pretending he was a pilot in a WW2 documentary, desecrating the green fields of Germany, Japan, or some other country full of evil people he knew nothing about.

"Take that, you commie-fag-pussy," he would say into his imaginary microphone, flying his imaginary P-28 one-handed. Or sometimes he would make zapping noises like out of Star Wars. But the WW2 scenario was the most common, since it was more appropriate for a bombing run.

Leaving derogatory comments for LIT authors was an especially thrilling adventure, since he could sign them as 'anonymous' and say anything he damned well pleased.'Your writing stinks like dogshit.' 'You should be using brown text, because this is crap.' (These were both comments he'd copy-and-paste from other posters, because he could never have come up with anything that clever on his own.)

The only stories he showed any mercy for were the ones about mother/son relationships. He would read them slowly, hanging on every word, but he wouldn't vote on them, or leave comments, out of respect for the subject matter.

But tonight there would be no time for one-bombing stories at the Literotica website, because tonight, he was going out on a date with a real live girl. And it wasn't one of those sleazy bitches from Strip-O-Rama. It was a college girl he met down at Jack-in-the-Box, where he was assistant manager.

Her name was Pamela, just like Pam Anderson, except that this Pamela had virtually no tits whatsoever. But he was okay with that, because he was a Man's Man, and a Man's Man doesn't judge women on breast size alone. He also takes into consideration fragrance, tattoos, butt-shape, and type of car. Although Pam was weak in most of those categories, she was driving a new Mustang convertible when he met her, so this put her in the barely-acceptable category for a Man's Man.

While getting ready for his date, Troy took an extra long Man's Man shower, assaulting his pasty-white skin with the soapy washcloth. After he dried off (vigorously) he put two layers of deodorant on, and he even rolled some on his balls, just as a courtesy to Pam, who would surely be down there at some point during their date. Then, satisfied that his hair would dry with the perfect amount of poof in the front, he strode confidently into his room, throwing a little salute to his Luke Skywalker doll. He pulled on his Jockeys and stood in front of the mirror, flexing his imaginary muscles. That's when his mom walked in.

"I think you should wear your new sweater, Troy," she announced, laying a hand on his bare shoulder. "I take it back," she fawned. "You're so handsome, it doesn't matter what you wear."

She gave him a little squeeze, pressing her large mushy breasts up against his back. He could feel her nipples straining against the sheer silk robe she was wearing. He could feel her lipstick-lips brushing up against his neck.

"Mom!" he giggled, squirming free from her grasp. He ran to the closet and pulled on a pair of clean jeans she'd just brought up from the laundry room.

"You'll be home by midnight?" she asked, gazing lovingly at her only son.

"Sure Mom, sure," Troy said, climbing into a clean polo shirt his mom had just brought up from the laundry room. She turned to go, giving him a little wink as she dropped a twenty on his dresser for 'gas money'.

She was always doing that, and although he knew a Man's Man would never accept money from his mom, especially if he was working full-time and living at home rent-free, he had no choice since his car payment took most of his paycheck and his credit card bill took the rest. It was just a matter of economics, something he'd been studying quite a lot lately, over on the Rush Limbaugh blog. Now, there was a Man's Man, Troy thought to himself as he bounded down the stairs.

"See ya, Mom," he smiled, ducking out the door before she could snag him for a goodbye kiss.

He strode out into the trash-strewn yard, shoved the key into the lock of his jet-black Silverado and sighed. It was almost better then fucking, the way the key felt going into that lock. At least that's what he'd tell anyone who would listen. The Silverado was proof that he was a Man's Man, and anyone who doubted it could just eat his dust while he ran them off the road and sped away.

He was supposed to pick up Pam at the Jack-in-the-Box where he worked, but he told her it would be better if she waited in the parking lot since his 'employees' were quite intimidated by him, and he didn't want to pressure them if he wasn't even on duty. (Actually, it was because of Pam's deficiency in the breast department, which was quite embarrassing to him, and he didn't want his 'employees' seeing the two of them together.)

He pulled into the rear entrance of the parking lot, and there she was, all five-foot one of her, sitting on the back of her Mustang in her low-rise jeans and pink tank top. She grinned when she saw him and, in spite of her pitifully flat chest, her grin made him feel all warm inside. He had to admit, she was the hottest girl he'd ever dated, with her cherry-red lips and her luminous blue eyes. Even her hair was blonde like Pamela Anderson, and it occurred to him he should snap a picture of her on his cell phone, just so he could prove he'd actually been out on a date with a blonde. (But, just to accentuate her good side, he'd probably turn her around and take the picture from behind.)

"Hey," she grinned, climbing up into his Silverado, "where to?"

"Um..." he stammered. "Um..." That's when he realized he'd missed one crucial detail in his preparations for this very important first date with Pam; he had his condoms, he had his Tic-Tac's, but what he didn't have was a plan. He had no clue what they were going to do since he had virtually no experience in the field of dating.

"We could go to Green Carpet Golf," he suggested, watching her pull the seat belt on, hoping for some kind of movement under her tank top. (He saw none.)

"Sure," she smiled, folding her hands on her lap. They drove off into the night, making a feeble attempt at conversation, but it was like a tennis match where neither opponent had enough skill to return the ball over the net.

"I've been assistant manager foreight months now."

"I got a C-minus on my midterms."

"I had to fire a trainee the other day. She was one minute late. Plus, she was fat."

"My dad's buying me a Hummer when I graduate."

After a couple of minutes, he punched up the rock station on the radio. 'Sexy Back' came on, and suddenly, they were both singing along. When the song was over, he turned the radio down.

"I think you have a sexy back, Pam," he said nervously, gazing over at her, seeing if he could get a good angle for a peek down her tank top.

"Oh my God!" Pam screamed. "Look out!"

He glanced back at the road, but it was too late. There was a pedestrian in the crosswalk directly in front of them (who appeared to be a homeless person of non-Caucasian descent.) In a heroic feat of driving expertise (due to hours in front of the computer playing Flat Out) he managed to swerve to the left, so that the pedestrian glanced off the side of the Silverado, sort of like the way a pinball glances off one of those spring-loaded rubber bumpers. Unfortunately, there was a Honda Civic in the next lane and, in order to avoid the hulking Silverado, the Honda had to drive up onto the median where it skidded to a stop when it bottomed out on a boulder.

"Shit!" Troy gasped as he floored the Sliverado.

The acceleration slammed Pam's petite body against the back of her seat, but it made Troy feel like a real Man's Man. A kick-ass Man's Man. No cock-sucking liberal-loving homeless person was going to ruin his first date with Pam. Two minutes later, they were cruising down a dark side-street, their hearts beating wildly, their blood pumping with adrenaline.

"Aren't you going back?" Pam asked, all wide-eyed.

"Does it look like I'm going back?"

"No," Pam sighed, staring at her hands. There was an awkward silence, and then she looked at him with her piercing blue eyes. "I don't think I want to go to Green Carpet Golf."

Troy's heart sank. "Where do you want to go?" he asked, hoping he hadn't already blown it.

The 'first date curse' was what his mom called it. Would hitting a pedestrian and running a Honda Civic into the median be grounds for ruining a first date? Couldn't it be deemed an adventure? He was grasping at straws, and he knew it. It was at that moment he realized, if this particular date had been posted on Literotica.com, it would most definitely have garnered nothing but one's, (although trolls like him probably would have given it all five's, just to confuse the issue).

"Can we stop here?" Pam inquired, staring at him in the darkness.

He pulled over, thinking she'd probably decided it would be safer to walk home. He couldn't believe his rotten luck. The first blonde he'd ever gone out with and he'd blown it. He watched while she unbuckled her seat belt.

"That was so hot," she gasped, reaching up to undo her ponytail. She gave him a fiendish smile, the same kind of smile the Strip-O-Rama girls would give him when they would ask if he wanted another lap dance.

"Really?" Troy gasped, killing the engine. He couldn't believe it. Was he finally going to have sex with a girl? On a date? And with a blonde, no less?

"Really," she confirmed, reaching down to grab the bottom edge of her tank top. She pulled it off, revealing her little miniature tits, with the tiny pink nipples, all pointed and firm. "Come on," she grinned, patting the seat next to her.

He looked around to see if anyone might be watching, but the Silverado was parked next to a warehouse, and on the other side of the street was a big gray block wall. Satisfied that it was a safe-fucking zone, he scooted over on the seat, trying not to get hung up on the gearshift.

"Do you want to help?" she asked him while unbuttoning her jeans.

Of course he wanted to help. He wanted to tear her clothes off, just like they do in the Literotica stories. But his mom had always told him to be a gentleman when he was out on a date, so he kept his cool.

She raised her little butt in the air and he grabbed her waistband, revealing white panties with little red hearts. "Sweet," he commented, jerking the jeans down her skinny legs and off her ankles.

While he was doing that, she was pulling the red-heart panties off her white butt, and then he was fishing those off her ankles too. He stared at her wispy blonde triangle. It was so much nicer than the girls at Strip-O-Rama, who either had no hair whatsoever down there, or it was trimmed into a thin little strip, like the Velcro tabs on his old Luke Skywalker costume.

"Well? Come on," she grinned, tugging at his shirt.

She helped him pull it off, but suddenly he was thinking about the Literotica ratings again. He started sweating, knowing that his puny chest couldn't possibly warrant more than a one rating. He flinched when she went for his belt buckle, knowing that if the readers saw his tiny dick, they would have to institute a new rating category of minus-one, specifically for his minus-sized penis. He guided her hands up around his waist, hoping the delay would give his Man's Man manhood time to get bigger.

Then she was kissing him, her tongue darting around in his mouth like some crazed animal searching for food. She grabbed his hand and planted it on a little titty, while her other hand went for his jeans again.

"I'm not ready," he whispered, fending off her advances, fearing the impending minus-one ratings.

"Do you want me to blow you first," she asked politely.

He was going to decline, but as soon as her hand went to work undoing his over-sized black leather belt, he felt the stir of desire, and he let her proceed. She got his belt loose, pulled down his zipper, and plunged her hand inside his shorts.

"Oh my God!" she giggled, jerking his little two-incher out. "I've never seen..." then she stopped. "Cool," she said halfheartedly, lowering her head into his lap. She took his little shrimp-dick into her mouth, but it was no use. His minus-one sized pee-pee was as flaccid as a freshly-used condom.

Troy lay back and closed his eyes. He caressed her boney back and felt the top of her ass. He reached around to her front and found her stiff nipples, but his minus-one sized wiener just wouldn't get hard. The more he thought about the minus-one rating, the tinier his dick got, and even with Pam playing with his balls and fingering his asshole, the minus-one rating won out. Finally, she spat his shrunken little baby-dick out of her mouth and sighed.

"You do like girls, don't you?" she asked, looking up at him with a disgusted frown.

"Girls with tits!" Troy blurted out, scooting back towards the driver's side. He jerked his jeans up while Pam sat there, eyeing him with utter contempt.

"Well, fuck you too, pencil-dick," she snarled, searching for her panties on the floor.

They dressed in silence, and then they were heading back to the Jack-in-the-Box, cloaked in a shroud of embarrassment. (Troy wasn't actually that embarrassed, since it was all Pam's fault. This little encounter just proved what he had known all along; a Man's Man has to be discriminating when choosing a fuck-buddy, and a fuck-buddy with little tits was probably a bad idea.)

He dropped his new ex-fuck-buddy back at Jack-in-the-Box parking lot, and then headed home, wondering what he would tell his mom. The 'first date curse' had struck again? Actually it didn't really matter, since his mom was very supportive of him, and the thought of his mom's accepting smile calmed him considerably.

"Hey Mom," he grinned, heading for the stairs.

"Awww," his mom frowned. "Home early. What happened?" She sat up on the couch, making it look like her tan, MILF cleavage was going to spill right out the top of her low-cut Wal-mart satin gown. "Come on, you can tell me." She got up off the couch and headed his way, her MILF breasts tossing to and fro like boats on a stormy sea.

"She was a liberal, Mom" Troy calmly divulged. (He was always good at lying, and he hoped one day that talent would propel him into the upper echelons of the Republican Party.) "She was into NPR, MoveOn.Org. Might've even been a communist."

"That's horrible baby," she whispered, snaking her arms around his waist and nuzzling her warm breasts up against his chest. "You're better off without her." She gave him the requisite hug, and he took it stoically. There was no resisting his mom when she felt he needed to be nurtured.

"Come on, I know what you need." She took him by the hand and they plodded up the creaky stairs.

As Troy inhaled her familiar perfume, he let out a nervous sigh, knowing that with every step his cock would get bigger till it was ready to burst inside his pants. By the time they reached her bedroom door, he was totally erect, with his buckle undone and his zipper down.

She shrugged off her robe and it fell to the floor, just like so many times before. Then she got down on her knees and took his throbbing dick in her mouth. As much as Troy enjoyed his mom's luscious nakedness, with her giant-sized nipples and her bulging hips, there was something missing. The sex had become routine, boring even, and he decided it was time to be adventurous, like a character in a Literotica story.

"Mom," he asked before she even had time to tickle his asshole.

"Yeah baby," she slurped.

"Can we try something different tonight?"

"Of course baby," she blurted, spitting out his four-incher. "What do you want to try?"

He leaned into her and whispered in her ear.

"Oh, you're so bad!" she giggled, while reaching into the drawer of the night stand.

She took out a tube of KY jelly and smeared a big glob on his stiffy. Then she got on her hands and knees on the bed, her back arched, her big overgrown muff staring him in the face.

"Go easy baby," she cooed, as he aimed his cock at her hairy anus.

He slid it in an inch, and then stopped. It felt so good; much better than her pussy, which was sort of like fucking a baseball mitt, compared to fucking his own tight fist, which, he imagined, felt more like what pussy was supposed to feel like. He pulled back carefully, so it wouldn't pop out, but he was already about to squirt.

"Do you like it, baby?" his mom asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Oh Mom!" he cried, not even ten seconds after he'd entered her back door.

"Oh Troy," she giggled, as his hot seed sprayed into her ass, "it tickles."

A few heartbeats later, he collapsed on her back, too whipped to even reach around and play with her big, heavy tits. He'd have plenty of time to play with those tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after. He knew his mom would accommodate his needs, any time, day or night. It was just part of being a Man's Man, getting pussy whenever you wanted it. He climbed off his mom's rippled ass, and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Night Mom," he said cheerfully.