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There have been some incredible sex stories on this website. I love it. None of them drip with desperation for approval, yet they’re all sufficiently awesome. But I gotta say, with all due respect to this one, this one, and that one, I think I have the story to trump them all. The other night, something happened to me that I would call magic if I didn’t believe it to be a downright religious experience. Strap in, gentlemen, and try to put on some kind of hat, so the brains don’t go everywhere when I blow your minds. Here we go.

A few weekends ago, on a lark, my buddies and I decided to get hammered at TGI Fridays, because, what the hell? Every night in there is Friday, but this was an ACTUAL Friday night, like it would be in Alaska, or anywhere else. Anyway, we’re all a few Skinny Blackberry Margaritas deep, busting each other’s balls, when a lonely cougar sidles up next to me at the bar and says, “Buy me a Mango Lemonade?” I shoot a glance over at my bros, who are giving me the “What are you waiting for?” look, so I say to her, “How ‘bout a double?” And, I shit you not, she places her hand directly on my balls, under the bar, and says, “Make it a triple.” My buddies instantly see the possibilities ahead, give me a pat on the back and say, “We’re gonna head down to Chumley’s, maybe we’ll see you there,” knowing full well that the only place I’m going is on flight 69, with DickThrob Airlines, to the city of VaginaBurgh, in the state of

I start to spit some game at her, and she says, “Shut the fuck up and let’s go to my place.” I close my tab faster than a 23-year-old girl giving up on her fashion blog. We get in her Isuzu Amigo, peel out, and head back to her condo. We’re barely in the door before she starts whacking me off — and the grip she has is incredible. It’s kind of firm, but not too firm, like she knows the exact pressure to exert before pain creeps in, and her grip is reversed with the thumb on top. I ignore the ecstasy for only a moment, and look down to see how Picasso was painting the masterpiece, and she whispers, “I have a mild form of palsy.”

My God. I knew genetics had to play a part in that kind of talent. Then she works her way down, and the hand job that I thought could not be topped was promptly forgotten as she gave me the most majestic nobber any man has ever been privy to. It felt like my dick was covered in peanut butter and dipped in a koi pond. Somehow, she nibbled a thousand separate areas all at the same time, and then…and then…the most amazing sensation. I look down, and for a moment I’m completely freaked. Her hair is on the ground. I repeat: her hair was on the ground. It was a wig. A wig! And she’s rubbing the bottom of my balls with the top of her head, with that little bit of stubble that feels really cool when you run your hand over it, except imagine that on your taint. Insane. My mind could not process. Nothing mattered. The sensation was something that eliminated the physical world around me. I was only a beam of energy, floating in infinity. This was officially the greatest night of my life. And we were only getting started.