Lucas* is European. I use this statement constantly to explain and excuse his comments and behavior. He’s one of my oldest friends and probably the most generous person I know. He’s also the loudest and most energetic, especially when he drinks. I’m pretty much convinced there’s Red Bull & vodka running through his veins instead of blood. The man is a machine. A sex machine. Man, does he love the ladies. Lucas counts his fashion sense, his baby blues and his accent as some of the most effective weaponry in his arsenal and damn, is he smooth when he uses them. Balls honest truth, Lucas would rather starve than give up vagina.
After the “Eye Patch Incident of ’11” (see: Bedroom Adventures: Or, How To Avoid A Trip To The Hospital), Lucas decided exclusive relationships – no matter what kind of boudoir acrobatics or parlor tricks involving bodily fluids the woman possessed – were not for him. I mean, this was a guy who once stopped seeing a chick because she drunk texted him one night that she liked him. Yes, liked. Not loved. Liked. And Lucas sure as hell didn’t know what kind of serious relationship she thought she was in but he wanted no part of it. Psycho!
Yup, it was back to good ole one-night stands again for Lucas.
So, post Charlotte* and with two working eyes, he spent the better part of a Saturday night consuming alcohol at a nearly impossible rate at one of his favorite bars. Laughing raucously, making terrible and funny jokes at a 60/40 split in his thicker than thick accent that just got thicker the more vodka he poured down his throat. At one point he told some blonde with a giant ass and a bad weave that her eyes were like swimming pools that he just wanted to drown in. While I groaned and rolled my eyes, she was busy sighing and typing her number into his cell.
By the end of the night, Lucas had hit on everything in the bar with a vagina. Including ones with boyfriends. According to Lucas, when it came to getting laid, boyfriends weren’t roadblocks; they were merely decorative and meaningless accessories that could easily be removed. At least for the night, while he convinced their girls to put on something shiny and new: him.
He had to have collected at least ten numbers but there was a big-breasted little brunette who had caught his eye earlier in the evening – “I think she’s Brazilian, Pope!! Fucking Brazilian!!” he’d screamed into my now injured eardrum around 11pm – and would be the lucky gal accompanying my inebriated friend home.
While a group of us stood outside the bar waiting on cabs and shooting the shit, Lucas had slightly separated his Brazilian from the herd and had his arm draped over her shoulders, whispering god knows what into her ear. I assumed promises of candy and unicorns, whatever it took to get her panties off by the time he crossed the threshold of her front door.
“Alright kids, you two have fun tonight! Remember, wear a condom, cause you can’t give herpes back!” I shouted at my European lothario friend and laughed as I hopped into the back of my cab.
“Ew! Do you have herpes?!” questioned the very concerned dipshit Brazilian.
“No, no baby! She was just kidding! It was a joke. Look at me. Do I look like I have herpes?!”
It took a fifteen minute cab ride of tongue wrestling and dry humping the Brazilian all the way back to her apartment for Lucas to get her in the mood to skip the part where she “wanted to talk” and get her straight into taking off all of her clothes. After a quick outcry of, “goddamn, girl!” when the Brazilian removed her bra, Lucas laid her back and went to work, with his eyes closed, of course. He wasn’t taking any chances. After safely coming up for air, the Brazilian told Lucas she wanted to return the favor. But one minute into the blow-job that Lucas later described as “a rabid animal gnawing on his cock”, he threw the Brazilian up against her bedroom wall and fucked her while a gigantic, cheaply framed poster of Audrey Hepburn gazed down at him.
Ten minutes in, Lucas had the Brazilian in position number five, working eagerly, just like Prince, towards twenty-three. He had thrown missionary in there because, well, she was obviously a classy broad – she had Audrey Hepburn on her wall! This must have been the right button to push because the Brazilian started talking real dirty to him, partly in English and partly in Portuguese, which just drove Lucas straight over the edge.
Lucas was in bliss buried face down in her perfect Brazilian bosom when all of a sudden she yanked his head back by the roots of his perfectly coiffed hair – thanks to a heavy application of hairspray, the man could travel through a wind tunnel, no less survive a lusty romp with some babe, without ever a hair falling astray – and screamed. Bloody murder.
“WHO ARE YOU?!?!?!? HOW DID YOU GET HERE?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!”
Lucas jumped back, obviously having flashbacks from the last time some crazy bitch shot something at him, verbally or otherwise.
“What?! Baby, I’m Lucas. Remember?! We met at the bar tonight!” he exclaimed as he stood over the Brazilian staring at her “goddamn, girl” breasts.
“Oh, come here, you dirty boy. Come here right now and fuck me.”
This girl was obviously a little freak. And Lucas liked it. He sprung back on top of her and grabbed her ankles, without missing a beat. God, her tits were fantastic!
“WHO ARE YOU??!?! HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE!!!”
Again, Lucas pulled himself out of the bodacious Brazilian and flung himself to the end of the bed. This time he was pretty sure that this chick wasn’t just a freak – she was straight up bananas. He started searching for his pants frantically with his eyes while the Brazilian continued to scream.
“WHO ARE YOU?!!?”
“Girl, I don’t what the fuck is going on but this shit is not cool.” Lucas stated matter-of-factly as he did a visual sweep of the room for any sharp objects that she may throw at him.
“Mmmmm. You naughty boy. Come here. Come here and fuck me with that hard, throbbing cock of yours.”
What. The. Fuck.
“Come here and fuck my warm, wet pussy you dirty boy.”
Well, I mean, if she was gonna ask nicely…
Lucas jumped back onto the Brazilian’s crazy train but moved swiftly to position six. She wanted him to be her dirty boy? Well, he wanted her to ride him straight into the sunset! Plus, he could shove her off of him faster and farther if she started screaming and asking who the fuck he was again.
The Brazilian loved being on top and started screaming in the way Lucas wanted her to. With her ass firmly in his hands and her beautiful Brazilian boobs bouncing up and down, her episodes of short-term memory loss, mistaken identity and/or a brief seizure, were in his rearview.
“Oh, you nasty boy…hit me.”
“HIT ME, you dirty boy. HIT ME!!” the Brazilian demanded of Lucas and to let him know how serious she was, she hauled back and hit him, hard in the face.
This chick was insane! But she was still moaning and groaning and vigorously moving that Brazilian body in a way that made Lucas concentrate on nothing else but getting off.
“I said, HIT ME!!! Hit me you nasty, dirty, little boy!!”
This time the Brazilian came down with both hands on either side of Lucas’ face – SMACK!
Goddammit!! He was so close. So, so close.
“Alright! OK!!!” with that Lucas reached up and weakly slapped the Brazilian on the cheek. Swatted her in the way a pestering relative would, to wordlessly tell you that you were getting fat in the face. Or in the way that you would if some psychotic Brazilian naked nightmare riding your dick was screaming for you to hit her but all you could think of were the dire consequences of being Ike to her Tina.
After the smack heard round the world, Lucas froze his body position as if he were suffering from some type of palsy while the Brazilian narrowly stared down at him with a look of shock and disgust on her face, grasping her cheek as if he’d just billy-clubbed her. Terrified to move or speak, Lucas just laid there waiting for the Brazilian to blink first.
“Excuse me” the Brazilian huffed, rolling away from Lucas and swinging her ass all the way to her bedroom door.
“Fuck me, man.” Lucas muttered still traumatized and fearful of sudden movement.
Two minutes later, the Brazilian charged her bedroom like an ornery bull, picking up and throwing Lucas’ clothes at him.
“GET OUT!!! Your cab will be here in ten minutes. GET OUT!!! Asshole!!!”
MORAL OF THE STORY: Bitches be crazy.
By Tracy Pope
*Disclaimer, Yo: The content is real, provided by several different consenting sources and based on fictional characters inspired by actual people. Names have been changed for obvious reasons. Creative liberties are taken to character build but these hilarious and mortifying experiences are all true. Hot, weird, crazy, funny shit occurs when people get naked together. It’s awesome.