Ten Ways Matt Lost His Virginty : The Cardboard Elvis
I love Elvis. I adore him. I would gladly go for a round of voracious leg-humping (I don't weigh all that much, so it should be harmless.) The only problem is he's dead and I'm not a necrophiliac. Yet. I'd be willing to convert if his body was well-preserved in formaldehyde, though. On second thought, probably not. He was already old and fat when he died. They do say though that he's alive, but like I said earlier, he's old and probably morbidly obese. The weight of his head alone would crush my bones into a fine powder.
The first time I heard about Elvis I was probably six. My mother was quite the exhibitionist, so when she was taking a shower that evening, it was only a matter of time before someone saw her.
". . .Return to sender. Adress unknown. No such number, no such z-MATTHEW! NO!"
My jaw dropped at the ugliness of her body. To be fair, though, years later I found out that girls' bodies are actually all disgusting, and my mum's was up there with the better-looking ones. Consequently, this also explains why I never got laid when I was 15. A little voice inside my head always screamed, "MATTHEW! NO!" just as I closed my eyes to put it in. So all that raw sexual energy had to be vented elsewhere.
Which brings me to the theme of my story. As I mentioned earlier, I love Elvis, so I decided that if I was going to have to lose my virginity, it might as well be to him. But as I also said, he's dead.
Fortunately for me, Dom and I crashed a mall later that day. He's so screwed because he can't get laid either, but his problem is that he can't get it up, which, believe me, is not my problem. A gust of wind and a sunset are enough to get me aroused. I guess it's because that always results in some bloke getting laid, according to TV. I hate that. Most of those douches look like shit and yet they do it just about every day. But I digress. We ended up going into Victoria's Secret. Our plan was to sneak into the changing rooms and wank to the thought of a girl in the next room taking off her underwear.
"Wait, I thought you said girls are disgusting."
"Don't be such a bloody moron. Even a girl is better to wank to than Chris's grandmother."
"YOU WANKED TO CHRIS'S GRANDMOTHER?!"
Everyone in the store stared at us and Dom puked into a pile of knickers that were 50% off. At least he won't have to pay full price, I thought. Truth be told, I DID in fact wank to one of Chris's grandparents. It just wasn't his grandmother. And he totally dismissed the fact that his grandmother was, in fact, female. I'm sure of it.
To my defense, though, I was totally piss drunk. Booze makes you really horny and I had to release it somehow. Then my eye caught the glimpse of a silhouette across the street; it was Chris's grandfather changing. At that point it was either that or a stuffed hippo on my book shelf.
Though the love-struck face on the hippo was more than enough to excite me, it somehow felt wrong to desire a non-human. In order to justify my sickening desire for Chris's grandfather, I remembered Chris telling me that he had a nipple ring. That lended to the fact that at least one of his nipples must have been huge. . .
After I got Dom to stop puking (it had been a chain of eight consecutive times), we got so desperate that we decided to go behind a dumpster and look for used condoms. No, it's not what you think. As bad as I am, I haven't hit rock bottom. . .at least to my standards. The condoms would be a source of inspiration; they were a testament to the greatness of all who managed to get some through the clever use of lies and endless deceit. And then we would promptly wank to our recreation of the events that lead to the glorious, glorious substance.
Dom found a box of unused condoms, to which a photo of Michael Jackson was taped. I guess they were trying out birth control. Whilst rejoicing, I tripped on a piece of cardboard and fell flat on my arse. Dom helped me up and as I looked down on what I had fallen on, I began to freak.
"It's just a fucking cardboard Elvis!"
"Yes, which also means it's A FUCKING ELVIS PRESLEY!"
"A fucking CARDBOARD-Are you listening-CARDBOARD Elvis."
I ignored his comment. I brushed off a pile of syringes that was on top of it and began to run home with it.
I opened the bottom drawer of my dresser and took out a hot pink thong. The window was wide open and I began to undress (the exhibitionist gene runs in the family. That's why we don't visit my grandmother anymore.) I heard a shrill scream, but I shrugged it off.
Just as I was about to start, the phone rang.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WANKED TO CHRIS'S-"
I cut Dom off before he finished. He's such a hysterical, whiny bitch. It's probably attributed to the unusually high estrogen levels in his blood, and that might explain why he can't get a boner. He's just bitter.
I tossed the cardboard Elvis on my bed and turned him over. Luckily for me, both sides were printed, so I could keep my boner even if I happened to open my eyes. I got into position and then I realised that we lacked atmosphere. So I ran over to the ktichen and fetched some strawberries and honey as well as candles on the way.
I began to spread honey over Elvis's stomach area. The picture was taken before he got fat, so I could fantasise without fear. I licked it suggestively, looking up at Elvis, but then I realised that he was so flat I couldn't look into his eyes. Even so, I was incredibly horny, and I couldn't take it anymore, so I pulled off the thong with a snap and put it over his head. Then I turned him over and half-way through, as I was working it into him, I also realised that there was nothing to be worked at. It wasn't going in.
HE DIDN'T HAVE A HOLE.
The phone rang again.
"It's A FUCKING CARD-"
I was way too distressed by Elvis's lack of a hole to care about what Dom thought.
Just then I got a great idea.
". . .no, that's too big, it has to be smaller. I don't think he was too fond of taking it back there. But he DID sing the Jailhouse Rock, so you never know. I think two inches should be just about right."
With that I began to drill Elvis a two-inch arsehole. I was careful to do it on a wooden surface, since the debris would be harsh on my soft skin. After I was done, I measured the hole for accuracy and I lubed the rim.
I positioned myself once more, and began to fuck him. It proved impossible; not only did it hurt like a bitch as I moved in and pulled out, but I kept getting it stuck. I finally gave up before going soft. At that point, I had a red ring on my dick from where it kept getting stuck.
I don't know why, but for some reason it never occured to me that I was a bottom. You'd think that my size would be a huge clue. I could only be a top with someone as dickless as poor Elvis was (I wonder what the real one had for size.)
That was it! All Elvis really needed was a dick! Even in his cardboard state, he was more of a man than I was and could ever hope to be.
However, even after my glorious observation, a problem remained. What would make a suitable penis? My first thought was of a broomstick, but that was too ambitious. Then I thought of carrots, which I hate, but I promptly dismissed them because they weren't thick enough. I was not about to be deflowered by a wussy dick.
"OWWWWWW!!!!"
That last statement proved to be my biggest mistake. I'd stupidly gone for a cucumber, and not just any cucumber, but a 4-inch thick cucumber. I sat on the bed, with a cucumber up my arse, too afraid to do anything.
After 10 minutes, my thoughts drifted to images of internal haemorhages. I sat.
An hour passed. I sat.
Two hours passed. Still, I sat.
The phone began to ring.
"You piece of sh-"
"Oh Dom, thank god it's you! You've gotta help me, for Christ's sake, if you don't I swear I'm going to die!"
"If you think for a minute that I'm going to believe-"
"I have a cucumber up my shithole."
That, surprisingly, shut him up. In five minutes, an ambulance arrived.
I had to get on my knees and beg the doctor not to tell mum about the cucumber. It had been so deep inside my body that they had to surgically remove it. After he agreed to lie to her, he also mentioned that I wouldn't be able to walk properly for a few weeks.
"But my hole is fine, right?"
"That is hardly the issue here-"
"It's not deformed or enormous, is it?!"
"It is, but it'll go back to normal in a matter of days. Now, what worries me is that-"
"Thank you, that is all I needed to know."
"But the internal ble-"
I let him blab about whatever it was he said. I simply made sure to nod once in a while to avoid being questioned.
The next day Chris, totally unaware of the situation, came to visit. He was accompanied by Dom, who was obviously recovering from an estrogen trip, so he just stood in silence.
"Christ, what happened to you?"
I smiled.
"I got laid."
The first time I heard about Elvis I was probably six. My mother was quite the exhibitionist, so when she was taking a shower that evening, it was only a matter of time before someone saw her.
". . .Return to sender. Adress unknown. No such number, no such z-MATTHEW! NO!"
My jaw dropped at the ugliness of her body. To be fair, though, years later I found out that girls' bodies are actually all disgusting, and my mum's was up there with the better-looking ones. Consequently, this also explains why I never got laid when I was 15. A little voice inside my head always screamed, "MATTHEW! NO!" just as I closed my eyes to put it in. So all that raw sexual energy had to be vented elsewhere.
Which brings me to the theme of my story. As I mentioned earlier, I love Elvis, so I decided that if I was going to have to lose my virginity, it might as well be to him. But as I also said, he's dead.
Fortunately for me, Dom and I crashed a mall later that day. He's so screwed because he can't get laid either, but his problem is that he can't get it up, which, believe me, is not my problem. A gust of wind and a sunset are enough to get me aroused. I guess it's because that always results in some bloke getting laid, according to TV. I hate that. Most of those douches look like shit and yet they do it just about every day. But I digress. We ended up going into Victoria's Secret. Our plan was to sneak into the changing rooms and wank to the thought of a girl in the next room taking off her underwear.
"Wait, I thought you said girls are disgusting."
"Don't be such a bloody moron. Even a girl is better to wank to than Chris's grandmother."
"YOU WANKED TO CHRIS'S GRANDMOTHER?!"
Everyone in the store stared at us and Dom puked into a pile of knickers that were 50% off. At least he won't have to pay full price, I thought. Truth be told, I DID in fact wank to one of Chris's grandparents. It just wasn't his grandmother. And he totally dismissed the fact that his grandmother was, in fact, female. I'm sure of it.
To my defense, though, I was totally piss drunk. Booze makes you really horny and I had to release it somehow. Then my eye caught the glimpse of a silhouette across the street; it was Chris's grandfather changing. At that point it was either that or a stuffed hippo on my book shelf.
Though the love-struck face on the hippo was more than enough to excite me, it somehow felt wrong to desire a non-human. In order to justify my sickening desire for Chris's grandfather, I remembered Chris telling me that he had a nipple ring. That lended to the fact that at least one of his nipples must have been huge. . .
After I got Dom to stop puking (it had been a chain of eight consecutive times), we got so desperate that we decided to go behind a dumpster and look for used condoms. No, it's not what you think. As bad as I am, I haven't hit rock bottom. . .at least to my standards. The condoms would be a source of inspiration; they were a testament to the greatness of all who managed to get some through the clever use of lies and endless deceit. And then we would promptly wank to our recreation of the events that lead to the glorious, glorious substance.
Dom found a box of unused condoms, to which a photo of Michael Jackson was taped. I guess they were trying out birth control. Whilst rejoicing, I tripped on a piece of cardboard and fell flat on my arse. Dom helped me up and as I looked down on what I had fallen on, I began to freak.
"It's just a fucking cardboard Elvis!"
"Yes, which also means it's A FUCKING ELVIS PRESLEY!"
"A fucking CARDBOARD-Are you listening-CARDBOARD Elvis."
I ignored his comment. I brushed off a pile of syringes that was on top of it and began to run home with it.
I opened the bottom drawer of my dresser and took out a hot pink thong. The window was wide open and I began to undress (the exhibitionist gene runs in the family. That's why we don't visit my grandmother anymore.) I heard a shrill scream, but I shrugged it off.
Just as I was about to start, the phone rang.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WANKED TO CHRIS'S-"
I cut Dom off before he finished. He's such a hysterical, whiny bitch. It's probably attributed to the unusually high estrogen levels in his blood, and that might explain why he can't get a boner. He's just bitter.
I tossed the cardboard Elvis on my bed and turned him over. Luckily for me, both sides were printed, so I could keep my boner even if I happened to open my eyes. I got into position and then I realised that we lacked atmosphere. So I ran over to the ktichen and fetched some strawberries and honey as well as candles on the way.
I began to spread honey over Elvis's stomach area. The picture was taken before he got fat, so I could fantasise without fear. I licked it suggestively, looking up at Elvis, but then I realised that he was so flat I couldn't look into his eyes. Even so, I was incredibly horny, and I couldn't take it anymore, so I pulled off the thong with a snap and put it over his head. Then I turned him over and half-way through, as I was working it into him, I also realised that there was nothing to be worked at. It wasn't going in.
HE DIDN'T HAVE A HOLE.
The phone rang again.
"It's A FUCKING CARD-"
I was way too distressed by Elvis's lack of a hole to care about what Dom thought.
Just then I got a great idea.
". . .no, that's too big, it has to be smaller. I don't think he was too fond of taking it back there. But he DID sing the Jailhouse Rock, so you never know. I think two inches should be just about right."
With that I began to drill Elvis a two-inch arsehole. I was careful to do it on a wooden surface, since the debris would be harsh on my soft skin. After I was done, I measured the hole for accuracy and I lubed the rim.
I positioned myself once more, and began to fuck him. It proved impossible; not only did it hurt like a bitch as I moved in and pulled out, but I kept getting it stuck. I finally gave up before going soft. At that point, I had a red ring on my dick from where it kept getting stuck.
I don't know why, but for some reason it never occured to me that I was a bottom. You'd think that my size would be a huge clue. I could only be a top with someone as dickless as poor Elvis was (I wonder what the real one had for size.)
That was it! All Elvis really needed was a dick! Even in his cardboard state, he was more of a man than I was and could ever hope to be.
However, even after my glorious observation, a problem remained. What would make a suitable penis? My first thought was of a broomstick, but that was too ambitious. Then I thought of carrots, which I hate, but I promptly dismissed them because they weren't thick enough. I was not about to be deflowered by a wussy dick.
"OWWWWWW!!!!"
That last statement proved to be my biggest mistake. I'd stupidly gone for a cucumber, and not just any cucumber, but a 4-inch thick cucumber. I sat on the bed, with a cucumber up my arse, too afraid to do anything.
After 10 minutes, my thoughts drifted to images of internal haemorhages. I sat.
An hour passed. I sat.
Two hours passed. Still, I sat.
The phone began to ring.
"You piece of sh-"
"Oh Dom, thank god it's you! You've gotta help me, for Christ's sake, if you don't I swear I'm going to die!"
"If you think for a minute that I'm going to believe-"
"I have a cucumber up my shithole."
That, surprisingly, shut him up. In five minutes, an ambulance arrived.
I had to get on my knees and beg the doctor not to tell mum about the cucumber. It had been so deep inside my body that they had to surgically remove it. After he agreed to lie to her, he also mentioned that I wouldn't be able to walk properly for a few weeks.
"But my hole is fine, right?"
"That is hardly the issue here-"
"It's not deformed or enormous, is it?!"
"It is, but it'll go back to normal in a matter of days. Now, what worries me is that-"
"Thank you, that is all I needed to know."
"But the internal ble-"
I let him blab about whatever it was he said. I simply made sure to nod once in a while to avoid being questioned.
The next day Chris, totally unaware of the situation, came to visit. He was accompanied by Dom, who was obviously recovering from an estrogen trip, so he just stood in silence.
"Christ, what happened to you?"
I smiled.
"I got laid."