“You’ve got to try one of these.”
“I don’t need that. I have the libido of a rutting buck.”
“Yeah, but this will supercharge you. Take a look at porn. All the male stars use it. A lot of the old timer porn stars — the greats like Ron Jeremy — complain that it ruins the artistry and exclusivity of their occupation, because now a bunch of no name punks off the street can stroll onto the set and jackhammer for hours. Thanks to this baby right here, there was a glut of cheap labor into the porn market, and asking prices for prized studs with real talent went way down.”
“That’s great, but I’m not doing porn.”
“You should always fuck like you’re being filmed for a porn scene. Seriously, compare 80s porn to today’s porn. Back then, there were all these cheesy repetitive edits done to the film. It was obvious when the same thrusting action was replayed two or three times in a row. That’s because these guys were banging au naturel. They couldn’t stay hard for day-long fuck sessions. And they didn’t have tremendous staying power either. So editors had to stretch out the scenes. It was an acknowledgement of the limits of male physiology. But now comes this — [Zeets waved the package in the air] — and all bets are off. Guys with no prior experience in the industry are hopping on set, hard as a flagstaff, and banging like champion studs, nonstop, until the girls are chafing and begging for it to be over. Don’t you want that kind of chafing power? This is how you fuck the whore right out of any girl you’re with.”
“What about side effects? I heard it causes vision loss.”
“Yeah, I read about that. Just don’t get addicted to it. Anyhow, that’s mostly a problem for old men. And believe me, nothing’s going to take this stuff off the market. The average old dude thinks to himself, gee, impotence or blindness?, and immediately chooses blindness, because as a man what’s the point of living if you have no sex life?”
“Irrefutable logic. All right, I’ll try one.”
“They’re ten bucks a pop, but since you’re a newb I’ll spot you on this first one.” Zeets dropped the blue pill in my hand. “Just enjoy it, man. You’ll never look back.” I could’ve sworn I caught Zeets rubbing his hands together. Was he my pusher?
Two hours before I was to meet a young girl I had been seeing, I swallowed the pill. She had an insatiable sexual appetite — it took her mere seconds of foreplay to get sloppy wet for penetration — and I doubted anything could tap her out, short of a 24 hour sex marathon that left her hole the consistency of sandpaper.
Nothing happened. As advertised, the pill doesn’t directly cause hard-ons; it simply allows hard-ons to last longer and stay harder once aroused. A girl was still required to jumpstart the process.
At her place, we fooled around for a bit and then undressed. As she slid my boxers down, she marveled at my rigidity — I was as hard as a teenager staring up his teacher’s skirt as she sat on her desk crossing and uncrossing her long legs. The head was pulsating.
“Wow, you’re ready to go!”
“Must be the free range eggs I ate this morning.”
I threw her onto the bed and yanked off her shorts and panties in one uninterrupted motion. Her furrow was boiling to the touch. I slid in easily and commenced the most intimate of intimacies.
I would not say the sensitivity was intensified. It felt as good as it alway does, no worse no better. But something was different. In the middle of a sweaty thrust, I looked up at the digital clock on her bedstand — 10:45. I had been fucking her straight for two hours and five minutes. Nonstop. Not even a break for a glass of water or to catch my breath. Except to switch positions, I was inside of her ransacking her womb for over two hours.
She came four times during those two hours. I hadn’t cum yet. The wonder pill not only let me stay rock hard with no let-up, it also delayed my money shot. As I rested on top of her, our greased chests pressed tightly together, she panted in my ear.
I pulled her to the edge of the bed, on her back, and fucked her while my thumbs pried open her labia for an exciting visual. Her vulva was inflamed a deep angry red. Her slick pussy juice had catalyzed into dry, waxy, white pellets from my repeated endless thrustings, and were falling out of her pussy like an army of ovum. The chafing had begun.
“Phew, wait, I need a second.”
I stopped and lay beside her for a few minutes. My boner never went down.
“Ok, I’m ready.”
We resumed, and I focused on shooting my wad. Usually, this is best done in the primo animalistic position — doggy style. Finally, two hours and twenty-five minutes later, I blew. Five minutes after that, I was chubbing out again.
I didn’t know how long the effects lasted, but I found out. We slept in; late the next morning I poked her in the ass crevice with my morning wood. Hard as the night before. I was still under the influence. Another hour of fucking and I had to stop; my dick was beginning to glow like an irradiated blood sausage.
We left the humid confines of her place and went for brunch. Under the bright sunshine, she stumbled a bit while walking. She spoke haltingly, her head lolling around lazily on her neck. The pill is a game changer. A marriage saver, and a marriage destroyer. A pot of gold, and a poison apple.
I swore to myself never to take it again.