The Average American Male

by Chad Kultgen

  Neither Alyna nor I contribute much to the conversation. Instead we drink our drinks and she puts her hand in my lap. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, her hand moves from gently resting on my leg to semi–jerking me off through my pants. Todd and his two bitches are oblivious to what’s going on under the table, which at one point is me fingering Alyna under her skirt and her about to make me blow a load in my pants by rubbing my cock through them.

  As the table conversation dives into further boredom with a change in topic to the sensibility of leasing cars versus buying them and how the reverse is true in the real estate world, a slightly drunk Alyna leans over with her hand still on my cock and whispers the following line in my ear: “I want to go back to your place and fuck your brains out right now.”

  I say, “Well, ladies, it was nice to meet you. Todd, I think we should be going. We’re getting kind of tired and I’ve got to be up early in the morning for some things.”

  He says, “What? What things do you have to be up early for?”

  “Just some things.”

  “Like what? You don’t have to be up early for shit.”

  I’m kind of buzzed and far too ready to fuck to think straight. I say, “I have to make a phone call.”

  This seems to confuse everyone at the table enough to allow our dismissal.

  Todd says, “Oh. Well, Alyna, it was nice meeting you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other around.” I can’t tell whether he’s trying to hit on her or he’s giving our burgeoning relationship a drunken vote of confidence.

  She says, “Nice meeting you, too.”

  The fat pig and the hot bitch both say something like, “Good night, nice meeting you,” but I don’t care enough to actually decipher it.

  As we leave I shift my hard-on to make walking more comfortable. When we get in the car Alyna says, “Jesus Christ, I thought we’d never get out of there,” and she kisses me hard with a wet mouth.

  When we get back to my place, she kind of pushes me down on my bed, takes my pants off, and starts sucking my cock. Without taking her mouth off my dick she somehow takes her own clothes off and maneuvers herself around into the sixty-nine position. Once again I notice her asshole smells like some kind of berry or melon and once again I enjoy it.

  She sucks my dick as I eat her out, then just as I’m wondering if she’s going to make good on the offer to fuck my brains out, she climbs off my face and sits on my dick. I don’t really do much except lie there while she grinds on my cock.

  I don’t know if she can somehow sense it or if it’s just lucky timing, but every time I’m about to blow a load she gets off my cock and says something like, “Fuck me doggie style,” or “I want you on top.”

  It seems like we’ve been fucking for a while, but as she cums and the sound of her cumming makes me blow a gigantic load in her pussy, I look at the clock and notice that we’ve only been going at it for ten minutes. I wonder if she’s in any way disappointed. I’m far from it. Even in the few seconds after I’ve expelled what must be one of the biggest loads of my life, I am fully aware that this is quite possibly the best single sexual experience I’ve ever had, barring maybe the first time I had my dick sucked by Jennifer Gladson my sophomore year in high school.

  She lies down next to me, panting. She says, “That was amazing.”

  I say, “Yeah.”

  She doesn’t really snuggle up to me, but just kind of lays a hand on my stomach and we both just look at my ceiling, breathing. The berry or melon smell from her asshole is still in my nose, which I find pleasant. I think momentarily about a conversation we had last week in which she explained that she’s been on the pill since she was seventeen and it’s the only form of birth control she’ll use because she hates rubbers. I wonder if she was lying, or if maybe she’s forgotten to take it recently and my giant load is impregnating her. Despite my overwhelming urge to ask her these questions, I remain quiet and just stare at my ceiling.

  After ten or fifteen minutes pass and I’m almost asleep, I feel her hand on my dick and her lips on one of my nipples. She says, “You got another round in ya?” Judging by the speed with which my dick becomes hard, I guess I do.

  chapter thirty-two

  Halo 2

  The next morning I wake up and Alyna’s in my bed next to me, staring at me. She says, “Morning.”

  I say, “Good morning.”

  “Last night was pretty incredible.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think we should see if we can relive a little of it this morning.”

  I don’t know why Alyna would only suck my dick and jerk me off until last night, but apparently whatever kind of seal she had on sex has been broken. We fuck each other in a slow, controlled rhythm that makes us both cum about thirty minutes later. Then we get up, take a shower, and go into my kitchen area to look for breakfast. As we pass through the living room she notices my array of video game systems and says, “You have an Xbox 360?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have Halo 2?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you any good?”

  It’s a strange challenge that excites me almost as much as the thought of her ass grinding against my crotch as I fuck her. We hurriedly eat two bowls of Fruity Pebbles and sit down to play Halo for the next few hours. Alyna’s not the best Halo player I’ve ever seen and is less than a challenge for me, but I’m legitimately impressed at the level of skill she does have, and her genuine enthusiasm for the game is beyond rare for a girl.

  As we play she admits to being a minor video game junkie and attributes her interest and skill to having two brothers who constantly played video games and refused to let her play shitty girl games like Tetris or Bubble Trouble when they were growing up. I want to meet her brothers.

  After we play against each other on several maps and she vows that one day she’ll beat me, we go online and get into a few team games. In each of them she hops in the driver’s seat of the warthog and I get on the turret. She’s a good driver and we do well. She says, “I love this game. I can’t wait until the next one comes out.”

  I instantly remember a day that Casey agreed to play Halo with me. She played for a grand total of three minutes and complained that she didn’t understand the controls before asking me if we could play Tetris or Dance Dance Revolution, which she later forced me to buy. When I told her that I didn’t have Tetris and I didn’t want to play Dance Dance Revolution because it’s a shitty game, we ended up going to the Beverly Center and looking at couches in Crate and Barrel for three hours.

  As the next game queues up and we can already hear the voices of some of the players who have entered the queue with us, I wonder if Alyna could ever spend three hours looking at couches.

  I say, “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

  “Nothing.”

  The game starts and she hops in a warthog on the beach. I get on the turret.

  She says, “Why?”

  “I don’t know, I was just wondering.”

  I take out a few players with a round of machine-gun fire.

  She says, “Do you want to do something with me today?”

  “If you want to…I mean, I don’t want to…”

  “Rush things?”

  “Yeah.”

  She drives up a ramp and deposits us on the opposite side of a wall, where there are three enemy players waiting, one with a power sword. She runs him over and I take out the other two with the machine gun.

  She says, “I don’t want to rush things either, but if we both want to hang out with each other, then nobody’s rushing anything, right?”

  She spins the warthog around and we’re staring down the sights of a guy with a rocket launcher.

  I say, “I guess not.”

  We both jump off the warthog just in time to see a rocket blow it apart and both of our shields go down to half. We both whip out battle rifles and deliver a few short bursts to the rocket launcher guy’s head. He goes down.


  She says, “I think we should just do what feels right.”

  “Me too.”

  “Besides, I’m going to be out of town this weekend so we’ll have plenty of time to not see each other.”

  “Where you going?”

  She picks up the guy’s rocket launcher and blows up an enemy player who’s at a turret in the main base, then says, “I’m going back home. I haven’t seen my parents at all this semester and they said they’d fly me back for a weekend because they miss me so much.”

  “You need a ride to the airport or anything?”

  She runs out of rockets and trades her rocket launcher for a sniper rifle she finds on the ground. I slightly regret the airport offer. I don’t want her to think it means more than it does.

  Alyna says, “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’d like to do it.” I have to back up my original offer.

  “Okay, then yeah, I guess I need a ride.”

  She crouches behind a rock and waits for her shield to get back to full. I run over beside her and my cell phone starts ringing.

  I say, “Dammit. Why do people always call right in the middle of a good game?”

  She says, “Get it. I’ll protect you.” Alyna keeps playing while I answer it in the bedroom.

  It’s Casey. She demands that I have coffee with her as I promised and wants to know if I was ever going to call her to set it up. I explain that I’ve been busy and ultimately schedule our coffee date for the upcoming weekend before hanging up.

  When I get back I see that Alyna’s been trying to fend off enemy players from our position and my controller’s vibration is evidence of this task’s difficulty.

  She says, “Who was it?”

  “L.A. Times trying to sell me a newspaper subscription.”

  As soon as I pick my controller back up, the vibrations are replaced with stillness and my character’s accompanying death grunt.

  some chapter

  Jenna’s Picture

  I’m looking through some old boxes for the Nintendo Power Glove that I got for my seventh birthday. As I take some old books from college out of a box, a picture of my old girlfriend Jenna falls out of one. It’s a picture that I took of her on the beach when we went to Martha’s Vineyard one summer.

  I am surprised that seeing this picture makes me stop looking for the Power Glove and sit down to think about that summer and about Jenna, who I realize is now married to the shark-toothed manager of NASCAR Superstore and possibly has given birth to his shark-toothed child.

  I remember that she liked to fuck outside and we fucked that summer on the beach, not far from the exact location she’s standing on in the picture. I wonder if her shark-toothed husband fucks her outside. I wonder if she likes it when he jerks off in front of her. I wonder what my life would be like if she had stuck to her plan of moving to Los Angeles when she graduated. I wonder if she’s fat.

  In the picture she’s far from it. She’s wearing a bikini that accentuates her already ample C-cup tits. She’s standing at an angle so her ass, which was always a little too flat for my taste, but still a great ass, looks better than I remember it. Her stomach is defined but not overly muscular.

  I try to remember our first few dates and can’t. For some reason I remember a specific date we had sometime in the middle of our relationship when she dragged me to a Renaissance fair and paid a fat ugly high school girl in a wench costume two dollars to kiss me. I remember her rubbing my back once when I was sick. I remember renting The Natural with her because she had never seen it. I remember her telling me that when she was a little kid she thought Frisbees were gas-powered.

  I put the picture back in the book and put the book back in the box.

  When I try to jerk off to memories of fucking Jenna I can’t cum, so I spend ten minutes downloading some Internet porn and end up blowing my load to the image of a skinny, pale girl with smaller than average tits and a mole right above her pussy taking it up the ass and saying, “That’s it—clean it out, clean it out.”

  chapter thirty-three

  Coffee with Casey

  I’ve spent almost every night with Alyna for the past week, but it surprises me that I feel something close to real sadness as I get her bag out of the back of my car and hand it to her outside the American Airlines terminal at LAX.

  She kisses me. Then she hugs me and says, “Thanks for the ride, mister.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’m gonna miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you, too.”

  She hugs me again, tighter this time. I feel her rock-hard tits press against me.

  She says, “This is stupid. I’m only leaving for the weekend. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Okay.”

  She gives me one more tight hug and then squeezes my ass before she says, “I’ll call you from my parents’ house.”

  “Okay.”

  As she walks into the terminal she blows me a kiss. I genuinely wish she was staying. I watch her ass as she walks through the sliding doors into the check-in area, then I get back in my car and leave.

  I meet Casey about forty-five minutes later at the coffee shop she demanded I go to in order to prevent her from showing up at my place every night at two A.M. I’m fully prepared for a psychotic outburst.

  When I walk in, she’s already sitting down trying not to look too eager. She’s wearing a tight shirt that shows off how decent her tits are, and since she’s already sitting down, I don’t get a glance at her big ass, which makes me wonder if she’s somehow miraculously slimmed her ass to a normal size since we broke up. I decide to go with the odds and believe that her ass is the same size if not bigger due to dealing with the emotional stress I must have caused her.

  I sit down at the table with her.

  She says, “I wasn’t sure you were going to come.”

  “I said I would.”

  “I know.”

  She takes a drink of her coffee. A group of ten or so college-age girls all wearing UCLA women’s soccer sweat suits walk in. Casey notices me checking them out. I don’t care.

  She says, “So like let’s talk.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  She takes another drink of coffee, wanting me to say something. I don’t want to say anything. I don’t want to be sitting here. I want to be back at my apartment fucking Alyna up against my bedroom wall.

  Casey says, “So…do you miss me at all?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “What do you mean you don’t think so?”

  “I mean no.”

  “You don’t miss me at all?”

  “No.”

  She starts to tear up and I want her to cry in this coffee shop. I want to be the guy sitting across from her as she’s sobbing like a stupid fucking kid right in front of the UCLA women’s soccer team.

  Casey says, “We were together for a year and a half and you don’t miss me even a little?”

  I give a little pause for impact. “Not at all.”

  “Are you happy?”

  Even when I was with Casey, I never considered myself unhappy, but the marked difference in the amount of enjoyment that I get from my life without her in it is undeniable.

  I say, “Yeah.”

  She says, “Happier than when you were with me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  The answer is clear and simple: Alyna. Alyna fucks better and more, she has an amazing ass, and she genuinely seems to like me more than the idea of being married by twenty-eight no matter what. Even though I want Casey to self-destruct right in front of me and I know telling her about Alyna will snap her like a twig, I don’t.

  Instead I say, “I don’t know. I just am.”

  “Well, I don’t like understand that.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Well, if you don’t understand it, then why did you break up with me?”

  Casey’s voice has ri
sen loudly enough by this point in the conversation to get the attention of the soccer team, who are now poorly disguising the fact that they’re listening to every word we say.

  “I just had to.”

  “You had to?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you I don’t know.”

  “Can’t you give us another chance?”

  “No.”

  “I think I deserve another chance.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why can’t you? Like what’s so bad about seeing if we can work through this?”

  “There’s nothing so bad about it. It’s just not going to happen.”

  “You wouldn’t go out on a date with me?”

  The thought of going on a date with Casey and trying to see how many holes I could put my cock in before the night ended does pique my interest, but my unyielding urge to run out the front doors of the coffee shop and never see Casey again for the rest of my life holds more weight.

  I say, “No.”

  Casey’s close to losing it. She slows down and takes a long swig of her coffee. I look at the UCLA women’s soccer team and they all quickly try to look at something else. Casey also notices that they’ve been watching us.

  She says, “Can we go back to your apartment and talk about this?”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is like a private conversation and I don’t really want to be having it in public.”

  “I think we should stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s better that way.”

  She drinks more coffee.

  She says, “You know, my mom always told me she never liked you.”

  “You should have listened to her.”

  “I just can’t believe you’re doing this.”