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xmag.com : July 2002: I Hate Sex

I always knew I'd hate sex, so I put off having it for as long as I could. But let me tell you, it's not easy for a hot young chick to avoid it--from the time I sprouted pubic hair, everyone wanted a piece of my ass! Somehow I made it through high school and college without caving in to the sweaty hordes of lecherous professors and horny frat boys...but then I moved to Las Vegas, and the jig was up. I knew if I was gonna make it, I'd have to put out! I tried to hold out with just blow jobs, but my first mouthful of dick, with a stinking asshole just inches below my nose, convinced me to bust my precious hymen and get cracking! But being the self-important bitch that I am, the circumstances for the grand opening of my box had to be appropriately glamorous...so I set out to make it happen in style!

By this time I was twenty-four, and the pressure was really on. In my haste, I freaked out and almost blew it one night! I was making out with this hot young buck in his hotel room, and all systems were go. I was seconds away from unbolting my lockbox, when suddenly I noticed the pirate statue on the nightstand. Give me a break!! I had come that close to losing my virginity at the freakin' Treasure Island!!! I may be white trash, but even I have more class than that. I packed up, left his blue balls hanging in Disneyland, and went off to seek my fortune elsewhere.

It wasn't long before another stiff came my way--a few weeks later I had a date with a different guy, who was staying at the 5-star Bellagio. Ka-ching! Now that's the kind of joint where a guy can tear into some virgin pussy in style. After a few drinks in the lounge, I sized up my date and decided he would do: fat, Jewish, old, and rich. Just my type! We went up to his penthouse suite for some wine, and I downed about a half a bottle in preparation for the horrors ahead.

The lights on the Las Vegas Strip sparkled below as I stripped down to my hot virginal white cotton panties, cowering before him on the luxurious king-sized bed. The light of lust was in his eyes and the slaver of passion on his lips as he dove in for the kill, heaving and sweating over me, poking me with his chubby dick until he broke on through and blood was spilled. Hallelujah! The only thing missing was Miss America with a giant pair of ceremonial scissors--"I now declare this box OPEN!"

Distressingly, however, when I checked the bed in the morning there was no blood on the sheets at all. I thought that maybe because I had waited so long, my maidenhead had become dried-up and jerky-fied. But thank God, once I got dressed and started moving around, the juices started flowing. Blood was everywhere! It soaked my panties and it was a good thing, too, 'cause I had controversial art plans for 'em!

After my initiation I was all over town, ready to make friends, influence people, and get rich--and enjoy myself at the same time. But after I had banged my way around Vegas for a month or two, I figured out that I'd been right from the very beginning--sex is a stinking, messy ordeal that must only be endured on special occasions or for special amounts of money. I'll use sex as a tool...if I have to! But it's going to be the kind of tool that's wrapped in burlap and kept on the top shelf in the garage...and is hardly ever used!







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