Thigh Pillow: A Dennis Story
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It is part of a series following the adventures of Dennis, a womanizing college freshman.
Dennis awoke feeling the prickle points of a polyester rug on his chin and skin against his ear and forehead. What sort of place he’d fallen asleep in was unclear. His head screamed. The room was dim and quiet in a heavy sort of way that conveyed many bodies nearby. His torso was bare and his boxers itched.
The nearest body, he soon saw, as he fully opened his eyes, was the one he was lying on. The first thing he saw was an undefined ridge in the dimness, plus some extra rug prickles. But no: those weren’t rug prickles. They were pubic hairs. And the skin he lay on was some chick’s thigh. And the ridge was one of her labial folds, untucked, pointing towards his face. His eyes adjusted and he could make out the pinkness. It was no more than four inches from his face.
He inhaled: smell of grody rug. Smell of dried sweat. Smell of genitals. Smell of dried sexy time. Dennis labeled each smell in his head as he recognized them. He snorted a small laugh when he thought dried sexy time. He swallowed. Sore throat. Arid dryness. Taste of Jameson. Faint taste of pussy.
He tried to sit up and felt the weight of her other leg crooked over his shoulder. Following some body wriggling her foot fell on the rug with an hard, apathetic sound. Dennis prepared for her to wake up. But the girl did not even stir.
She was all right, right? He hadn’t hooked up with a dead chick?
He was on a rug in some small bedroom. The bed was there, but he and this lass who’d been providing him a bed and breakfast experience were not on it. Soft hip hop played beyond the door, in another room. He looked at the girl. She was still conked out, her head tilted to the right, her mouth and nose in the bend of her arm that splayed above her. She was a brunette with large, bumpy curls that fanned out on the rug just beneath her head. She wore eyeliner. She looked cute enough in this light. Cute, and familiar. Also completely naked.
Dennis thought. Ah, yes! He remembered talking to her. She was the girl with the insanely mixed drink in her hand that he’d called a “vomit-everything-drink,” which got her to smile. The last thing he remembered was them talking in the kitchen. He remembered the sound of her voice over the music; ringing and thin. He did not remember her name but was sure that they’d shaken hands and he’d told her his.
Well, it seemed they’d done a little more than shake hands by now.
A sharp sense of self-blame came over Dennis. Why did he have to drink so much? Ever since he’d stopped dealing pot, even before that, when had been suspended for dealing pot, his alcohol intake had skyrocketed. He’d remembered all the drunken sex he’d had until now. Now that he was blackout drinking every weekend, apparently. But had they actually fucked? Dennis stretched open his boxers. Flaccid dick, no condom. He touched himself. There was none of the thin stickiness that remained after he raw dogged a girl, which was most of the time.
Anyway, her vagina wasn’t that ruffled. It was ruffled only insofar as a tongue could ruffle a vagina.
Dennis did the only thing he knew to do that would make him feel good: he owned it. He searched for his jeans and found them closer to the window. He got out his cell phone. He opened his camera app and aimed the camera at the vagina his face had been near to a minute earlier. His phone had low light capabilities like no other.
“This. THIS is what I woke up to,” he said. He thought of tilting up the length of her body and settled on zooming in between her legs.
“Except like…that close. Do I remember HOW I got there? Nope.”
He turned the camera to his face.
“Anyway, how’s your morning going? What you been up to?”
His phone was probably too close to his mouth as he said this last bit. But then, wasn’t that kind of perfect, given the situation?
He planned to put it on TikTok. See how many hits it got until he received a notice that he was banned for thirty days, again. Or maybe this time forever. Did TikTok do forever bans? He bet they did not. Nothing was forever.
Somehow, Dennis found what he was pretty sure were his socks. He put on a t-shirt that appeared to fit. He did not find his shoes. He realized they were likely gone. Forever gone. He tiptoed out the door out of wobbliness rather than fear of waking the girl on the floor. The door creaked and she stirred. She lifted her head.
It is part of a series following the adventures of Dennis, a womanizing college freshman.
Dennis awoke feeling the prickle points of a polyester rug on his chin and skin against his ear and forehead. What sort of place he’d fallen asleep in was unclear. His head screamed. The room was dim and quiet in a heavy sort of way that conveyed many bodies nearby. His torso was bare and his boxers itched.
The nearest body, he soon saw, as he fully opened his eyes, was the one he was lying on. The first thing he saw was an undefined ridge in the dimness, plus some extra rug prickles. But no: those weren’t rug prickles. They were pubic hairs. And the skin he lay on was some chick’s thigh. And the ridge was one of her labial folds, untucked, pointing towards his face. His eyes adjusted and he could make out the pinkness. It was no more than four inches from his face.
He inhaled: smell of grody rug. Smell of dried sweat. Smell of genitals. Smell of dried sexy time. Dennis labeled each smell in his head as he recognized them. He snorted a small laugh when he thought dried sexy time. He swallowed. Sore throat. Arid dryness. Taste of Jameson. Faint taste of pussy.
He tried to sit up and felt the weight of her other leg crooked over his shoulder. Following some body wriggling her foot fell on the rug with an hard, apathetic sound. Dennis prepared for her to wake up. But the girl did not even stir.
She was all right, right? He hadn’t hooked up with a dead chick?
He was on a rug in some small bedroom. The bed was there, but he and this lass who’d been providing him a bed and breakfast experience were not on it. Soft hip hop played beyond the door, in another room. He looked at the girl. She was still conked out, her head tilted to the right, her mouth and nose in the bend of her arm that splayed above her. She was a brunette with large, bumpy curls that fanned out on the rug just beneath her head. She wore eyeliner. She looked cute enough in this light. Cute, and familiar. Also completely naked.
Dennis thought. Ah, yes! He remembered talking to her. She was the girl with the insanely mixed drink in her hand that he’d called a “vomit-everything-drink,” which got her to smile. The last thing he remembered was them talking in the kitchen. He remembered the sound of her voice over the music; ringing and thin. He did not remember her name but was sure that they’d shaken hands and he’d told her his.
Well, it seemed they’d done a little more than shake hands by now.
A sharp sense of self-blame came over Dennis. Why did he have to drink so much? Ever since he’d stopped dealing pot, even before that, when had been suspended for dealing pot, his alcohol intake had skyrocketed. He’d remembered all the drunken sex he’d had until now. Now that he was blackout drinking every weekend, apparently. But had they actually fucked? Dennis stretched open his boxers. Flaccid dick, no condom. He touched himself. There was none of the thin stickiness that remained after he raw dogged a girl, which was most of the time.
Anyway, her vagina wasn’t that ruffled. It was ruffled only insofar as a tongue could ruffle a vagina.
Dennis did the only thing he knew to do that would make him feel good: he owned it. He searched for his jeans and found them closer to the window. He got out his cell phone. He opened his camera app and aimed the camera at the vagina his face had been near to a minute earlier. His phone had low light capabilities like no other.
“This. THIS is what I woke up to,” he said. He thought of tilting up the length of her body and settled on zooming in between her legs.
“Except like…that close. Do I remember HOW I got there? Nope.”
He turned the camera to his face.
“Anyway, how’s your morning going? What you been up to?”
His phone was probably too close to his mouth as he said this last bit. But then, wasn’t that kind of perfect, given the situation?
He planned to put it on TikTok. See how many hits it got until he received a notice that he was banned for thirty days, again. Or maybe this time forever. Did TikTok do forever bans? He bet they did not. Nothing was forever.
Somehow, Dennis found what he was pretty sure were his socks. He put on a t-shirt that appeared to fit. He did not find his shoes. He realized they were likely gone. Forever gone. He tiptoed out the door out of wobbliness rather than fear of waking the girl on the floor. The door creaked and she stirred. She lifted her head.
36-40, M
