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So, to answer your question: who the fuck am I?
I’m a motherfucking Navy SEAL, motherfucker.
That’s what I do.
That’s who I am.
Don’t get me wrong. It hasn’t been all work and no play. During that time, I’d had sex with 432 ladies of various shapes, sizes, colors, and nationalities. My standards tended to waver based on the amount of readily available pussy and the amount of alcohol consumed.
I’d been the beneficiary of 319 blowjobs that ranged from “just okay” to “fucking mind-blowing”. In my humble opinion, there was really no such thing as a bad blowjob, although there was one Peruvian chick that had one hell of an overbite who left me with teeth marks on my cock that took a few days to heal. I didn’t mind so much. I just consider
ed them to be battle scars, like the three bullet holes in my back that got me my first Purple Heart and the jagged scars on my forearms from that cocksucker in that Columbian bar who came at me with a butcher knife when he caught me talking to his old lady.
I’d been on the receiving end of 272 hand jobs and spent an entire furloughed weekend in Bogota once, cuffed to a metal bed while identical twins named Lola and Lulu—who didn’t speak a word of English—did things to my body that I wished they’d videotaped because you’d have to see it to believe it.
I walked funny for a week after that, but it was worth it.
I reckoned my looks were the main reason I got laid so much. God knows it wasn’t my sparkling personality that attracted the women. I didn’t smile much. And I wasn’t much of a talker. And my intolerance for bullshit had led me into so many fights that I didn’t even bother counting them anymore.
A Ukrainian chick whose name I couldn’t pronounce and can’t remember once told me, “Is good thing you good looking. You have personality like dog shit.” She said it while she was straddling my hips, riding my cock like a jockey in the Kentucky Derby. I just told her to shut the fuck up and keep on riding. And she did.
“Tall, dark, and dangerous,” is how my buddy Troy introduced me to the ladies who hung out in the bars we hit when we had some down time. My SEAL call sign was Vader, which I thought was kind of cool. It fit me. I’m 6’4, with buzzed dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin, and I can grow a full beard in less than a week. Over the years, I’ve packed on 225 pounds of solid muscle, and have black tribal tats all over my shoulders and arms. Women dig tattoos. At least a certain kind of women do. And those women of a certain kind seem to flock to me and it would be rude to turn them all down (I just turn down the dogs… I know… I’m shallow that way…).
One woman in Germany wanted to fuck me because she said I looked like the dude on the cover of some dirty romance novel she used to get herself off when her husband—a German Army colonel—wasn’t around. I think the name of the book was like, Big Dick SEAL, which fit me because I was a SEAL and I did have a big cock. It’s exactly 10¼ inches from base to tip when fully erect, to be precise. I know… numbers again…
What’s that? Have I ever been in love?
Once. But that was a long, long time ago, when I was just a kid.
I lost my virginity when I was 16, roughly 4,745 days ago, to a girl named Annabel Lee back home in Gulf Breeze. Her daddy said he named her after that Edgar Allen Poe poem, but I knew that was bullshit. Billy Ray Lee had trouble reading the backs of cereal boxes. I knew for a fact he didn’t know who the fuck Edgar Allen Poe was. Somebody smarter than him must have pointed out that he named his baby girl the same name as the poem and it made Billy Ray feel smart, so he went with it.
Anyway, in the poem, the narrator fell in love with this girl named Annabel Lee when they were both very young. She was so beautiful, and their love so deep, he believed the angels were jealous and took her from him. His love for her continued even after her death and he never stopped pining for her. I remembered reading the poem over and over again in high school, hoping in some silly teenage way that it was not an omen of things to come for me and my Annabel Lee. No, she didn’t die, but her love for me did the moment she caught me with my dick in another girl’s mouth in the back of my mom’s old Chrysler after a football game. I tried to win her back, but she wouldn’t even give me the time of day, and I couldn’t really blame her. I royally fucked up. I fucked us up. It wasn’t too long thereafter that the sheriff put me on the bus headed for boot camp clear across country and that was all she wrote.
I never saw or spoke to Annabel Lee again.
It was the one regret that topped all others in a life filled with regrets.
I can still remember a few lines from the poem. I recited them in my head every night the first few months I was gone.
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
Like a lot of girls from south Texas, Annabel was one part Mexican, one part Cherokee Indian, and two parts “who the fuck knows”. Her hair was the color of a raven’s wings and her eyes were as deep a blue as the Gulf of Mexico at sunset. Fine, I’m no Edgar Allen Poe, but that’s how I remembered her, so fuck you.
Annabel and I were just sixteen-years-old the night we popped each other’s cherries in the back seat of my mom’s Chrysler (that old piece of crap Chrysler had a back seat like a mattress on wheels).
We had been unofficially dating and fiddling around sexually for a long time. We were young and horny and loved to experiment and make each other cum. I didn’t count things back then, but there were a lot of hand jobs, finger jobs, blow jobs, and massive amounts of tongue fucking. I lived for those moments when I could suck on Annabel’s tender clit and part her pussy lips with my fingers and shove my tongue deep inside her sweet hole. Her juices flowed from her pussy like a warm stream over my tongue and into my mouth. It was like drinking the nectar of the gods. I lapped it up like a kitten attacking a bowl of milk and prodded for more. Even after all this time I could still close my eyes and taste her on the tip of my tongue… sweet… salty… pungent… I could still smell the scent of her cunt when I inhaled deeply, recalling the memory of her squirming against my lips.
We had done everything except fuck at that point, so we knew each other’s bodies well and knew how to quickly reach the point of orgasm. Slipping my cock inside her pussy just seemed like the natural progression of things, at least that’s what I’d been trying to convince her of. I’d been begging her for a while to let me fuck her, but she kept saying no, no, no. I had cum in her mouth, on her belly, on her tits, on her ass, and on her face, but I longed for the tight, wet, searing heat of her pussy around my cock.
And then the night came when Annabel said we could take things all the way. She had been milking my cock and I’d had my fingers buried all up inside her pussy for nearly half an hour when she whispered, “I want you to fuck me, Shane” in my ear. I was so fucking excited I almost shot my load just hearing those words. I could barely get the rubber out of the wrapper, my hands were shaking so bad.
Annabel calmly took the rubber and expertly slid it over my cock and climbed on top of me. I could remember the exact moment her tight pussy opened up like a delicate flower and allowed my big cock to slowly come inside. Her pussy was so tight it hurt going in at first, like a thousand fingers squeezing my dick as it forced its way into a hole the size of a thimble. Then, the tip of my cock hit her hymen and she froze. I watched her take a deep breath. Then she smiled at me with tears in her eyes and impaled herself on my cock in one quick movement. She gasped and fell still for a moment, then she exhaled deeply as her hips started to slowly move back and forth, sliding me in and out of her gushing virgin hole.
