Tucker tries buttsex; hilarity does not ensue


by Tucker Max


I spent the summer between my 2nd and 3rd year of college suckling on the parental teat in South Florida. It was the absolute prime of my “do anything to get laid” phase. I was recently freed from a 4-year long-distance relationship that began in high school and I wanted nothing more than to have sex with as many girls as possible.


Most of the things I did that summer are not story-worthy; you can only tell the same, “I got drunk on Dom and fucked this hottie” story so many times before it gets annoying. That summer I experienced every random sex situation that a 20 year old can imagine: fucking on the beach, getting head from random girls in club bathrooms, sleeping with 3 different girls in a day, getting so drunk I passed out during sex, getting arrested for receiving fellatio in the pool at the Delano, blah, blah, blah…Jesus. What does it say about how fucked up my life is that I don’t consider these stories to be extraordinary anymore?


Anyway, while most of my stories may not be extraordinary for me, there is one very notable exception…


I was seeing one girl, “Jaime,” about twice a week. She was a fresh arrival to South Beach, having moved there 5 months ago from upstate New York as a 19 year old with a modeling contract. We met through a mutual friend who befriended her while they were shooting a TV commercial. Five weeks and lots of sex later, she thought we were dating. I knew better, but she was way too hot to bother correcting her assumption.


The ex-girlfriend of 4-years I previously spoke about was very sexually conservative. It was missionary in the dark and then straight to sleep, with maybe a blowjob on the weekends if she’d had a few glasses of wine with dinner (it was a high school relationship, I didn’t know any better). After four years of this, I was ready to experience all the things I’d missed out on (when I wasn’t cheating on her, of course).


Buttsex, known in the biz as “anal,” was one of these unknowns, and I decided that I wanted to try it. Jaime was the perfect partner: very hot and very sweet, and more importantly, very naïve and very open to suggestion.


She was reluctant at first, not understanding why we just couldn’t keep having normal sex, so I had to employ my persuasive powers:


Jaime “But…I’ve never done it.”
Tucker “I’ve never done it either; it can be our thing.”


Jaime “But…I don’t know if I’ll like it.”
Tucker “You won’t have to worry about getting pregnant.”


Jaime “But…I like normal sex.”
Tucker “Everyone’s doing anal. It’s the ‘in’ thing.”

Jaime “But…I don’t know…it seems weird.”
Tucker “It’s the preferred method in Europe. Especially with the runway models. Don’t you want to do runways in Europe?”


After a few weeks of this, she finally consented. Though she agreed to let me put my penis in her small hole, she extracted a promise in return:


“OK, we can try anal sex, but I want it to be special and romantic. You have to take me out to a nice place, like The Forge or Tantra, NOT one of your parent’s restaurants, and it has to be a weekend night, NOT a Monday. And you have to keep taking me out on weekends. I’m tired of being your Monday night girl.”


I made reservations for the next Friday at Tantra. Aside from being insanely expensive, Tantra is famous for having grass floors. Really; they put in new sod every week. They also advertise their food as “aphrodisiac cuisine.” Yes, at that point in my life, I thought these things worked.


Thanks to my father’s connections, I got us a corner booth in the grass room. She was quite impressed. I ordered like it was the Last Supper. No expense was spared. Two $110 bottles of merlot, veal rack, stone crabs, the Tantra Love platter--it was lavish and decadent. I was 21, stupid, and wanted to fuck Jaime in the butt; I wasn’t about to let a $400 tab get in my way.


By the time we left Tantra, this girl had doe eyes that would have made Bambi looked like a heroin-chic CK model. She could not have been more in love with me. The entire drive back to my place she was rubbing my crotch, telling me how badly she wanted to me to fuck her, how hot I made her, etc, etc. We get back to my place and our clothes are off before we even get in the door. We collapse on the bed and start fucking. Normal vaginal sex at first, just like always.


Now, what she did not know, and what I have not told you yet, was that I had a surprise waiting for her.


[Aside: Before I tell you what the surprise was, let me make this clear: As I stand right now, 27 as of this writing, I am a bad person. At 21, I was possibly the worst person in existence. I had no regard for the feelings of others, I was narcissistic and self-absorbed to the point of psychotic delusion, and I saw other people only as a means to my happiness and not as humans worthy of respect and consideration. I have no excuse for what I did; it was wrong and I regret it. Even though I normally revel in my outlandish behavior, sometimes even I cross the line, and this is one of those situations….but of course, I’m still going to write about it.]


This was going to be my first time foraging in the ass forest, and I wanted to have a reminder of my trip, a memento I could carry with me the rest of my life…so I decided to film us.


I planned this beforehand, but I was afraid she would decline, so instead of being mature and discussing this with Jaime, I just made the executive decision to get it on camera…without telling her.


That alone is pretty bad. But instead of just setting up a hidden camera…I got my friend to hide in my closet and film it.


No really--I know that I will burn in hell. At this point, I’m just hoping that my life can serve as a warning to others.


I left my door unlocked and we arranged it so that around midnight my friend would go over to my place and wait until my car pulled in, and then run into the closet and get the camera ready. The top half of the closet door was a French shutter, so it was easy to move the slats and give him a decent camera shot through the closed door.


By the time Jaime and I got to the bed, I was so drunk I had forgotten that he was filming this, and of course she had no idea he was there. After a few minutes of standard sex, she kinda stopped and said, all serious and in her best seductive soap opera voice, “I’m ready.”


I quickly flipped her over and grabbed the brand new bottle of AstroGlide I had on my bedside table.


A week prior, after Jaime consented to buttsex, I realized that I didn’t have any idea how to do it. How exactly do you fuck a girl in the ass? Luckily, I had the world’s best anal sex informational resource at my disposal: The gay waiter. I consulted several gay waiters who worked at one of my parents restaurants about the mechanics of buttsex, and each one recommended AstroGlide as the lubricant of choice. Much to my dismay, I learned that spitting on your dick is not enough lube for buttsex. Stupid, lying porn movies.


The other important piece of advice I remembered was from Calvin, “Make sure you use enough, because if this is her first time, she’ll be especially tight, and it might hurt her. Use enough to really loosen her up and go slow until she gets used to it. Then it’s smooth sailing from there.”


Well, since some is good, more is better, right? At 21, this seemed logical.


I opened the cap, crammed the bottle top into her asshole, and squeezed. I probably emptied half of the 4-ounces of AstroGlide into her. I have since learned from homosexuals that a 4-ounce bottle usually lasts them about 6 months. So yeah--I overdid it.


But Tucker Max wasn’t done. Oh no, after depositing enough grease in her to run a Formula One racecar, I dumped half of what remained onto my cock and balls, really wanting to lube up because I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable.


Really--consider my thought process: I was going to fuck her in the butt and film it without her consent, yet I was truly concerned about her personal comfort. Sometimes the contradictions in my personality even amuse me.


Predictably, I slid in with ease. She was a little tense at first, but with an Exxon Valdez size load spilled into her poop chute, she quickly loosened up and got into it. I liked it also; it had a different feel to it. Not as good as vaginal sex, a little grainy, kinda tight, but still very nice.


Before I knew it I was fucking her like the apocalypse was imminent, burying it to the hilt with impunity. After a few minutes I was ready to come. My urgency was expressed in my tempo, and I began really jackhammering her. As the excitement got the best of me, I pulled out too far and my dick came out of her ass. I kinda scrambled to grab my dick and put it back in so I could finish off inside of her, but before I could even get a hold of it and put it back in her ass, I heard a faint “psssst” sound and felt something wet and warm hit my crotch.


It was dark in the room (I was not smart or sober enough to leave the lights on for the camera), so after I looked down it took me a few seconds to realize that my dick, balls and groin area were covered in a viscous black liquid. I stopped moving and stared at my strangely colored crotch for a good 5 seconds, completely confused, until I realized what happened:


“Did you…did you just…shit on my dick?”


I reached down to touch the liquid feces, still in complete and utter disbelief that this girl shot explosive diarrhea on my penis, when, without warning, the smell hit me.


I have a very sensitive nose, and I have never been more repulsed by a smell in my life. The combination of synthetic AstroGlide and rancid stench of raw fecal matter combined to turn my stomach, which was full of seafood, veal and wine, completely over.


I tried to hold it back. I really did everything I could to stop myself, but there are certain physical reactions that are beyond conscious control. Before I knew what I was doing, it just came out:


“BBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH”


I vomited all over her ass. Into her crack. Into her asshole. On her ass cheeks. On the small of her back. Everywhere.


She turned her head, said, “Tucker, what are you doing?,” saw me vomiting on her, screamed “Oh my God!,” and immediately joined me:


“BBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH”


Watching her throw up on my bed made me vomit even more. Her vomiting all over my bed, me vomiting on her ass, the next step was almost inevitable.


I heard the loud CRASH first, turned to see my friend break through the shutters and rip the closet door off as he, the video camera, and the door tumbled out of the closet and crashed onto the floor next to us:


“BBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH”


The memory of the 2-second span where all three of us were vomiting at once is permanently seared into my brain. I have never heard anything like that symphony of sickness. It was like something out of the old Pink Panther movies.


I think the crowning moment was when my eyes locked with Jaime’s, I saw her moment of realization and then her quick shift from shock and surprise to complete and irreparable anger. Between bouts of hurling she flipped out:


“OH MY GOD--BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH--YOU FILMED THIS, YOU ASSHOLE-- BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH-- HOW COULD YOU-- BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH--I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME--BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH--OH MY GOD-- BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH--I LET YOU FUCK ME IN THE ASS--BBBLLLLAAAAHHHH.”


She tried to stand up, slipped on the huge puddle of backflow AstroGlide on the bed, and fell into both my pile and her pile of vomit, covering her body and hair in vomit, shit and anal lubricant. She flailed on the bed for a second, grabbed the top sheet, wrapped it around her, and started running out of my place. Still naked and retching, my dick covered in shit and oil, I followed her as far as my front door.


The last contact I ever had with her is the image I witnessed of her in a dead sprint, a


shit, vomit and grease stained sheet stuck to her body, running from my apartment.




POST-SCRIPT:


The camera we used was one of those old fragile ones that filmed onto a VHS tape, and when he crashed out of the closet, the tape recorder and tape broke. It didn't occur to us at that the tape records the images magnetically, and we could take the actual tape itself and get someone to put it in another holster until after we had thrown it out. I know it seems stupid now, and believe me I kick myself about it everyday, but you should have seen the apartment afterwards--the tape was not a high priority. AstroGlide, shit and vomit covered EVERYTHING.


I had to rent one of those steam cleaners, buy a new mattress, and I STILL lost my deposit. It was impossible to get the smell out. The next month was like living in a sewer. Every girl I brought back to my place after that refused to stay there, and some even refused to sleep with me anywhere because of how my place smelled.


What I never found out, and I still want to know, is how the girl got home. I never heard from her again, and the mutual friend who introduced us called her but didn’t get her calls returned. I never heard anything about her or from her again, even though she left her clothes and ID at my place (she wore a tight dress out that night, and didn’t bring a purse or any money with her).


Can you picture that scene? What did she do, hop in taxi? Wave down a passing car? Get on the bus? She lived at least 30 miles away, there is no way she walked home. It perplexes me to this day.


I'm hoping she reads this. Maybe then I’ll find out how she got home.

Quote:

---

I have a very sensitive nose, and I have never been more repulsed by a smell in my life. The combination of synthetic AstroGlide and rancid stench of raw fecal matter combined to turn my stomach, which was full of seafood, veal and wine, completely over.

---

Best story ever.

Yeah, that's a great story, Smartt!

Who is Tucker Max?

I kept thinking Tucker Carlson, that conservative commentator on Crossfire.

Found in on a website. Lost the link, but I think it´s tuckermax.com

Poops!... I Did It Again!
Oh my god, the most embarrassing experience of my life happened last week!

The whole affair started out well enough. My phone rings at four, while I'm inspecting the newest baubles and clothes at Henri Bendel on 5th Ave with my girlfriend. Still in the pair of Paper Denim jeans that I was trying on, I answer. There's no time to finish buttoning the shirt. The voice on the other end of the line has a slight European accent, and I've never heard it before.

He introduces himself as a friend of one of my clients and tells me that he'll fly into the city a couple days later. He wants to schedule a 3-hour session that will include dinner. I happily agree - now my jeans and earrings are paid for - and take his cell phone number so that we can finalize the details later.

I arrive at the Soho Grand Hotel promptly at 6PM because I hate waiting for other people who are late and thus try my best to be on time when meeting clients. I find M sitting in the Grand Bar. Although we'd never met before, M provided me with a very good description - how many men still wear bowties? After sipping a cosmo and making small talk about his favorite places in New York, we walk to a small Italian restaurant in Soho and return to his elegantly appointed room.

M pleasantly surprises me upon our return with a chilled bottle of champagne and a single rose. That's when my problems begin.

While drinking the champagne and cozying up on the couch, I feel a slow buildup of gas in my stomach. I try my best to suppress it.

Earlier in the day, my friends and I ate lunch at an Indian restaurant. We all love curry and chicken tikka masala, but I usually eat the milder versions. Today, my friends convince me to try them with more spices. Although quite challenging, the spices add a nice kick to the food. Now, those spices are coming back with a vengeance.

I feel the pressure continue to build, clench my butt and silently pray that it will just go away, but all of those hours working out my butt at the Equinox are useless as the pressure gets stronger. Thoughts of escape crowd out all other thoughts. I can't focus on anything else and instead excuse myself to the bathroom to freshen up.

Over the toilet, I peel off my stockings, hike up my mini skirt, drop my thong and pull my cheeks apart to minimize any sound. Thankfully, my body silently releases the gases. Relief at last!

While I was busy, M had turned down the lights, lit several candles and started playing a quiet jazz CD. Normally, this atmosphere would put me right in the mood. I'm still tense from the little bathroom run though. M senses my tenseness and massages my neck and back to relieve the pressure.

Then it suddenly strikes again, but I have no time to run to the bathroom. A small fart escapes from my body with a low hiss. M doesn't hear the hiss but grimaces when the cloud of noxious odors hits his nose. Mortified, I flee to the bathroom and return to the toilet.

This time, I'm not just releasing gas. Rather, I'm now suffering from a real case of the runs and it burns my ass on the way out because of those damn spices! In a vain attempt to conceal the toilet splashing, I perform a couple courtesy flushes.

Complete buzzkill.

By the time I emerge from the bathroom, the lights are on, the candles are no longer burning and the room is silent. Red-faced and flustered, I let M know that we should probably continue some other time. He agrees and I retreat to my apartment in a taxi.

I hope that M didn't use the bathroom for some time. The toilet may have been clean when I left, but the whole bathroom reeked!

Note to self: never ever eat Indian food before a date...

I hope he hadn't fucking payed her.