You had just seen the seminar of a lifetime. It was organized by the web of online Pick-Up Artist websites and it had some of the biggest PUA (pick-up artists) of the country in attendance, many of whom were speaking at the event. You were familiar with pick-up artist literature from the internet, but this, this was something else.
You and your best friend had just graduated high school and decided to come here for summer vacation. You had never been around so many guys in their 20′s, all of whom were looking to polish up on their “game” as people in the community called it.
Having better “game” meant being skilled at being able to get women’s attention, intrigue them, and ultimately get them to let you fuck them. Man, you and your friend were so glad you convinced your moms to bring you out here. You just told them that you wanted to see Florida. They were eager to take you anywhere aft
er you both graduated with honor roll. How could they not do what their hard-working young men wanted? You were the two highest achievers in your graduating class. Your moms were both so proud of the two of you.
So Florida it was.
Little did they know that the hotel/casino/resort that they had booked for everyone was filled to the brim with PUA’s excited to witness and participate in the convention. All trying to improve their ability to get their dick wet in a woman’s body, cum on her body, and never call her again.
These guys were the real deal, unlike the douchebag wannabe alpha males you and your friend had just escaped from in high school. I mean, sure, your old high school bully as an example, had fucked 2 girls before graduating, which was 2 more than you’ve ever fucked, but those 2 just came about by happenstance. Guys like the guys you saw here made fucking happen for them. It was their craft. It was their art. They used the b
ack’s of unsuspecting females as canvas to paint masterpieces in white, sticky cum.
Game was the key they used to turn gears in woman’s heads that made them get naked. And the next thing you knew, they had their cocks balls deep into their sweet pussies. Millions of women had fell prey to these tricks already. And these guys could prove it.
Each one who came had “hello my name is ______” stickers on, but instead of their own names, they put names of girls, first and last, that they had fucked or been blown by. Needless to say, many of the guys there, especially the pros, had so many of these stickers on their person that they were forced to put some on their pants, shoes, hats, and even their faces.
At least a quarter of the stickers you saw at the convention were written in blue sharpie rather than black. That meant that that specific girl had been in a serious relationship at the time of giving themselves up to the PUA in quest
ion. As if you needed another reason to look up to and idolize these guys. too bad there was no visual indicator to tell how many of the women they’ve defiled had kids. Sons specifically.
You spent the next few days at the resort, discussing with your friend all the new things about Pick-Up Artistry that you had learned as you passed by guys in the hallway. Guys who had 10-30 pretty given names, followed by proud family names, plastered all over their bodies like they were nascar drivers.
Names as diverse as “Marcella Buttocelli,” “Samantha Xhu,” “Diane Carpenter,” “Terra Ullman,“ “Kali Gulati,” “Athena Petropoulous,” “Ivanka Valakovsky,” “Mara Kinochiwa,” “Aliyah Shalib,” “Gloria Rodriguez,” “Willow Blanchfield,” “Justine Bardout,” “Naomi Roth,” “Lulu Bigpaw,” “
Zahara Yekta,” “Alena Mikulec,” “Shaniqua White,” “Samantha Washington,” and “Fran Rommell.” The list went on and on. Some of these men looked like suitcases that had gone around the world.
You guys felt naked with your one name tag that said “hello, my name is
my hand” My hand is what the guy at the check in counter told you to write if you were a virgin. When your moms had asked what that meant you told them it was a reference to some anime you and you friend both watched. You definitely didn’t want them knowing it was a reference to your respective hands. The hands you and him fucked every night before you went to bed.
Luckily, they bough your lie so you could get passed it, because today you were going to the beach. You knew that today was going to be a good day because you had passed by the writer of the blog
Bitches Aint Shit: The Adventures of my Dick. He was
one of the legends, with over 50 names/vaginas to his resume. He would always be immortalized for discovering the “Wop Formula,” which was the tried-and-true method for impressing traditional Italian women.
“He’s in my top 5,” your friend exclaimed, quietly, so your moms wouldn’t hear him as the two of you followed a few feet behind them, “could you imagine if he was the one to do it?” he asked you excitedly.
You moaned a little, “yeah, that would be great.” You liked that thought a lot. But you also had another thought, “Yeah, he’s in my top 3, definitely. But do you think maybe it would be better if an up-and-comer or two were the ones who did it?”
“Well…. no. But i know that beggars can’t be choosers. I’d be happy with anything we could get. The competition out here will be stiff.”
And as you rounded the corner and lay your eyes on the beach wit
h 1000 faces on it, you were looking at a living example of just how stiff the competition out there was. There were hundreds of gorgeous half-naked women on the beach soaking up sun. whether locals or tourists there for vacation. they were being swarmed by pick up artists, left and right. as you passed by these men, leaning in toward their prey, you heard technique after technique being flung out, from tried-and-true classics, to new experimental techniques, to out-of-date works that had been improved upon weeks, months, or years prior.
As your mom’s walked off ahead of the two of you, your friend turned to you and said, “damnit, there are much more girls here than there are guys, and some of these idiots are clearly amateurs! I have a bad feeling about this..”
You knew the exact feeling he was talking about. You waited your whole lives for something likes this. You’ve wanted it since the two of you hit puberty That was the moment you cro
ssed the iron curtain and you stopped talking about legos and pokemon and began your quest for what you’d hoped would come to fruition on this trip.
Regardless, you were always the more level headed of the two of you, and you continued to play that role by saying, “Look up there at our moms. Most of the guys at school wanted them more than any of the girls we went to school with, right?”
“well, yeah. but i mean, this isn’t high school. Some of these girls are clear 10′s. And some of these guys are clearly noobs. This is gonna be like the time my brother’s friend tried to hit on my mom all over again: just a big disappointment. All the professionals are going to go after the 20 years olds. Our moms are the leftovers for guys who had already failed once because they’ve only read a beginner’s guide and thought that that’s all they needed to score. they’ll strike out again with our moms, and they’ll be
fucking their own hands all night. And we won’t be able to fuck ours because our mom’s will be sleeping in our hotel rooms instead of there’s.”
You felt a split second of terrible hopelessness cut you like a knife. But as you looked up at your mom’s big ass, shimmering and twinkling in the sunlight light like a mirage, you felt like something divine had touched you. Like something outside of yourself told you it would all be okay.
You interrupted your friend’s defeatist diatribe by saying “no…. man, look up there. Look out how hot they are. Look at their mouthwatering asses, man. can you honestly believe that we were born from those two women, and we were raised by them and loved by them, and now we’re here, with the most skilled pick-up-artists in the world all in one place, and we’re going to be let down just like that? Even if there were no milf-specialists out here, which isn’t even possible,
there’d still be top tier guys who would chase our moms as seconds, thirds, fourths, fifths, whatever…” you leaned in closer and spoke softer so no one could hear you, “if you think we’re going home this vacation without our mom’s ever being naked in a strange man’s hotel room, you’re just fooling yourself.
“just look at them. our moms. look at how perfect they are. They were built to be pleasing to male eyes. If you think god made them, then made people bright enough to perfect game, then put everything in motion for this convention to take place, and he made each individual grain of sand at this beach, and made the water and the blue sky, and he made us and made us so we’d want this - could you really be so foolish as to think there isn’t something bigger than us that wants this to happen? Something bigger than us, something bigger than the game, bigger than my mom’s ass or yours, bigger than the comb
ined name on every name tag on every person here. These are just tools, chess pieces, dominoes set into place, waiting to be tipped over for something bigger.”
You awaited your friend’s answer as you looked out at your moms, both standing pristine, but solitary, in the hot Florida sun. Instead of an answer, you got a sniffle sound. You looked up, surprised to see him crying. Crying tears of…. joy. “I believe you man. I’ve felt that too. it’s going to happen. I love you man.” You wanted to give him a hug, but you didn’t want to draw attention towards yourself. Especially from your moms. So you patted him on the back.
You were glad he seemed to believe you, because you were having doubts.
Nothing much had happened in the 2 hours the four of you spent at the beach. You and your friend were tired, and very disappointed. He heade
d back to the hotel room. Your mom’s went to go to the ice machine with your room bucket. You just stood off to the side of the elevators, pretending to mind your business, as you counted 43 names on the shirt of a man hitting on a 21 year old.
“What do all those names mean?” the girl asked, quizzically.
“Oh, there the names of all the female poets i’ve read. I came here for the female poetry convention.” He stood there and grinned as he admired how quickly he came up with that lie. Well, you don’t get 43 names on your sports jacket by being caught off-guard. the girl he was with just smiled at him. He’d have a 44th name on his jacket before the night was over.
You walked off to head back to your hotel room, but you stopped suddenly, and stared at the end of the hallway, before backing up and hiding. You peeked around again to make sure you actually saw what you thought you had saw.
And you had. You saw 2 young me
n, both in their late 20′s or early 30′s, standing over your bikini-clad moms, who were both smiling and looking up at them pleasantly. your mom had the bucket of ice by it’s handle. She held it slightly away from her so the cold metal wouldn’t touch her naked thigh. with her other hand she pointed at the name tags on one of their shirts.
Whatever lie they came up with for the name tags, it seemed to have worked, because your moms looked like they were continuing to have a fun conversation. You recognized some of the techniques they were using, even though you couldn’t hear what it was they were saying. But just like their sizable amount of name tags implied, they were far from amateurs.
You ran back to your room and began frantically knocking on the washroom door, “man! are you in there?”
“yes. leave me alone.”
“Dude, if you’re jacking off in there, i think you might want to wait until it h
“It’s not going to happen. It’s not fair. We wasted our time coming out here. I told you we should have went to California ins-”
“It’s happening right now, idiot.”
There was a silence on the other side of the door. the bolt clicked, and the door shot open. Your friend had opened it with one hand, as he held his swimming trunks at around his knees with the other.
You dove into the washroom and he shut the door behind you. He leaned up against it with his bare cock extending out towards you. He began pulling on it. You warned him “man, stop it! wait for the grand slam.”
“I’m not doing anything, i’m just playing with it.”
“I’ve heard you say that so many times before. And look how that worked out for you.”
His arms shot to his sides and he poked his hips out away as if trying to keep his cock as far away from his idle hands as possible,
“You’re right. You’re right. I’m just…. ohhh this is good. How did they look?”
“tall, good looking.”
“I meant, what are our chances?”
“One had 15 to 20 name tags. And the other had 20 to 30. I couldn’t hear them, but i could tell they were both very up to date with techniques.”
“uuugghghhhh, this is so good.” He began humping the air.
His cock was red and twitching. So you began blowing cool air at it and his balls, which he really enjoyed. “Calm down there, sailor. Pull your trunks back up and save that for later. Those guys were minor-league heavy hitters, and even from far away, i could tell they were using milf-techniques. They were smart enough to not ask for numbers just yet. They’re going for the long-term. Maybe hoping to see them again a few times in the next couple days and landing them then.”
You grabbed the waistband of
his trunks and pulls them up over his aching balls and cock. “So our cocks are on night watch duty for the next couple days. When the moment comes, then you can pull it out and do what you will with it.”
as you patted the top of his waistband to wish it good luck with staying on his hips, you heard sniffling sounds from up above you. You looked up to see your best friend since as long as you can remember crying again. It wasn’t the first time you’ve seen him cry. He used to do it every time after you and him would get picked on by the jocks back at school.“It’s really going to happen? I waited so long for this. I’m so… i’m so happy,” he choked through the tears.
“I know man. I am too.”
Suddenly, just outside the bathroom door, you could hear the hotel room door open. You and your friend freezed and instinctively pressed yourself against the locked bathroom door. the room door closes outs
ide and your moms step into the room. You can hear them but you can’t see them.
“well, those guys seemed nice.” said your friend’s mom. Your friends cock twitched visibly through his swim trunks.
Your mom answered, “yeah……”
You cringed at the lack of interest in that response. It was an indescribably dark feeling. Especially after being so excited just a second ago. Your friend could see the disappointment on your face.
Then his mom said “…..why are you blushing?” your heart stopped.
“ha ha ha. I’m not blushing.”
“no i’m not!”
“I seen the way you looked at that one.”
the room was silent for a moment. You held your breath, as did your friend.
“…….well, he was cute” your mom explained, suddenly. You started shaking, uncontrollably
Your friend waited with anticipation for his mom to respond. “…..no!”
This couldn’t be it. You couldn’t have come this far, and gotten this close - so, so, so close - for it all to end here.
“He was beautiful!” Your friend’s cock twitched again violently. The look on his face was of ecstasy and need. The look on his face was glorious when his mom continued “Let’s go back there.”
“but… our boys…” as if to say, “we shouldn’t do it because our sons are here.”. You and your friend violently, but silently shook your heads no. Oh, if only she knew…
“they’ll never find out.” The two of you shook your heads up and down.
“i don’t know…..” You shook your heads left to right.
“He wants you badly you know
“….really!? ….I don’t think so…”
“I think he has a crush. I can’t go without you. I think it would break his young heart. I’d hate to see a 6 foot 2, tall, dark, and handsome, confident, and funny guy like him cry.” She was dong his work for him.
Your mom said nothing.
Your friend’s mom continued “okay. I’m just going to grab you by the hand, like so, and we’ll just walk over to their room and knock on the door. And whatever happens happens. If it feels good and exciting and fun, it’s not your responsibility, right?”
and with that, you heard two sets of bare feet propel itself off hotel carpet until you heard the door creak open, and then close, with the footsteps continuing, muffled, down the hall. There was no way they had changed from their bathing suits in the time that they had been talking out there.
You and your friend had ta
king yours off completely. as would your moms, just in a different room.
The next time you see these two guys in the hallway, they both have 2 new name tags on their person. These proud men passed you in the halls, smiling, unaware that they wore your last name on their puffed-out chests.
Your mom’s pussy had been invaded by two of the tentacles from the mult-cocked monster that was thee Pick-Up community.
When you got back home, your real home in the real world, you noticed that your mom’s new-found happiness had faded a bit with time. she had been trying to call the cell phone number the PUA she had met on
vacation gave her. She had been trying periodically for the past few weeks, but he wouldn’t answer when she did. she would call that number once ever two days, then once a week, then only 3 more times in the subsequent 2 months. She had experienced what people in the community referred to as “getting played.”
When your grandpa had walked her down the aisle on her and your father’s wedding day, he would never have figured there would be a day when a grinning stranger from a new era would be pushing on her fat, naked ass, as she kissed her female friend, and was fucked from underneath without a condom.
And that’s what “getting played” was. It was giving the most private part of yourself up to the cause of increasing a man’s numbers so he could show it off to other men who did the same. “getting played” was when a man milks all the joy he can out of your body. A body whose look is determined by the ge
netics of your two parents. He (and his friend) enjoy the fruit of those two parents’ genetic contribution to your being without concerning himself with their direct blessing and by sidestepping the sophisticated defense mechanisms against guys like him in the brain you’ve inherited from your parents.
When your mom celebrated your 100% in biology, and biology scholarship you earned because of it, she had no idea that the person who shared 50% of her DNA was going to betray her like this. She still didn’t know and she would never know what you did. And she would never know how much fun you had thinking about this fetish, and the predicament that came about from fulfilling this fetish, through the lens of biology. Biology, the interest you had that she selflessly worked hard to encourage you to cultivate by taking you to museums and buying you documentaries on dvd.
She had no idea it would evolve into you being fascinated and pleased by that condom-les
s cock going “ppsh ppsh ppsh” into her foolishly welcoming vagina. She had no idea that you’d privately celebrate his sperms from a totally different genetic lineage to yours swimming into her egg by masturbating to it every night. thank god for the morning after pill. She had no idea that your love for genetic diversity extended to diversity in the men that got to fuck her.
Most of all, she had no idea that the biggest contribution she made to your interest in biology wasn’t taking you to the zoo, or buying you picture books about it. No, it was what happened on that hot, sweaty day in Florida, naked, panting, and on all fours, for the pleasure of a man who saw her only as a hole.
You were absent from the next year’s convention, as you had no reason to be there. You had already gotten what you wanted last year and you were content and happy in college.
f the guys who showed up again this year
, two friends, had showed up together. One with 20-30 names to wear proudly on his shirt, the other with 35-45. A huge increase for both of them since last year. They both wore two names that they had gotten exactly one year ago, in the hotel room only a few floors down from their room this year. that was back before they became two of the bigger names in the community.
There were two other men who would have been of interest to you if you were there this year. One of them was in your top 3 and had 80 female names plastered all over his greek-statue of a body. He actually came from the same town you did and he took the same greyhound bus you would have taken to get there if you came. One of the names on his shirt almost buried in all the others, a name he had earned 5 months ago, was a name you’d find really familiar.
The other had only 3 names on his shirt and suffered from a mild form of retardation. He consta
ntly scratched at his crotch like he had crabs. He claimed to have invented a new technique. He was able to woo women simply by slipping a drug called Blue Velvet into their drinks. He said he learned it from his “genius” brother who owned a surveillance shop. He was able to up his count to 4 when he drugged a girl at the hotel bar and guided her off before her boyfriend could make it there for their date.
As he straddled the face of the girl in question and fucked her mouth as her head lay against his room pillow, the sun light shined through the window, illuminating his lone shirt with its sweaty armpits, lying haphazardly over the back of a chair. The light seemed to sparkle, and twinkle with something in it that made it look like…. like it was more than just stupid light.
On that shirt there were three names. One of those names was made up of a very pretty first name. A female name that you were very familiar with.
And the last name? It was
your last name. Both you and your mom inherited it from your father. Now it didn’t just belong to you and your mom. It belonged to the sweaty, impish man a few feet away, who is sitting on an unconscious woman’s face. a face that was shaped by the genetics of her two parents. A face that she’d give 50% of its genes to her kids with when she finally had some.
he was rubbing his asshole up and down on that very face while laughing. your family name was now that man’s badge of honor to wear. The light coming into the hotel room illuminated it brightly and proudly on his shirt. It was a sign, that name had found its rightful place.