I POOPED ON MY BOYFRIEND’S DICK — A Pro-Anal Tale

WHACK! Magazine proudly presents our first installment of puerile personal sex stories by our newest Staph Writer, Miss Lolly Gagger. Lolly is not only a big fan of our humble publication, but fap-tastic writer, a seasoned viewer of smut, and a first-rate degenerate of outstanding caliber. Also, she's a stone cold fox with a great rack! No joke! Ms. Gagger will be joining us with once-monthly personal Stories, and once a month with free and tube site reviews for your randy reading pleasure.



“Oh God, oh God…”
“Yeah, fuck that little ass, motherfucker!”
“I’m gonna come I’m gonna come… Aaaaah!”
Pant pant pant.
“Wait, what’s that?”
“What?”
“Is that — ”
“It can’t be. No…”
“Poo?”
“WHAT? NO!”
“You shit on my dick.”
“I SHIT ON YOUR DIIIIICK!”

Are you as turned on as I am?

The first time I thought about getting fucked in the ass I went right to my handy friend, Yahoo.com. “First time anal,” I wrote, giggling and excited, putting off the homework I had for eighth grade algebra. Boy, was I lucky! I found a site right away! For months and months afterward I watched thirty-second clips meant to entice old men in their basements toward membership. As I had no credit card, and my dad would have totally flipped if I’d stolen his from his wallet and he saw that shit on his monthly statement (“My daughter’s a filthy whoooore!” I pictured him hollering in sorrow toward the heavens), I was forced to watch the preview clips on repeat until my orgasm arrived. All the clips had a markedly similar narrative: some guys would drive up in their porn van to some young thang sitting on a bench waiting for the bus, or shopping at the local outlet mall, any low-income activity where she may be more likely to be lured toward the cash-filled anal van, and they would ask her if she’d ever taken it in the ass before, and she’d be like, “Fuck no! Hee hee hee…” and they’d be like, “Do you wanna? We got some money,” and she’d be all, “Uh-huh,” and get in. It was fucking hot.

Next thing you know, the chick would be in some well-lit room on a stained couch getting her oil leak plugged. The faces of the guys who drove this porn van were never seen, but the main ass-fucker had tattooed arms and a cock the size of Switzerland, though it was by no means neutral. That tattooed fucker loved ass virgins like his own mother, like no one should ever talk shit about them while he had anything to do with it, and he taught those girls how to take it. Giving them their first taste, as he pushed that huge schlong in a place I couldn’t believe it fit, he’d whisper with soft assurance in their ear, “Breathe, bitch. Breathe.” But those bitches just wouldn’t stop whining and moaning and they definitely weren’t breathing into their solar plexus as the tattooed man was clearly implying they should. I’d listen to him. I’d breathe in deeply, look up at my Ben Affleck Armageddon poster, imagine an experience of virginly buttness surrounded by muscular arms and dirty talkin,’ and my middle school vibrator would do its magic trick.

See, I’m just a sweet Midwestern girl. Where I’m from, anal sex is something you do so you don’t have to lose your “real” virginity before marriage. But my parents weren’t Catholic enough to pressure me to go down the anal path, so I never made it happen. A lot of guys in high school claimed to be grossed out by anal, which I didn’t get, because by then I was a First Time Anal preview connoisseur, and those dudes loved it! They braved the ghettos just to find candidates for butt cherry popping! But no, all my young boyfriends were too afraid of poop, even though I noticed that they so often spoke of poop positively in other contexts.

You can imagine that by the time a man came around who wanted to put it in my ass, I felt I’d found the once seemingly-mythological “one.” Neither of us even considered the possibility of poop. Anal sex was too fucking sexy and my ass was too good-looking (that’s right); there was no way that it was there for anything other than our mutual pleasure. The first time I did the anal deed with my true lover man, it was like losing my virginity again, painful and exciting, but this time with lube, and sweet-talkin,’ and not in a car with a shitty community college football player with a penis as skinny as a straw who growled like an ogre when he came. There’s a real intimacy to first-time anal that you just don’t see in the beaver pictures. I liked the feeling of submission, of doing something whorish. I liked the newness, I liked the challenge. I embraced the long held fantasy. Sometimes I thought of Ben Affleck. Perhaps I got too cocky. Perhaps I took it too hard, I drank too much, screamed “Put it in my fucking ass!” on one too many nights in a row, loosening my precious rectum. Because tragedy soon struck.

When my boyfriend put it in that fateful night, I knew something was wrong. I felt like I was pooping the wrong way. Like his dick was poop, wanting back in. Nature reared its ugly brown head, announcing its presence as gravity pulled the poo out of my ass and onto my boyfriend’s cock. At the moment of poo-lization, I screamed. I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready for the reality of my ass’s true function, and all I could think of was the stare of shame the tattooed man, if he even had a face above those arms and cock, would surely give me. I had failed him. When I saw the tiny piece of poo on the bed sheet as my main squeeze pulled out, I ran into the bathroom, humiliated. A million thoughts scrambled in my brain. How could this have happened? I’d been cockassed plenty of times by then. It was like out of nowhere Gloria Steinem had possessed my asshole and was pouring out spiteful manure onto my boyfriend’s demeaning rape-stick. Maybe that little turd was Susan B. Anthony’s cry from the grave, I thought, screaming, “THIS IS WHAT WE WOMEN HAVE COME TO?” And in my pulsing head I screamed back at Susan B. Anthony:

“Yes, Susan, you stupid whore! Women today can vote and they can take it however they like it! God bless motherfucking America and the sluts who like it where they shit!”

My boyfriend kept knocking on the bathroom door begging me to come out and take this situation like a man, but I was consumed with trying to understand the complications that had just arisen between the feminine sexuality of my body and its functions as a real human. I found myself in a state of Carrie Bradshaw-like pondering, like when she’s sitting at her computer shallowly thinking about shallowness. Like… Dear Computer of Nothingness, why does an ass have to shit when it’s getting fucked? Do all relationships between ass and penis have to end so sadly? Is a cock like Giuliani to the New York City that is my ass, and I’m just taking a deserved shit on the guy who fucked me? What I really wanted to know was… Would I always poop on my boyfriend’s dick? Is that just what happens in a relationship? Outside the door my man was still begging. I left the ghosts of suffrage past and went back to the bedroom to sit there thinking some more about myself as my boyfriend cleaned things up.

Pooping on my boyfriend’s dick was not my finest hour. Nor was it his. But I think everybody can take a little advice from the tattooed Swiss-wanged fellow who taught me how to ease into my own sexual animalism, when he wisely proclaimed, “Breathe, bitch. Breathe.” To women taking it in the ass everywhere I say, it’s just a little poop! Breathe! Take it in the rear like a porn star and go to town. Shit happens. —Lolly Gagger