tagHumor & SatireBug Me In Florida

Bug Me In Florida


Funny story, and kind of gross, too.

I met up with my hometown girlfriend Leigh at the Gulf coast when we were on spring break our senior year of high school. Yes, underage-sex NAZIs, everyone in this story was at least 18, though some just barely.

Without a car, it was a major deal for me to get all the way from my place at Santa Rosa Beach up to Bay Point where she was staying. When I finally arrived, she was staying in a small condo with a squadron of other girls. Crowded, with no privacy, and most of the other girls staying up drinking and squealing into the wee hours, there was no place for us to make love. Extremely frustrating.

I ended up sleeping that night on a folded out hide-a-bed couch between Leigh and a "large" girl—aptly nicknamed Bearcat. When I awoke early the next morning, everyone was asleep, and I was horny sporting solid wood. Leigh was awake, too, and at least as horny as I.

I figured if I very slowly eased the sheet off of the three of us, then very carefully went down on Leigh, then very quietly and gently made love to her, that we could pull it off undetected.

With the black-out shades keeping it pretty dark in there, I could not see very well so was mainly navigating by touch as I worked my way down to Leigh's crotch, burying my face in her cooch.

Suddenly, big roaches ran out of her full bush, one crawling into my hair, another around over my ear, and another running upside-down over my chest and stomach and lodging itself in my own pubic hair.

Now, I'm not ordinarily the least bit squeamish, but the sudden and unexpected appearance of roaches big enough for supporting roles in a Japanese monster movie, from my girlfriend's crotch, no less, and then their running across my own naked body, gave me the heebie-jeebies, and I shrieked. "Ayeeeeee!!!"

Which awoke everyone else immediately.

"What's your fucking problem, man?" the hulking, hung-over hog Bearcat sneered.

I snatched the crispy critter from my crotch and smashed it dead into her hirsute chin. "That, and his brothers still running amok in here!"

In seconds, all the girls but Leigh had sprung from their beds and were atop the dining table squealing in abject terror as though it were Arthropod Armageddon.

Even though a couple of the gals were kinda sexy in their night clothes, I gave them all a thoroughly disgusted look, went in the bathroom with Leigh, locked the doors, got in the shower, and fucked until all the hot water was gone.

It was the only bathroom, and we were in there a long time. The girls kept banging on the doors, saying they had to pee or brush their teeth or get ready. We completely ignored them and continued with our leisurely licking-fucking-sucking routine.

I stayed at that condo a couple more days, but there was really no place for us to make love but that bathroom, as the condo was on the bay (no stretch of private beach like on the coast), belonged to Bearcat's elderly parents, and was in a densely built-up veritable retirement community full of nosey old blue-haired geezers. So there was no place outside we could do it, and the sardine can of guys that was my place down on Santa Rosa Beach was even worse than the condo.

We'd go in the bathroom, lock the doors, and in only a few minutes, the girls would start singing, "Leigh and (my name) are doing it! Leigh and (my name) are doing it!"

That became so annoying as to ruin our sexual pleasure. Those chicks bugged me much more than the bugs did.

Bearcat--eager to oust me, and the only girl there with a car--gladly drove me all the way back to Santa Rosa Beach and deposited me at the dingy place I was staying with the other dudes.

I'd come down with a bunch of guys from school who kindly invited me to the beach with them, but I really did not know them well--you know, school friends but not guys I regularly hung with. My plan had been to ride down with them, then rendezvous with Leigh and stay for the balance of the week with her. Well, now my plans had gone awry, and I would have to spend the next 5 or 6 days with them.

They were good guys, but at the risk of sounding vain, they just were not as "advanced" as the folks I usually socialized with. With the exception of one genius-type guy who was so quiet you hardly knew he was there, they were at that drink-'til-you-puke stage, didn't smoke dope, and had never gotten a piece of ass. In fact, girls just made them nervous.

For example, on the road trip down, the eight of us were in two cars and entertained ourselves by talking to each other on the citizens band radios. This was 1977, the heyday of the CB craze. We passed a carload of cute girls a couple of times and noticed they were talking on the CB too. The guys got all excited, found their channel on the CB, but became tongue-tied. Naturally, I got the task of doing the talking.

I knew I'd be getting together with my girlfriend Leigh, and if that didn't work out, I had a Plan B—for Beth--with my former girlfriend that I'd recently had a second fling with and who was staying in Ft.Walton with her parents, so I had no vested interest in the car girls, but I figured I'd do what I could for these guys and maybe they'd get lucky, so I talked the gals into pulling off at a roadside park up ahead where we could all meet in person. We did, and most of the carload of girls were real cute and bubbly and friendly, not a dog or bitch in the bunch. Again, I did all the talking and made the introductions. My guys were blushing and him-hawing and acting like the kids that they were.

The girls, though nice and amicable, in my judgement were at most mildly interested in us, with the exception of their "leader," who appeared to like me, as she was very touchy-feely, made a few come-hither comments, and even patted my butt a couple times. I interpreted her actions as primarily an alpha-female-to-alpha-male dynamic, and made little of it, as I was honestly just interested in getting to the beach as soon as possible to proceed with my pre-planned agenda.

Nevertheless, as a favor to my guys, I arranged for us to meet them at their motel in Destin. My guys took this as a sign that ALL the girls liked ALL of us guys, and that they were ALL definitely going to get laid. The rest of the trip down, they could talk of nothing else and had chosen which girl would go with which guy. Still on the CB radio, with me doing most of the talking, we must have sped up and slowed down to see them a hundred times. Like I said, I just wanted to GET THERE, but we got little use from the Fuzzbuster, as the girls were driving the speed limit.

They cut south early to pick up another girl in Pensacola, but we stayed on I-10 before turning south at Elgin Air Force Base towards Destin, where we were to meet the girls at the Holiday Inn there. We got caught in a traffic jam caused by a God-awful wreck between a semi and an orange Grand Prix just like one of our cars (our other car was a Chrysler Cordoba), so the girls were already at the Holiday Inn—their car parked right in front of their ground-floor room--by the time we arrived at sunset.

And who do you think the guys expected to knock on the door and do all the talking while they fidgeted back in the cars? Me, of course. I tried, in vain, to explain that they had to assert themselves with these, or any other girls, to have even an outside chance. Jokingly, I asked them if they expected me to direct them through intercourse should they be so fortunate as to get that far. I got silence as a response, so I guess they did!

Anyway, I got out of the car, made a long-distance call from the motel lobby pay phone to my folks to let them know we had arrived safely (there were no phones at our dirt-cheap Quonset hut down the beach in Santa Rosa), then knocked on the girls' motel door.

Alpha-female answered the door, cigarette in one hand, Miller in the other, and wearing nothing but bra and panties, the semi-transparent kind. Damn, she looked good! She didn't act the least bit shy, was very friendly, and seemed glad to see me. In other words, she was drunk. While we chatted in the doorway, the other girls were rushing about the room in their underwear getting ready as perfume and hairspray billowed out. I even caught a glimpse of some bare boob as one of the chicks tried on a top. I made arrangements for them to meet the guys at a popular local dance club, Pandora's Box, at 10:00 that night. I conveniently omitted that I would not be among them

I returned to the cars, where the guys had been looking on from a distance. Alpha-female in her undies was probably the most female skin any of them had ever seen, with the possible exception of their mothers, and were they ever hot to trot. I informed them of the tit glimpse, then the arrangements at the nightclub, and I tell you, I could almost hear the "boing" of their peni springing erect!

Excited, the driver pointed the V-8 Grand Prix toward Santa Rosa Beach and floored it to 120 MPH. The Cordoba, the car I was in, tried to keep up. Ever gone over a hundred in a "Cardboarda?" I do not recommend it.

The guys proceeded to get ready at our place, basically an Army style Quonset hut semi-partitioned into four bedrooms with a central living and cooking area. There was as much sand inside as there was outside on the beach. That's what you get for a hundred bucks total for the week and both weekends. Having poured on English Leather cologne by the cupful and emboldened by a couple cases of the 3.2 % Florida beer, six of the guys zoomed west in the Grand Prix for their "sure thing" girls.

Whitney, the quiet genius guy, and I stayed behind and wished them well. He had the forethought to bring from home a huge bottle of Jack Daniel's Black Label. Fuck that watered-down local beer. We poured the whiskey over ice in big Styrofoam cups and sipped it on the beach where we built a giant bonfire. I fired up a bowl of primo weed and learned he partook. Though I knew him better than the other guys, as we had been in the same advanced math and science program together all through school, I did not know him well, but I discovered he was a very interesting fellow and enjoyed the dramatically-contrasting-from-the-rest-of-the-crew intellectual conversation.

Much later, in the wee hours of the morning, the rest of the guys returned, with no girls, of course. They told the story of their non-conquest, and the funny thing was, every single one of the car girls we'd met earlier got hooked up with other guys at the bar and most likely fucked them. I pictured my guys timidly hanging against the walls while other guys moved in for the kill.

My guys didn't have me there to pave the way.

Later in the week, when I returned to the Quonset hut from Bearcat's condo, I felt sorry for them and went WAY out of my way to invite two girls over from our hometown to party who I'd learned were staying nearby. Though they were the loosest chicks I knew, it was still amazing that a couple of my guys got lucky with them, and they could talk of nothing but them the whole drive back and the rest of our senior year. They were so proud of their "conquest" that I just didn't have the heart to tell them those girls were sluts who'd fuck anything remotely resembling a cock.

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