tagHumor & SatireThe BJ Olympics

The BJ Olympics


Once a year there is a Food Truck Festival in Newport that I attend with the BF. To some, it's just another early Autumn event. However, to BF and me, it is so much more.

The first time we attended, last year, we were amazed by the variety of foods available: fried dough, gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches, fish tacos...

However, the truck that we both sought out was a truck called Buns of Fun. It sold the most delicious beer-soaked footlong hot dogs EVER. We each bought a beer, a foot-long, which we smothered in condiments, and sat down on a bench in front of the windy, chilly, October Atlantic.

"Wow, this hotdog is really 12" long," BF said in wonder.

"Yeah I know", I laughed. "But I bet I could probably get that in my mouth in one bite."

BF, being a smart and opportunistic man, realized very quickly that this topic of conversation could totally benefit him in future.

"I don't know about that," he countered and then upped the ante. "After all, you can't fit all of my cock inside your mouth, and that's eight inches".

I didn't say anything, but BF, for real? Sorry to burst his bubble, but I was quite familiar with the size of his appendage and, though he was bigger than the average bear, the only way BF was eight inches was in that alternative universe in which men live where all they do is grill slabs of red meat over a fire pit, drink beer, watch sports on huge flatscreen T.V.s and compare the size of their cocks. I guess it's instinctual.

However, being a smart and opportunistic woman, I realized very quickly that this topic of conversation could totally benefit me in the future.

"Are you challenging me to see, at next year's Festival, how much of a foot-long I can take in my mouth without gagging?"

BF looked at me with a glint in his eye. He was not a betting man, but he knew when a situation was win/win.

"There's a brand new pair of Biviel boots in it for you if you can get at least 9" of that hotdog in your mouth."

Biviel boots? He knows me so well.

"And what's in it for you? What do you get if I lose?"

BF didn't even have to answer. If he won, he won. If he lost, he still won. And we both knew it.

And the BJ Olympics began. The only person I was competing against was myself. That first year I was unprepared and had done no training and thus could only manage 5.5". I was determined to score better next year. I would be ready.

Next year, one month before the Food Truck Festival, I started intensive training. I bought a 12" cucumber of which each night I tried to swallow more and more. I bought packages of footlongs from the supermarket - 100% Beef Hebrew National. I figured that I needed all the help I could get and, being Jewish, I did not want to take the chance of pissing off God by ingesting anything that might have pork byproducts contained therein (I mean, look what happened to Job).

Finally, The Newport Food Truck Festival arrived. And I was ready. I really, really wanted this pair of VERY pricey thigh high black leather boots, and this would certainly be a relatively pain-free way to get them.

As we walked to Buns of Fun, I could hear the "Rocky" soundtrack song playing in my head. I started jogging in place in anticipation. I had wads of gum tucked in each cheek (a whole pack of Juicy Fruit) and I kept shifting them from one side to the other, trying to stretch my mouth out. I closed my eyes and visualized the boots. Deep breath...deep breath...

BF bought each of us a footlong. He had actually brought a ruler so he could measure my hotdog (he and I are both very competitive).

12" exactly. We sat down at the same bench we had sat at the previous year when we had first made this bet, each of us with a beer to help wash things down.

I brought the footlong to my mouth, thinking of all the hard work and training that had gotten me to this point. BF was looking at me with a mixed expression - after all, he wanted to win, but he wouldn't mind losing, either.

I opened my mouth, removed the gum, and slowly inched the footlong in...further and further...

"Gag reflex," I thought as I took more of the hotdog in my mouth, "don't fail me now!"


Next weekend, BF and I went to Foxwoods Casino. He with a huge smile on his face; me wearing a brand new pair of thigh high, black, butter-soft leather boots.

See...win/win...for BOTH of us.

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