The Getting Lucky Guy

Chapter One

"Oh my God! You're the 'Getting Lucky Guy.' I just love your ... your ... (Internet celebrity generally occurs without any direct association of talent. so confusion isn't unexpected) You ... are ... so ... funny (When in doubt - funny works.) Wow, it's true - you really are bigger in real life."

She giggled at the 'bigger' comment then gave me the once over (twice). I'm still not used to that because until two months ago I wasn't the guy most girls even looked at once ... I was just a average guy. I mean how does a typical college senior become one of the hottest ... what did she just say?

"I asked you to sign my mons - I shaved it today." Her glazed over leer said it all - "YOU CAN FUCK ME RIGHT NOW!" Of course, that sexy chewing of her bottom lip indicating a fondness for oral delights didn't hurt her case. She was definitely cute enough but had a strangely familiar look. Maybe I'd seen her on campus or something.

"It'll be my pleasure to sign your ... mons (thank god she mentioned the shaving part, I wasn't sure where she was asking me to sign. I've signed hands, arms, boobs, and butts; this would be a first) ... but maybe we should find a place a little less public." I was quickly led through a series of doors, hallways, and rooms - until the sounds of the party were no longer heard. We stepped into a small 'we won't be bothered here' bedroom. I was just about to introduce myself - no names had yet been exchanged - when I heard the distinctive sound of a Levi's snap followed by a slowing lowering zipper - that is a sound that has become music to my ears.

Okay then - first things first - I do have certain responsibilities to my fans. By any measurement my fifteen minutes of fame is definitely into overtime - still I wouldn't want to leave like a bad taste in anybody's mouth (Yeah, I know, a shameless pun on my part, you wouldn't believe what you can get away with as a celebrity - it's awesome.)

Fan-girl had her jeans down to mid-thigh before I could speak - yep, she was a smoothie, no doubt about that. She waved a Sharpie pen in front of my face. I grabbed the pen, knelt down and prepared to sign her flawlwss skin. I shifted my position again and again 'sorry can't quite get the right angle, I want it to be good for you.'

Oh the pure joy of an uninhibited female! My comment caused her to roll back onto the bed, lift her legs high - her cunt glistening in arousal (my cock hardening with mine) - and pushed her jeans and panties off. Her legs came back down spread slightly apart. When her feet hit the floor her hips arched slightly, her labia parted and I was treated to a view of slick, pink perfection. "Is this better?"

"Is this better?" My God she actually said "Is this better?" I answered by leaning forward and licking the short length of her cunt with a purposeful swipe of my tongue. I repeated twice more and gave her swelling clit a good hard suck between my lips and a quick strumming with my tongue.

"Oh shit!" was her reply, her knees lifting her reaction. I gripped the backs of her knees and pushed forward opening her sex completely. 'Oh shits' became 'oh fucks' and finally a garbled collection of moans, squeals, groans, teeth clenched inhalations and explosive exhalations as I knelt between her legs and ate her to a squealing orgasm.

Score: Orgasm her - 1. Orgasm me - 0.

I straightened, unzipped, and pushed my jeans to the floor. I rolled on a condom (the last two months of my life made carrying a ready supply mandatory) and lined up. Damn she was tight - wet beyond reason, no doubt after my oral assault - but as tight as I'd ever encountered. I pushed forward and her body began to yield.

"Oh fuck! You're fucking ... oh shit ... oh fuck ... me. Oh ... oh."

She wasn't the most inarticulate girl I'd ever been with - but she was close. I almost thought she was going to say 'no' to fucking so I backed off on the forward pressure and switched to a series of short, quick thrusts with just the head of my dick in her. Thank God she finally said the magic word 'more.' I pushed deeper and deeper until I filled her just bumping her cervix on my deepest thrusts.

With her heels on my shoulders I fucked her through a second orgasm. I rolled her onto her knees and got a third cum out of her by grinding the base of my cock on her clit. Which turned out to be a mistake on my part as she lunged forward pulling off of me, apologizing as she exclaimed her over-sensitivity to further stimulation. I was disappointed until she spun around and pulled off the condom and had me ejaculating into her mouth in less than a minute.

Score: Orgasms her - 3. Orgasms me - 1. Funny that I considered myself the winner.

"I got lucky, glg (Getting Lucky Guy)" was signed across her mons. I blew softly on the black ink (completely unnecessary, but a nice touch none-the-less) as if to dry it. Her hips arched up again and damn if that cute little clit of hers didn't make a re-appearance. I was sorely tempted.

"You can do it again if you want." That was a very appealing invitation from Heather (we'd finally exchanged names - and let me tell you this, there is something wildly satisfying to a man's ego about learning a girl's name as she's wiping a dribble of your spunk off her chin.) My cock began to stir and I thought 'why not?'

When we'd first entered the room had been dimly light by a solitary wall sconce. Heather had turned on the room lights when I signed her mons (I guess she wanted to make sure i did it right.) After signing I glanced around the room to get my bearings (I was thinking that if there was a decent full length mirror I might sit on the edge of the bed and have her straddle me facing forward - a sexy visual never hurt to inspire a round two. Add her seeing my cock in her and my autograph spread across her mons seemed to have real erotic potential.)

Bedroom lights on was illuminating to say the least. I saw the mirror covered closet doors opposite the bed Heather was reclining on - so far so good. Then I saw the collection of stuffed animals and a smattering of posters of 'pop tarts' and young shirtless guys. I looked at Heather, a suddenly very young looking Heather, and thought 'OH SHIT!' As quickly as I could while still looking cool and detached I pulled up my jeans saying I really should get back to the party.

"Okay - I'm kinda tired anyway." (Not to mention drunk, her kiss [post signing] was almost a drink by itself) She asked if I needed her to show me the way back to the main part of the house. I said I'd find my way back. I left as she was scooting under the covers of her bed. I turned out the lights - 'SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT!'

"Oh there you are." My left arm was quickly entangled with my hostess' arm (yes, Heather's mom and now I knew why Heather had looked somewhat famiilar - family photos on my agents desk. Oh, and a photo of mom and dad on her night stand - yikes) I was directed over to a group of women. "Here he is!"

"OH MY GAWD! It is him!" Being referred in person by the third person is part of your fifteen minutes of fame. Here you are and yet you're not here - it's "him" - and it's really annoying.

"You wouldn't believe the turmoil your video has caused in my house. My husband calls you 'The Lucky Bastard Guy' (heard it.) My daughter and her friends think it terribly unfair - if the roles were switched ..." (yeah, yeah, yeah - the whole slut/stud dichotomy) blah, blah, blah. One by one they vented their collective spleens on: me, You Tube, sex mores, and last but not least, men in general (this last bit often offered up with some variation of 'as if one man can trully satisfy one woman let alone three'.)

Okay maybe its time to explain the whole "Lucky Guy" video thing. The "VIDEO" was a project for an 'Advertising for Propaganda and Profit' class. We were supposed to take a common phrase and exploit it for either propaganda or profit - extra credit if you pulled off both.

I was stumped, not to mention uninspired. The teacher was a radical feminist who found fault with all things male and patriarchal. I was too far past the drop date to bail and stubborn enough to see the class through. When inspiration came it nearly knocked me over. This is how I scripted the video.

Opening scene:

[1] Fog and steam swirl (five seconds)

[2] A red towel appears in the center of the screen and begins to move in a circular pattern gradually clearing a view in a bathroom mirror (camera pov is from behind the mirror looking out into the bathroom.)

[3] The towel is lowered and the camera sees me standing naked looking straight at the camera (the shot is from just above my head to mid thigh - a large aerosol can on the bathroom counter strategically hides my maleness.)

Off camera narrator: "Going out tonight?"

[4] I run both hands through my wet hair and slick it back. I do it again and again. At the end of the third time I pause and give my arm pits a quick sniff.

Off camera narrator: "Planning on getting lucky?"

[5] I grab the can and lift it (the camera focuses on the can, zooms in slowly so that my dick never shows. then follows the can upward.) I sprayunder each arm.

Off camera narrator: "Well - if you really think you're going to get lucky ..."

[6] I lower the can below the view of the camera (chest and head shot)and react with my eyebrows arching up, eyes widening, and mouth opening slightly. I smile.

Closing Scene:

[7] Close up of my face with a very contented smile, eyes barely open. (Camera begins a very slow pull back with my head holding to the left edge of the screen. Blond hair comes into view, then the profile of a gorgeous sleeping, smiling girl.)

Off camera narrator: "Don't you want to get lucky tonight?"

[8] The camera continues its pull back with my head slowly moving back toward the center of the screen. Black hair appears and a cute Asian girl in asleep on my left.

Off camera narrator: "Isn't it time for you to be the lucky guy?'

[9] The camera continues its pull out and a redhead appears next to the Asian girl. Camera movement stops with all four of us in bed; bras, panties and stockings scattered and hanging here and there.

Off camera narrator: "Get Lucky! body spray for the guy that's going to ..."

[10] A can of "Get Lucky" fades in over my image. The cap is a hemispherical dome giving it the look of a huge dildo.

Fade to black.

I got the extra credit.

Then somebody (it sure as hell wasn't me!) uploaded the video to You Tube.

Chapter Two

Interestingly - the original buzz swirled around the girls - "Who are the Getting Lucky girls?" They were local models, chosen primarily for their hair. Oh they were cute enough and all, but they were just pretty faces with great hair. Then in the relentless manner of the net - nude (professional, very tasteful, very nude) photos of the redhead got posted. Soon there was a universal cry for nude pics of the blonde and the Asian. Maxim and FHM offered big bucks for a photo shot (I wasn't asked, just the girls.)

Then Playboy called (they insisted on including me - God Bless you Hugh Hefner) for an on-line only shoot and the rest as they say is history.

The Jimmy Kimmel Show called in the end of the photo shoot and had us all on. They showed the video and then introduced the girls first. Then I came out. I should point out that I'm just over 6'4"(I played Div 1 volleyball until I trashed my knee) which never mattered until I was standing next to and shaking Jimmy's hand. Jimmy said, "You're much taller than I expected."

Janelle (the redhead/airhead - God Bless her) said, "We all thought he was bigger then expected too."

Jimmy delivered a dead-pan expression right at the camera as the audience howled. The show continued from one double entendre and sexual innuendo to another. We all went out to dinner afterwards and the jokes never stopped. Towards the end of the evening Jimmy asked us if we wanted to go to a party later and watch the actual broadcast. We all accepted and the party continued.

The party was Hollywood crazy. I have a vague recollection of watching the show and of everybody loving it. Lots of hugs and kisses and slaps on the back. Some guy was talking about making a movie or maybe a cable tv show - weird shit like that. I barely remember anything - it was insane.

I do remember waking up the next morning with the worst hangover ever - EVER! I didn't know where I was, what I'd done - I barely knew who I was. I crawled out of a strange bed and kept crawling into a strange bathroom. I managed to shower - that helped. Walking back into the bedroom I found a pair of athletic shorts, two aspirin and a fresh cup of coffee. I drank the coffee first, finished it with the pills, then slipped on the shorts. Time to find out the where, what, who and why of my morning.

I followed the aroma of cinnamon until I stepped into a kitchen. A brunette in boy briefs and sports bra was sitting at a table nibbling on some fruit. She turned at my arrival and flashed me a Hollywood mega-watt smile. "Your up!"

"Like he wasn't up last night?" I turned left to find a stunning blonde, pulling apart a cinnamon roll. She was wearing a t-shirt that barely reached mid-thigh. More notable were her large breasts and prominent nipples which were either really hard or really big - or both. A raised ridge of cotton connected one nipple to its neighbor. "I bet you don't remember one little ..."

"Or big!" chimed in the brunette who was walking toward me.

"...thing about last night do you?" The blonde walked over (God I could spend hours watching her walk) took my empty cup, and kissed me on the cheek. WHATTHEFUCKHAPPENEDLASTNIGHT?

"Oh, poor baby." The brunette kissed my other cheek and goosed me. "Hungry?"

I knew I'd had sex last night based on the congealed mess I washed out of my pubic hair while showering. My dick was sore enough to tell me I'd done a lot of fucking. My sore jaw said I'd served the needs of a least one girl. Did I have sex with either or both of these girls. I took the cowards way out and told the truth.

"I apologize for my lack of recall and pray that anything that transpired last night met with your full and complete satisfaction." I smiled at the girls - they smirked back in return. A long pause insued, I was waiting for some kind response - was I some kind of jerk?

"Fuck, I can barely walk. You my friend are a stud." I turned around and found myself looking into the slightly bloodshot eyes of one of the hottest stars in Hollywood (hint: she was in that movie this spring with the kinky sex scene.) "I'm starved - omelets and mimosas anyone?"

We ate, drank, and (mercifully) the girls filled me in on the previous evenings activities. I tried hard to be blase regarding their tales of my studliness - I failed. I suggested they were exaggerating. They got their cell phones and proceeded to show me numerous phone video clips of me in action.

By the time the weekend was over I (Lucky Guy) was a Google top one hundred search item. I'd been linked to Lindsey Lohan (never met her), partied with Paris Hilton (didn't happen), and photographed leaving the home of a popular starlet (no comment.) The last ended up online at TMZ and PerezHilton.

My life officially became a freak show when E ran the story of where I spent my weekend with the hostess intoning salaciously, "An inside source said that the sounds coming from the Master Bedroom indicated that there was definitely a master in the bedroom. Is this guy Lucky or what?"

It just got crazier. I wish I could say I acted with maturity and common sense - I didn't even come close. Poor choice of words on my part as coming seemed to be all I was doing. I was worse than the kid in the candy shop. I was getting invites to all kinds of Hollywood parties - I went, I came, and quite often I came again and again. Being photographed with "The Getting Lucky Guy" seemed like a good PR move for aspiring starlets. Having "The Getting Lucky Guy" photographed leaving you place the next morning was an excellent PR move.

Three weeks into the circus I got a call from Jimmy's people asking if I was available to be on the show that night - a guest had cancelled. I accepted and was picked up by limo (Jimmy mentioned whose house I was picked up at [her people approved]) Jimmy introduced me as the "I can't believe how Lucky this sorry ass bastard is" guy. We joked around and once again the audience loved it. Jimmy closed the segment by pulling up a bunch of 8X10 head shots. He held them so the audience couldn't see the photos. He fliped through a couple saying "You did her!" and throwing the photo down on the floor. He looks at the next "You did her!" and throws the photo away. He goes through a dozen then looks at one for a long time, shakes his head, and turns it for me to see.

"Well, a gentleman never ..."

"You Lucky Bastard you!" Jimmy looked at the audience then at me. "I hate you with every fiber of my being."

The audience howled.

And so it went.

Chapter Three

And "NO!" I didn't nail Heather's mom - gimme a little credit. I did find out that Heather had just graduated high school (THANK YOU GOD!) Nor did I nail any of the MILFS (it didn't bother me that they were mothers - just married.) But I definitely felt like cougar bait as a number of forty/fifty types kept prowling closer (my package got the knuckle check more that night than at any other time - those women were shameless.) I said my good-byes and made my exit. Where I ran right into Heather. She was dressed to go out.

"Wanna go to a party?" Like I was going to say no?

Heather took me to a place in Malibu where a total rager was in full swing. Her method of introducing me around to her friends and acquaintances was to lift up the front of her micro skirt and flash her signed mons (fuck that was all of two hours ago) tell them I was the guilty party and that the pen still had ink in it. Fucking crazy, absolutely fucking crazy. I signed dozens of boobs and butts. One dude wanted me to sign his dick - I declined.

Heather felt it necessary to recount our tryst in her bedroom, complete with my donning a condom. "And he gloved up without even asking - is that awesome or what?" I guess in Hollywood a little courtesy goes a long, long way.

Somehow I was taken home by a stunning South American super model who left me little more than a dried husk of a man by the next morning. She could make her cunt muscles do the most amazing things - I couldn't even begin to describe what she did to me. I can only pray it happens again.

She flew off to do a fashion shoot the next day (that meant I had a chance to regain my strength.) I was left in the care of her roomie who was even crazier. The roomie had a week-long swimsuit shoot scheduled and invited me to join her - and the other five models on the shoot.

I thought about it for slightly more than a nano second. "I'll clear my calendar for you and your friends."

I'm taking a lot of vitamins with me.

How long does this last? Who knows? What I do know is that "Life is good - Get Lucky!"