I had just transferred to another college my sophomore year. Didn't know practically a soul.
So, when I met a really nice, attractive, and smart girl in Psychology class, I zeroed in on her. Christina and I hung out a lot, and I really liked her, but she was not readily giving up the good stuff, putting the brakes on after 2nd base. I figured she had the idea I was a playboy who might fuck and dump her, but I sincerely wanted to be her steady boyfriend, so I was patient to prove my genuine interest. Tough for a horny guy like me who'd not got any since the end of summer, but I was doing what I had to do.
One night I'd invited her over for an I'll-cook-dinner-at-my-place evening, but right before she was due, she called and asked if she could bring a couple of girlfriends, so I said OK, though I thought that was a bit puzzling.
She shows up with another two girls from her dorm I'd heard her talk about but had never met, and my beer, along with the beer they brought, was more than plenty for all of us. We ate, drank, played darts, laughed, carried on, and were having a really good time. Not the kind of evening I'd anticipated--I was hoping it would be THE NIGHT for me and Christina--but nevertheless fun.
I had my arm around her and kissed her several times throughout the evening, though she seemed a bit stiff, which I attributed to anxiety in the presence of her two friends. They were obviously not anxious at all, being quite touch-feely. They initiated all the touchy-feely stuff, yet I was careful to not do anything inappropriate with them, even when we started giving each other backrubs and so forth. After all, Christina was my girl.
Well, the evening wore on, and she intercepted me in the hall on my way back from the bathroom, out of earshot of the other two. She asked which of them I liked best, and I told her it was SHE that I liked. She said she was afraid of that and that's why she'd brought her two girlfriends. Huh?
She said she liked me a lot, but that, although she had normal sexual desires, was saving herself for marriage and that she knew she'd never accomplish that dating an extremely horny guy like me, so we'd have to be just friends. My heart sank.
Christina went on to say that she was sorry that I might think she'd led me on and felt she "owed me one," and that's where her two girlfriends, who were "definitely not virgins," came in. Both liked me a lot. One had already told her she'd like to go to bed with me that evening, that she was a "sure thing." Bummed about the girl I really liked—Christina--all I could say was "Really?" before they came down the hall to see where we'd disappeared to.
Heart sunk deep in my chest, I went into the kitchen to get us all another round of brews and gather my composure, leaving the three of them alone for a few minutes. When I came back, Christina and one of her friends quickly downed their beers, said thanks for everything, and then left, saying, "We'll leave the two of you alone to your own devices. Have fun!"
Now the thing was, this girl—the sure thing—wearing a tight sweater and jeans, quite obviously had an absolutely fantastic body, gorgeous, shoulder-length, natural blonde hair, lovely blue eyes, and beautiful teeth, hands, feet, and nails. But she had the face of a dog. Her face resembled a Boston Bull Terrier, no kidding. Though Christina was the one I really wanted, honestly, if I'd been given a choice, I would have definitely picked her other friend, a tall, slim brunette with a really cute face.
In the first place, I had just been majorly disappointed to learn that the girl I'd been seeing for two months only wanted to be friends. Second, without any of my own input, she had pulled this sudden switcheroo. Third, I was having trouble with this chick's face, big trouble. So, trying to relax and accept this new order, I sat down at the table and did like 6 or 8 bong hits in rapid succession and gulped down a couple more Buds.
This gal was hot to trot and proceeded to get undressed on my bed. I sat across the room at the breakfast table, gurgling on the 2-foot bong, trying to convince myself that she was do-able. She had on nothing but a sexy black bra and matching panties when she asked me to bring over a hit for her, which I did, reluctantly.
No sooner had she inhaled a few deep lungfulls of the green stuff, than she stood up and undressed me down to my undershorts, which only took a few moments since I was wearing just a polo shirt and walking shorts. Then she pressed herself tightly against me and started kissing and caressing her hands all over my body.
My cock was as cold and dead as grouper at the grocery. I just could not get past her face. The whole thing reminded me of some comic books a buddy of mine collected that featured horny alien women with great bodies and disgusting faces who came to Earth to seduce men and propagate their race.
I extracted myself from her arms, sat her back on the bed, and turned around to put a record on the turntable. When I turned back around, she was completely nude, lying back smiling and writhing about on top of my bedspread. I tell you without exaggeration that she had one of the best bodies I have ever seen:
She was petite, probably not even a hundred pounds, and a little over five feet tall. With a medium-dark tan over every millimeter of her blemish-free skin, the smooth muscles beneath it flexed with every move, not like a body-builder, but in a feminine, in-great-shape way. Her 19-year-old softball-size breasts—huge on her little body—were perfectly symmetrical and round. Extraordinarily firm, they not only stuck straight out when she stood or sat upright but also straight up when she lay back. In the exact center of each, dark, quarter-size areolas surrounded nipples at full attention. Her poochy ass looked like an Olympic sprinter's, and her slender but muscular legs tapered down to little arched brown feet with tiny, sexy toes painted to match the dark red on the nails of her small hands. A true blonde, her golden pubes were trimmed close enough to see prominent labia that, like her facial lips, appeared to be smiling at me.
In a word, she was perfect. Her body, that is. That face, though, well, let's just say I'd not been surprised to hear a bark come from it. We're talking AKC-registered here. Despite her having a body that could rival any centerfold's, I just could not get over that face that was a complete turnoff. I was just not going to be able to have sex with her, but I didn't have the heart to do anything that would hurt her feelings. She was a really nice girl, primed to fuck.
I could not be straightforward and say, "Excuse me, but, honestly, you are just so ugly in the face that I simply cannot attain an erection to make love with you."
People ask me all the time what type of woman I like—voluptuous with big tits, petite with perky little tits, tall and long legged, toned and athletic, blonde, brunette, redhead, etc.—and I really do not have a "type" preference. However, one thing is required, a pretty face, and Bow-Wow's was anything but.
She slid over to the edge of the bed where I sat, curled both hands around my penis, and started kissing from my neck due south. I was soft as a snail and going to stay that way no matter what.
Anxious, I was desperately searching for an "out" and ended up doing one of the stupidest things I've ever done in my whole life. Right next to the bed was my dresser, where I had my knife collection displayed on top. I told her in my best Scottish brogue that before we went on, I needed to tell her I was very kinky. She smiled. I then picked up the long Scottish dirk, ran my finger along the blade, and stared into her eyes with a sardonic grin. I never said anything about using it on her, and, of course, had no intention of hurting her, or anyone else, for that matter, but the implication was clear. This was my admittedly warped way of running her off without hurting her feelings.
Had our roles been reversed, I would have immediately run, not walked, out the door. But she stayed put, and so I continued to handle the other knives, among them, an Italian stiletto, a French poniard, a huge Bowie, a couple of bayonets, a Marine K-Bar, and a World War II British commando dagger. As I described each in turn, I acted out how they were properly used--thrusting, stabbing, slicing an imaginary opponent--accompanied by an accent that matched their country of origin. She was shaking and her lips quivering, but still, she remained.
Then I picked up one of the throwing knives and sailed it across the room over her head into the dartboard. Ka-thwak! She snatched up her jeans, sweater and shoes, and, naked as a jay bird, bolted out the door in abject terror. It was 1:30 in the morning and, finally, she was gone. I took a deep sigh of relief.
A few minutes later my roommate, Steve, came in, saying, "Damnedest thing just happened. I was downstairs and punched the button for the elevator. I noticed from the lights it was on the 8th floor—our floor—and coming down, so I wait. Door opens, and this naked chick runs out. Awesome-looking woman, man! Had her clothes in her arms. Looked liked she was scared shitless. Not the prettiest face in the world, but a fuckin' perfect bod. She ran straight into me, and, little thing that she was, I literally intercepted her, copping a feel of her fine little booty and a big firm tit. Sweet!!! I tried to talk to her, but she sprinted out the door into the night like the boogie man was after her or something."
Then he scanned the room and tried to put it all together: Elevator descending from our floor, me naked and flaccid, my clothes on the floor, and a bra and panties on the bed, along with my knives. I told him the whole story.
You must know that even though my roomie was a real ladies' man, he said, "Shit, man, she had a killer figure and wasn't THAT ugly. Look, here's her bra—32DD. Day-um, them's some big ol' titties on a little girl, hell, any girl! Check out these black panties, dude, so tiny. Hey, they're wet in the crotch, and, oooooh, smells so nice! We've got a whole stack of paper bags in the kitchen, you know. Hell, I would have done her in a New York second, no bag! Face kinda reminded me of my grandma's cute little toy dog."
"A Boston Bull Terrier?" I asked.
"Exactly," he confirmed, "She sure looked like a fine piece of pussy to me. Whatsamattayou, man?"
"Well, I'm certainly a pussy-man, all right—in every way. You see, I like cats; always had 'em as pets growing up. Never had a dog. If she'd had the face of a tabby, calico, Siamese, that would have been fine, just fine. Just never have been a dog-person. My little man just wouldn't work for that canine, Steve."
Well, she must have made a bee-line back to the dorm and told Christina, for the next time I saw her, she kept her distance and treated me like I was a stark, raving lunatic. Not only did I not have her as a girlfriend, but also she didn't want to be a friend anymore or have anything to do with me at all. Forget about asking her to set me up with the slender brunette dorm friend. Talk about a knife—Christina put one through my heart.
A few months later, my roommate and I had just walked in to a new club, and before the bartender served out first beer, we saw Bow-Wow girl dancing. Gyrating her awesome bod to the disco music in a short, tight dress, she did, in fact, have the best looking physique of any girl there. And the funny thing was, though she was certainly not pretty, just as he'd commented, she really was not all THAT bad in the face. Steve was about to make his way across the floor to put a move on her, but as soon as she spotted me, understandably thinking I was wacko, she disappeared.
Pretending to be a sicko hung up on sharp-edged implements to scare her off is one of, if not the most, regrettable things I've ever done. She had a fabulous body, a pleasant personality, was horny as hell, and would have surely been a great piece of ass. Why didn't I just fuck her?
In the final analysis, it was probably NOT her dog face. I wanted Christina and just could not rapidly let go of her and immediately bang a girl I had no say-so in choosing. Then again, I've never been attracted to Boston Bull Terriers, no matter how great a body they might have. When it comes to bow-wow girls, for me, the bow just outweighs the wow.