I’m the winner!
I was the first one to make it to the finish line. There’s no Do-Overs either.

I’m the first born.

Yea I know, not all of you can say that you won the race.

I hear ya… laid back, not paying attention. Don’t worry about it. Hey, at least you made it here, right!? Nice effort.

So, being the first born means that statistically, we fucking rock. We get mushed over and get lots more attention.

We rule.

That is, until one of you suckers wakes up and decides to join us.

Now, the worst thing about you little jerks running through the finish line second or third, is that we had to wear these kinds of fucking shirts for at least a year.

As you can see, it’s not pretty. It totally takes away from the triumph that is the First Born.

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Men tend to complain about getting the short end of the stick when it comes to the end of a relationship or marriage.

Child Support Garnishments, Alimony Payments, Relocation, Visitation… Where does it end?

The mother, 9 times out of 10, tends to come out the winner in court. The house, the car; They even get to keep Fluffy.

BUT WHY!!?? OH WHY!!??
Well, I know…

Look, it’s hard enough for a guy to stay responsible over his little swimmers as it is. Children are already being born at an alarming rate to unwed mothers.

It is in a man’s genetic code and animal instinct to want to unload as much as possible. If it were free to procreate, 4/5 women on this planet would already be knocked up.

Women’s hormones would be raging at an all time high. No one would be happy then, would they?

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We exchanged phone numbers and chatted it up for a few weeks. We seemed to click, and laughed constantly. I need a guy with a sense of humor.

We decided that for our first date it might be fun to go shoot some pool, so I met up with him at the local billiard spot.

I could tell a lot about him by his embrace.

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Today’s Blog is a Debate!

Here’s your scenario guys. I’m going to help you set the scene.

You were out for the day… maybe shooting hoops with the boys, throwing back a few Bud Lights, or picking up some extra time at the office.

You decide to surprise your girlfriend and go by her place for some quality time. Keys in hand, you hop in the car and cruise on over there.

No need to call; it’ll be more spontaneous this way.
Chicks dig spontaneous.

When you pull up, suddenly you get this strange feeling in the pit of your stomach. Something isn’t right here; something is off.

Trying to shake it off, as you park and walk up to the house, your heart starts to pound more and more with each step. You hear faint music playing in the background.

Well, now you are up to the door and fumbling around for the spare key. You could almost swear…

You hear laughing.

Who the hell is here? She said she was just going to do some errands and go home for the day… alone.

Once you get through the door, Oh… you are sure of it now.

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If you are a TRUE www.TheSuperJabs.com fan, (and I’m SURE that you are), then you remember ExNavyMid’s blog about:

“WHY MEN DON’T WANT TO GET MARRIED”

(parts 1&2, just to make sure we really got it)

It was quite informative!

Well fellas, your girl ~*KL is here to tell you exactly

“WHY WOMEN WANT TO GET MARRIED”.

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It started off normally, as any other Blow Job would, as a Hand Job.

I was stroking him up and down, gripping and tugging in all of the right places, rubbing and massaging his balls. His breath was starting to shorten as the pleasure washed over his body.

Then I get the ol, “Can you kiss it a little?” question, so of course I proceed to the kiss, the tease… the lick, the suck, etc.

Well continuing on, soon things got sloppy. I felt an uneasy knot welling up in my stomach and a horrible choke tickling the back of my throat.

When in this position, all you can think to yourself is,
“Oh please do not let me lose this right now, calm down, hold it!”

Gag! I stopped and wiped him down.
I wasn’t about to give up now, so when he tried to stop, I insisted that I finish the job I came to do.

This is only the beginning of
THE WORST BLOW JOB IN HISTORY.

Minutes later, as he was again starting to reach his climatic peak…
Finally enjoying all that my juicy lips and soft tongue had to offer…
Feeling every hot and wet sensation…

I really choked.
Bad.

I threw up all over him like a ride on a roller coaster.
I heaved the contents of my stomach all over his dick and everywhere else.

He ran to the bathroom and took a shower; I got dressed and attempted to get rid of all the evidence.

I’m sure neither of us, however, can ever get rid of the memory. But, as all secrets do, eventually they come out to see the light of day.

This is never to be spoken of again.

Just remember, that once somewhere, someday, you heard the story of
THE WORST BLOW JOB IN HISTORY.

Let it die as legend.

Or do you know of another story?
Have something to share?

Let it out, like vomit…
I want to hear it.

Tag: BLOW JOB

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