All I'm Looking for is the Perfect Gangbang

Some guys are greedy, the way I see it. They want every single dollar they can get their hands on. They want the things they can't have, the things they don't even deserve. They could be blessed with good looks, good fortune, and all they want is more, more, more. Me? I'm not like that at all. I want one thing out of life before I die, and it's not all that much—I want to experience the perfect gangbang.

Of course, I've had my share of gangbang experiences. But were they perfect? Hardly. Not unless you call a blaring TV in the background, a bunch of strange jerks giggling, and that just-vomited breath smell overpowering what should have been a beautiful couple of hours. Still, I'm not giving up hope. I know the perfect gangbang exists out there, and I just want to be part of it before my days are over.

Does this sound familiar? You get a phone call from an old friend, or some guy you drank too much with in some bar some night, and get invited to what promises to be a real sharp gangbang with a beautiful honey. You get there, the room is packed full of dudes who have no business at a gangbang, either too skuzzy or they clearly don't know what they're doing. Smoke and liquor permeate the room like you never left the bar. The "beautiful honey" you were promised is some freshly passed-out stripper way past her prime and smells like she pissed herself before going unconscious to the mercy of the crowd. Am I too proud to walk away? Maybe not, but it doesn't mean I'm a happy participant. Sloppy seconds I can deal with, but fifths? Sixths? Thirteenths? Ugh. Sometimes you just want to pack up your ol' kit bag and leave that gangbang before it gets disgusting.

Even those rare gangbangs when the gal is still awake can be disappointing. You hoped for a small and intimate affair, but she was shitty drunk and called up some ex-boyfriends, and all of a sudden they're crashing you and your small gang of five to muscle in on your action. And just because she's drunk tonight doesn't mean she won't press charges tomorrow. I let loose an audible sigh. Then I join in, of course, but I still keep my fingers crossed for that one remarkable gangbang I've always been looking for.

Picture this: Just you and the anonymous woman, and four friends who just came with you from the last party. And she's a doll, too, like a slutty Katie Couric, but not too slutty. Dressed in some alluring and only slightly skanky lingerie, bathed like the room in the red lights of nearby lamps. Rose petals cover the bed and its satin sheets, the scent of lilacs and maybe a little MGD fill the room. Instead of the inane chatter of that one asshole who says this is so fucking hot, the only sound in the air is the gentle breathing of five people, and maybe a Lionel Richie record. "Easy like Sunday morning" croons the singer, and everybody gets naked. Let the banging commence!

Now that's pretty fucking romantic, you got to admit. It's not at all like a nasty rendezvous with your dorm roommates in a Taco Bell bathroom. And it's not all that impossible either. Hell, I already have the guys in mind. I just need to find the willing girl and arrange the date. You see? I don't want all that much. I don't see why things have to be so difficult.

I wouldn't mind looking online, trying one of those "adult friend finders" or something… but you gotta be careful with those. A lot of nuts answer those kind of ads.

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