Confessions of a Maneater

The Wrestler

Satisfaction rating: 1 penis

For a brief moment in time, I was engaged to a professional wrestler. He was 7' 1/2” tall, weighed 385 when we met and he was beautiful! He was a physical specimen with 24” rock-hard biceps and, sadly, about a 4 1/2” marshmallow-soft cock. They'll tell you that it doesn't matter about the size as long as he knows how to use it. Whoever coined that lame-ass excuse had a Vienna sausage for a penis. The wrestler, amazingly enough, didn't have the smallest cock in my history; that “honor” goes to the cop…later.

I met the wrestler through an online dating service. I had sent him some little whatever several months before and he finally responded one July. We talked for hours each evening and before the week was up, we decided that we should meet half-way between our respective cities. Abilene, Texas was the destination on that Friday afternoon and I was so excited! He'd told me he was tall, but that doesn't really register with you until you actually see a 7' man before you. I knocked on the door at the hotel and the door slowly opens to reveal a hotel room scattered with rose petals and candles. I walk in and look behind the door, he's there and I'm instantly smitten. We start kissing and we are very soon on the bed with him on top. I have to say that the lacking size didn't register too much because the setting was romantic and the body was overwhelmingly heavy and strong. And I have to also say that if the pecker had been proportional to the body, I'd have run away out of fear. So that being said, I guess I should have been happy he was a steroid junkie. Yes ladies! Professional athletes are fun to look at but leave a lot to be desired when it comes to cumming. Lost erections, inability to ejaculate and minimal interest in sex coupled with a raging temper make for bulls**t time spent together! That first time was okay, and it only went down hill from there. The man, who has since been dubbed “Sponge Bob Closed Wallet” by me, was the cheapest man I'd ever been with! I was used to men that spent money on me, or if it was a man that wasn't affluent, he made sure he did things that showed me how much I was adored, which, in my opinion, is just as good, if not better! It really threw me for a loop to have minimal attention, no gifts, and not even decent sex to tide me over. Looking back, I should have ended it well before it ended as it did.

He wouldn't allow bodily functions…period. I wasn't allowed to burp or fart in front of him…That was the longest year of my life! Needless to say, when he'd go on tour, I'd chow down on bean and cheese nachos and fart-inducing carbs and then stop two days before he returned home. He also told me that I wouldn't be allowed to publicize my books in his home town because most people would be offended by my work. F**k `em, I said! He didn't like that answer. And, he said most of my actions weren't appropriate for public, so I would have to change when we were in his neck of the woods, and I wasn't allowed to show any of my tattoos, only two at the time…how do you like the cover?!? Yeah, that's really me. Ink and all, and not all of my tattoos are showing. I digress…So by this brief illustration of what a prude weenie he was, you will really find the humor in this part. One night, I was asleep and what woke me up was this loud fart. I realized it was coming from me! I sleep like the dead, so for a fart to be loud enough and long enough to wake me, you know it had to be impressive! I wake up enough to realize that my a** is pressed against his leg. I wanted to laugh so goddamned bad, but I dared not! I didn't move! I lay there for a moment and fall back asleep…for a very short time…until I farted again. Equally loud, equally long. I'm wide awake and I'm doing fine at not laughing until I hear his head turn against the pillow to look at me and I got a mental picture of him crab-walking off the bed, screaming and writhing. Then I felt the laughter approaching, so I move around in bed. Perhaps moving will distract me from the bare-a**ed a**-blowing I just did against his bare leg? I don't know; I only know that I had to do something to not laugh. I get onto my stomach and I start an uncontrolled chuckle, which I roll into a cough. A hard cough. I glide onto my side so I'm facing him and my ass is safely pointed toward my dog - who is used to me farting on her at night - and when he asked if I was alright, I mumbled “allergies.” I wanted to assure him I didn't s**t myself, but I said nothing…I just nuzzled up to him and bit his nipple, something that turned him on like nothing else and then I went to sleep. I suppose now I figured then that one of two things would happen…he'd either start to associate bodily functions with nipple biting and he'd get a chub over farting, which would just be f**kin' funny, or he'd get turned on and forget I nearly blew off his leg.

Yeah, a woman like me can't be with a man like that. He was physically the strongest man I'd ever known, however he was so weak inside! When we ended, I knew I was better off away from him; however I didn't know just how lucky I was until the murder/suicide of…