The Sexual Monologues: 3.i – Ellen

The first story on our third week of Sexual Monologues comes from the glorious Uni days of my youth.

Ellen was my bestest of all best friends at University – and I still love that girl even now. Hard to believe, but she may actually be crazier than I am. She loves taxidermy and voluntarily spends her free time learning how to stuff dead mammals before presenting them in her own home. Studying for a Psychology degree when I met her, Ellen was a deep thinker and a very sensitive soul…and absolutely, blissfully unhinged in only the very best of ways. I met her totally by chance when we were placed in Halls together in our first year and we became a nutty double act for the entirety of our University careers.

Ellen is a beautiful little imp. She has a thin, angular face and she is almost as petite as I am, with mousy hair always cut to the shoulders (which she usually cuts herself). Her lips are so thin that when she smiles it looked like a chevron on the road but it works on her in a way it couldn’t work on anyone else because it gives her a mischievous little grin that makes her grey eyes sparkle. In our late teens and twenties she was slim with child bearing hips and firm legs which, in the years gone by, have turned ‘doughy’ in her opinion but I know she looks just as wonderful and spritely as ever she did.

Early on in our first year Ellen glimpsed Dell and it was love at first sight. Or should I say, unrequited love at first sight. Dell was a squat, rugby built kind of guy with a triangular, meaty frame and dark hair flicked up at the front like Tin Tin in the style of the day. He was allllll about popularity; everyone at Uni knew who Dell was and he attended every function thrown. Upon two things one could always rely: if there was a party with more than 25 attendees, Dell would be there. And if Dell was at a party, Ellen would know about it. Her digital stalking in an era where creeping on someone’s social media wasn’t really a thing was a marvel. She could hunt down his whereabouts and regale us with tales of his nights out with striking, almost psychotic detail – for someone who had not actually been present.

Our Uni group was tight-knit – there were three of us at it’s core and some more transient girls on the periphery. But Ellen, Ju and I were the main (and best) three. We were also total fucking losers who took our Uni education really seriously and enjoyed spending our time with one another rather than dipping ourselves into the drunken medley of Carnage, bar crawls and house parties…unless we knew Dell would be there, of course.

Over the course of our University careers Dell remained blissfully unaware of Ellen’s love and her proficient stalking. We were those loser girls that guys like him don’t notice, even when we’re standing there naked secreting vaginal juices right in their pathway. That is, of course, until our third year.

Dell decided to run for ‘Class President’ whatever the fuck that is. In hindsight I imagine this stemmed from a place where he did the very bare minimum academically to scrape by and so felt insecure about his lack of intelligence, filling the void with what was, essentially, a popularity contest. Regardless of his impetus for running, we were soon bombarded with propaganda branded with Dell’s little face as he sold his soul for votes. Free condoms were circulated with his face emblazoned on the foil packaging, free key rings clipped together your doorkeys and free badges adorned every SuperDry coated breast. Good friends that we were, Ju and I found it hilarious to collect these little images of Dell to give to Ellen who, upon receipt, would add them to a kind of mosaic of memories she had made on her wardrobe door. Amongst the clothing labels and artistic editorials collected from magazine covers, Dell’s head would poke out against the Ikea pine to greet you as you kicked back with a red wine and Vienetta in Ellen’s bedroom.

Another detail about Ellen’s bedroom, aside from her memory wall, is that she slept in the cupboard. Not just any cupboard though; this was a sort of makeshift loft conversion-cum-mezzanine concealed behind cupboard doors suspended halfway up her wall. She lay a double mattress in her cupboard and it was the perfect little cubby hole.

So now I have set the scene for you, allow me to commence this sexual monologue which begins on a balmy summer’s eve at the very end of our third year. I was staying on to do my Post-Graduate degree, Ellen and Ju were ending their courses and we were preparing for the Last Supper. We had all known this day would have to come where we left each other forever but it crept up so quickly that the end was nigh before any of us were ready. I, for one, had liked the same guy for the whole three years (Fit Sean) but had never made a move or made my feelings known so I remained a virgin. Ju had an on-again-off-again boyfriend and there had been dramas with him that yo-yo wound across our years together and Ellen had had a few conquests but had not managed to mount Dell. We decided the best way to commemorate losing each other and having very definitely not lived our University lives to the full was to have what we would consider to be a wild night out but what our student colleagues would perceive as a tame evening.

I’ll spare you the boring details of the night; primarily because they evade my memory and also because, as you may have gathered, we were fucking boring and I doubt very much of an interesting nature occurred. What you do need to know is that on this particular night, Ellen and Dell met. And they talked. And they kissed. And Dell came home with us.

Of course, Ju and I were thrilled by this. Ellen had watched him from afar (literally) for years and this was finally her time to have her pussy totally crushed by this popularity driven, triangle bodied guy. So when Ju and I staggered to our own bedrooms that night, proudly watching as Ellen led Dell up the final flight of stairs to her own bedroom, we felt elated and tucked ourselves up in our beds that night safe in the knowledge that Ellen was getting hammered as she deserved on the floor above.

My bedroom door was situated opposite the foot of the stairs that led to Ellen’s floor. Above my door was a window – it’s purpose I am unsure of. It was too high to see out of unless I wanted to wave at Ellen as she came down the stairs, which I had never been tempted to do. However, the morning after Ellen and Dell fornicated that window was both a blessing and a curse. As I arose from the deep slumber of an alcohol-induced coma I felt the pangs of the alco-poops pressing against my rectum. I swung my legs out of bed, shakily rose on legs that had been grinding to Pretty Ricky mere hours before and made my way toward the door. A sudden shaft of light stopped me in my tracks about half way on my journey and I realised Ellen must have opened her bedroom door, showering the unlit hall with sunlight. Remembering with a jolt that she had had an overnight guest, I waited politely where I was until she had escorted Dell and his now empty ball sack down the stairs.

I stood where I was in my bedroom rather than returning to my bed; I needed a poo so I had to get to that toilet, but I didn’t feel it would be appropriate to thrust myself on Dell and Ellen in their post-coitus bliss. So I waited. And as I waited, I chanced a glance upward at that fucking window which, I swear to God, I had never done before. And who should be walking down the stairs, glaring directly into my bedroom: Dell! We locked eyes; he with his hair all at sixes and sevens and a pillow mark on one cheek and I looking like a banshee, hair inexplicable and body covered with fleeced, Primark pyjamas, standing like the creature from The Ring in the dimness of my bedroom.

Fucking great. I looked like a right twat. But that didn’t matter – when I was a Bridesmaid at their wedding this would all be a funny anecdote I’d tell his Best Man over a glass of LPR.

When the coast was clear, Dell had gone and I had evacuated my bowels we all convened in the living room so Ellen and her chevron grin could give us a blow-by-blow account of all that had happened in the cupboard. We were shocked and a little disappointed to hear what went down:

It turns out Dell had been so impressed by Ellen’s cubby hole that he’d paid hardly any attention to anything else surrounding him, including Ellen. She had been further discontented, upon entry to aforementioned cubby-hole, that Dell wanted to get straight down to business. Ellen, as an old soul and a sensitive being, had wanted to converse on subjects such as the dual nature of man, Nietzsche’s theory on humanity and the true meaning of life. Dell had wanted to bone.

Hoping that three years spent investing love and stalking prowess into the gentleman now in her cubby hole had not been wasted, Ellen threw caution to the wind and engaged in Dell’s demand. However, when Ellen pulled his penis out from the depths of his chinos she was devastated to find that it resembled what can only be described as a knobby nub of ginger. She said it bent in strange places and had little nodules built into the shaft – not in an STD kind of way, you understand, in a general gait kind of way. Unperturbed, Ellen advised us that she had wondered whether the jaunty angles of Dell’s dick might be able to satisfy her in ways a perfectly straight dick could not. She was a bit appalled by the Quasimodo appearance of the muscle but it wasn’t so bad that she would not permit him entrance to her cave of wonders.

Ellen noted that upon entry she was pleasantly surprised that it didn’t feel like a massage ball had been inserted into her flute. She could definitely work with this shapely member. Except that Dell’s technique, in her words, resembled ‘a rabbit.’ That is to say, he set up camp missionary style and there he stayed, blasting her over and over again with a quick back and forth motion. She wondered whether he might throw a new move in but the longer time went on with him working away suspended on his elbows the more the hope died in her. He took so long to ejaculate that she said she felt she had almost dried up completely. We now wonder if the bendy nature of his penis meant the journey of sperm took a rollercoaster kind of ride through winding penile tubes, helter skeltering to a gushing finish many hours later.

Either way, Dell took a really long time to finish. Ellen was beginning to worry that he would, in fact, not finish at all. But she needn’t have been concerned.

In the final throws of rutting away like a horny dog against a shin, Dell began to speed up the jerking of his pelvis and Ellen felt sweet relief washing over her. The tell-tale signs of Dell’s climax were upon her and she simply had to wait this out in the same way she had been for the last 20-30 minutes of being prodded into the mattress beneath her.

At last he pulled his knotted penis out of her and worked the ridged member with his hand, aiming the helmet right at her chest. And then he came.

And he came.

And he came.

And just when she thought he could have no drop of fluid left within him, more ooze discharged from that pulsing, bumpy cock. It was like a river washing over her chest and running in waves down her sides, under her arms and soaking into the bed sheets and the cushiony padding beneath. On and on it flowed out of him and onto her in milky squirts, the tap never seeming to turn off.

Eventually, mercifully, it came to an end. Dell didn’t acknowledge the waterfull of liquid that had just erupted from him, he didn’t offer to wipe her…not even a high-five at a job well done. He just dropped himself down on top of her, totally and utterly spent and fell immediately to sleep. Trapped there under his naked flesh, his moist semen squidging like sandwich filling between them, Ellen had to utilise the slippery substance to her advantage and slide out from under him. She rolled over, rolled her eyes at the total anti-climax both metaphorically and physically and rolled into a frustrated, dreamless sleep.

Thinking it could get no worse, Ellen did not offer Dell sex again the next morning. She unpeeled the duvet from her sperm-encrusted torso and led her male companion out of the cupboard to the door. It was at this moment, lowering himself out of the cubby hole, that Dell glimpsed the nostalgia dedicated to his face stuck all over her wardrobe door. Ellen said he had the good grace to pretend he had not seen.

To my knowledge, excluding the odd text in the days after this unsatisfactory happening, Ellen and Dell had no further contact.

So the moral of the story is this: You know when people say ‘you should never meet your idols!’? It’s true. Case and point. Ellen was held back by her social awkwardness and her preference to stalk rather than see and therefore spent three years admiring a man who, it turned out, had a knobbly penis and a ball bag so full of sperm he could impregnate an entire county with one ejaculation. If you want it, don’t wait it out!

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