The Man Who Came Too Much

THE MAN WHO CAME TOO MUCH

by Ellie Saxx

~~~

I’ll get straight to the point: when I cum, I fill jars. I buy those quart-sized widemouthed canning jars from discount stores and reach for one when I’m jerking off. My orgasms might last a minute or two, depending. Twenty or thirty shots of my semen will fill up a jar in no time. I’m like a hose.

You’re probably thinking that I’m oversized in some way. Not really. From what I can tell, I’m a little...thicker than most. My balls are like small lemons, if I had to estimate. That’s what people always want to know about. They think I have a set of cantaloupes down there.

I’ve never been proud of this. I’m not writing to brag. My “talent” has caused me a great deal of trouble. I’m only writing because I’ve finally found someone who possesses what it takes to deal with this on a daily basis. He lives for it, in fact. I’m writing this for him. It’s what I do. I can’t always say things directly because I’m kind of a smartass. The tone isn’t always right. I haven’t told anyone these stories before. I want him to read them, so he knows how different things are now.

The first time I ever jacked off I sprayed my bedroom wall until it was dripping. I

accidentally nailed my dog in the face, and she never looked at me the same way after that. I can’t say I blame her. I was just as confused as she was, poor, dripping Marcy Crappington.

I decided that must be how things were supposed to work. My dad never talked to me about sex – he and my mom were pretty much hands-off in that department. I figured, hey, I’ve never done this before. This mysterious liquid had probably been building up in my body for years.

When I finally let it loose, I had some excess inventory. Thank god I discovered the joys of rubbing my cock when I did! I might have exploded.

So, of course, I was at it again within a half-hour. Basically, right after I washed off Marcy and let her outside. I paged through my mother’s fashion magazines and got hard when I saw the male models stripped down to tiny scraps of underwear, bodies draped casually over rocks or diving off of waterfalls.

And, to my surprise, I machine-gunned the underside of my desk. Not as much as I left

dripping on the wall, but there was still an ungodly amount of liquid shooting out of me in hot jets. I loved it and panicked at the same time. My dick was jumping and spasming like some sort of garden sprinkler people danced through on their lawns. What the hell was happening? Why hadn’t anyone told me about this? A goddamn hint, at least, about the logistics would have saved us a lot of paper towels. Where was the health class lecture about this bullshit?

My logic, though, was strong: I thought that Mother Nature never would have made

something that felt so amazing if it did any sort of harm. And it felt amazing. So I yanked with confidence.

Jump ahead to my first year in college. Now an accomplished masturbator, I’d started to seek out containers for my seed. Two liter soda bottles were a good size, but their openings were too narrow. I settled on Pringles cans, those tall cardboard tubes. I’d spray one of those full after a session or two and the threat of my cum soaking through the cardboard was enough to make me remember to throw out the containers on a regular basis. It was a good system.

College was also when I was refining my sexual tastes. I dated a sophomore named Susan.

Susan was gorgeous – blonde hair, blue eyes, the college girl you expect in your dreams. Well, some people do. I wasn’t sure, but Susan was horny as hell and grabbed my dick in the library one night. Even though my brain had no interest in fucking her, my garden sprinkler won out.

“What the fuck?” it said, taking on a life of its own, yearning to ram the warm and willing Susan through my jeans. Neither of us knew where the ramming would happen, or how, but my dick was angry and getting uncomfortably hard.

“She’s trying to give you a handjob next to the Coke machine and you’re worrying about

how a pussy works? I’m headed this way. Don’t fucking try to stop me!”

Obviously, I didn’t. I went back to Susan’s room and she wasted no time yanking my jeans down and pulling my dick out of my boxers. Let me pause to give Susan some credit here: she could suck a dick. I won’t deny her that. I’m sure an accountant somewhere in Delaware is looking forward to his annual blowjob, sitting there in the office remembering how Susan could take a cock deep into her throat. Like a champ. Cheers, Mr. Accountant.

I pawed at Susan’s breasts as she sucked me. I tried to do the right thing. I reached under the waist of her sweatpants and squeezed her ass. I may have slipped a finger into her pussy.

Actually, I must have—I remember how hot, slick, and mysterious it all was. Why all the folds?

Magazines and movies hadn’t prepared me for that. Where was everything? Was that her

asshole? I decided to keep inserting fingers and wiggling them. She was writhing there, down on her knees, making louder and louder groaning noises, so she must have liked it.

But then, almost out of the blue, like these things hit you when you’re 19: I felt an orgasm building. I suddenly remembered I was going to blast Susan’s eyeballs out if she tried to suck me off much more. She was tiny. I worried that I’d fill her stomach up.

I took Susan’s head in my hands and pushed her off my dick.

“Wha—whyy?” she said, wiping a mix of her saliva and my pre-cum off her chin. “Wasn’t it any good?”

“Oh, it’s great,” I told her. “Fucking awesome, baby. You’re like a goddamn porn star. You know how to work it.” I tried to sound like my roommate. He said those things to the girls he brought back from parties.

“Well, give that back, silly,” Susan said, reattaching herself to my cock. “I want to swallow it. Swallow your load.” The words were hard to make out – her mouth was full. I’m guessing at that last one. I’ve never been good at translating Dicksucker.

“It’s just...” I said. “There’s a lot that comes out.”

“Oh, I know,” she mumbled, I think, nodding vigorously. She slid my dick out to say, “I’ve done this a few times. I know what it’s like. Your hot, sticky load all over my mouth.”

“No, I mean a LOT.”

“Would you just shut up?”

And off we went. Susan held my cock in one hand and cupped my balls with the other. She took me deep into her throat and started swirling her tongue wherever she could find room to swirl it. She alternated slow and fast as she bobbed her head. I started to lose focus. My legs shook. I remember noticing Susan’s pony tail bouncing wildly right before my balls seemed to constrict a bit and everything around my cock tightened.

Then I blew her eyeballs out. Okay, not really. I came hard, surprisingly so, like it is the first time someone sucks you off in his (or her) mouth. It’ll never again be like that, and Susan had the honor of being my first. I’m not sure she’ll remember it that way.

The first jets of cum must have gone right down her throat. I was all the way in, gasping, and I had three shots snapped off before anything even registered. Susan started heaving, making absurd motions with her hands as she twitched forward and jammed my cock in even further for the next bursts. She waved kind of like she was drowning and cheerleading at the same time.

If I had to describe her noises (sorry, Susan, if you ever see this), they were a combination of

“Hurk-urk” and “Ahhhnnnnnggg.” Thick streams were coming out of her nose.

She quickly threw herself backwards and continued coughing and gagging on her nice little pink faux fur rug. Meanwhile, I had about twenty more rounds in the chamber. I froze (well, most of me froze) and I let five or six thick shots splatter her head and back. That wasn’t on purpose, I swear. I couldn’t find anywhere safe to aim. Her roommate’s stuffed animals? Her computer? Her microwave? Go ahead – you try making a decision the next time somebody’s

blowing you.

(I mean a
smart
decision, too. Not one of those, “Oh, I guess he can stay one more week”

deals.)

Finally, I had no choice but to grab a leather thigh-high boot that I saw halfway under Susan’s bed. I zipped up its side and took aim, filling the base of that boot with a torrent of spunk.

Much like when I was spraying my room that first day way back when, I had a mix of

emotions. Panic. Joy. In those moments I want to climax forever. I fucked that boot for all I was worth, I admit.

“What the – hurk – fuck!” Susan was looking over her shoulder. “Gack!” “Unnnggg!” “Did

you just fuck my boot?”

“I told you!” I shouted. I shouted because she was shout-choking and it seemed appropriate.

“I told you it was a lot! There was no other place to go! The boot had to take it!”

“Motherfucker!” she yelled. “Those aren’t even mine, they’re my sister’s! She’s going to kill me!”

“Tell her I’m very sorry. No, don’t tell her this happened. We can wipe it out!” I didn’t have many good ideas when I was in college.

As you can imagine, we scrambled around a bit. I won’t bore you with the details. Susan deserves better. She was a mess. I think her cashmere sweater was ruined. It soaked everything up like a sponge. We wrung it out over the trash can.

Believe it or not, Susan kept trying. She sucked and jerked me off, aiming me at various containers over the next few weeks. It wore me out. Literally. I had abrasions on my cock – she was that determined, and she had a vice-like grip.

When we finally got around to real fucking, I’d just about decided that I didn’t get along with pussy. But I thrust my hips like a wild man and ended up filling a condom like a water balloon.

That’s what kept us together for a couple of extra weeks. When I pulled out ever-so-slowly and Susan saw that swollen cum bag it was like a giant light bulb snapped on over her head.

“Water balloons!” she said, and then she ran for the phone and started jabbering with one of her sorority sisters. They were sick fucks, I have to say. That’s why we stayed friends for quite some time.

What Susan and her Kappa Alpha Theta sisters dreamed up was this: I’d fill cum balloons and they’d drop them on the incoming pledge class during a raucous pool party. No harm, no foul, right? The pledges would get doused in my special “conditioner,” rinse in the pool, and then clean every thing with a giant barrel of chlorine or something stronger. A simple and elegant plan.

The plan went slightly awry. It rained on the day of Operation Cumbardment, so the pledges were herded in to the sorority basement instead. The balloons had been sitting around for a few days so, from what I heard, those poor girls left that basement smelling pretty rank. Nobody felt particularly well-conditioned; in fact, Susan informed me that one pledge had a crusty spot in her hair for most of the spring semester. If I remember correctly, two tried to sue the school and ended up in the marching band or something to that effect.

You see, then, that my experience with women didn’t go so well. I didn’t particularly enjoy Susan’s throat-jobbing expertise. I desperately wanted to, I assure you. For my parting shot (sorry), I carpet-bombed a sorority with my semen. That was that. I kept to myself for a long time after Susan.

I spent most of my time at my first post-graduation job flirting with an older guy named James. He was a little shorter than me, maybe 5’ 10’, and kept his exquisite black hair incredibly neat. That’s what I remember the most about James, and I know that’s kind of funny. It was his hair and the line at the base of his neck: perfectly straight. Just like his black eyeglass frames were perfectly aligned with his perfect eyebrows. That was James. Very neat.

James was also thirty. I know what you’re thinking –
that’s
old? It was then, to me. James knew everything. He possessed insane amounts of confidence. I played along, as if I’d been down all the familiar roads before. In truth, I had no idea what I was doing. I was propelled forward by an entirely new sensation – true attraction.

It was a long time before I came with James. In the beginning, I was so tentative that all I wanted to do was please him. We’d kiss for what seemed like hours. Then I’d slowly undress him and run my mouth all over his neck and chest. He’d been blessed with that perfect level of chest hair, and it was soft and wonderful on my cheeks. James would just tilt his head back and close his eyes while I let my instincts take over.

James wasn’t
huge
huge, but he was well-endowed. Looking back I realize he had the perfect practice cock. Just thick enough to cause some difficulty and long enough to provide a challenge.

I practiced a lot. For a long time. My favorite thing to do was to run my hands along James’s abs when he came in my mouth, to feel the reflexive bucking of his hips as his saltiness flooded my throat.

It was all I could do to hold out.

We had a good time, James and I. He was the first man I let fuck me. He was incredibly

gentle, gnawing on my ear as he eased on top of me the very first time. Later, I’d learn to arch my ass back at up at him, taking his cock inside and practically wringing it; but the first few times it was just long, agonizingly slow strokes. Every sensation was amplified by the