Read Online The Life and Times of Innis E. Coxman by R. P. Lester - Free Book Online Page A

shit. I guess I could’ve gone by
myself, but I was ten years old; what the hell was I going to use for payment,
fucking Batman comics? After a few days my sack quit looking like a
stressball in an abusive marriage so I knew it was cool.
    The
fact that I didn’t tell my parents about Trashley’s testicular ambush didn’t
carry weight at school. The principal found out but, despite there being dozens
of witnesses, Trashley maintained innocence and ducked retribution of any sort
(her mother being a teacher at the school had a lot to do with that shit). My parents were never notified. The furor eventually died down and it
was not at fucking all forgotten about.
     
    ***
     
    Trashley
and I parted ways after sixth grade. Through associates, I heard she’d gone on
to become the leader of her coven through high school graduation, her
employment options scarce once she realized black magic wasn’t a viable skill
in the American workforce. I often heard of her struggles via third-parties,
her main source of income being the other side of a gloryhole.
    I
saw her once and we laughed about this childhood memory over drinks, the flakes
from the Goldschlager lining her lips like she’d blown a Mardi Gras dancer. And my, how she’d changed; back then the girl
was so skinny she could barely hold a thought. But she’d filled out quite
nicely by the time of our encounter, and for a moment, I thought I was about to
get laid. Wistfully, our reunion was cut short when her break ended and she had
to get back on stage.
    As
I bid Miss Sexneeder adieu, I couldn’t help but salivate, her colossal
asscheeks devouring her red g-string as she wrapped her sizable thighs around
the pole and shook her enormous belly and G-cup hooters for the last show of
the evening.
               
I’ve always loved the thick ones.

Lifestyles
of the Bitch and Shameless
     
    Many have heard the saying, “Don’t let one incident in your life
define you.” It’s a simple statement with a humanitarian concept, but it’s
easier to voice than it is to apply. Because for many years, I let a single,
dispiriting circumstance do just that.
    In
the course of one’s existence, an event can occur that changes the way they
look at themselves, the world, and its inhabitants. One intervening half-second
of fate can reshape their plans for the future, their self-esteem, and
ultimately, their self-worth.
    So
then.....
    In high school a rumor circulated that a chick made me cum on
myself. It ruined any potential for that portion of my history and was a huge
incitement for the plunge into drugs and alcohol that persisted for the better
half of two decades.   
     
    ***
     
    Picture
the Rob Lowe of your high school. Or one of the rent-boys from Twilight ,
depending on your level of gay. That guy who made the women swoon with a flip
of his locks and a flex of his crotch. The student whom teachers yearned to
have in their class who was the poster boy for popularity: defined muscles, a
rugged jawline, fashion sense straight from GQ, and a laugh so
infectious it made STDs jealous.
    Now
strip that asshole of his superficial bullshit and you have me: a timid,
insecure, lonely ninth grade loser whose sole talent was encrusting the family
towels.
    You
may be asking yourself, “How in the hell could you jerk it so much, Coxman?”
The answer’s simple: I was the clueless new guy who failed miserably at social
interaction. How to Address Peers Without Appearing Stupid should’ve been a pamphlet issued in the first week of
school, man. My aloneness left me all the time in the world to envision titties
I couldn’t touch.
    The
only people I knew were the two older kids from next door who I’m almost
certain were bribed into showing me around. I had zero street cred, which can
be worse than shitty cred, and I was as invisible as the bassist in a rock
band. Dating wasn’t even feasible; the closest I ever got to the opposite sex
was in my dreams. I didn’t get any action in