Thirty One Days : Part 1

**** CHAPTER THREE

My descent into this squalid, underground world was the inadvertent outcome of a seed planted thirteen months ago. Actually, thirteen months and one week ago. It was me and my best buddies at the Double Eagle Bar and Grill. The last week of November. Chilling, drinking beer, eating nachos, onion rings and pizza. Talking about chicks and shit. Eyeballing the different sports on the TV screens. One of the boys read something on the internet about a guy in California who banged thirty different chicks in thirty nights. A world record the guy claimed. We were impressed. Because we thought we were all that, and more. We were. Good looking, well built, young, with decent jobs and our own places.

What’s not to love, right ladies?

We were all players. We usually had girlfriends, but we would still bang anything we desired. The local chicks knew this, and went out of their way to offer themselves up when one of us was dating. Got to love the girls and their support for one another.

I was the king of our group. Always, with one more chick or one more score than the next guy. I held our own private record, the legendary six chicks in one night. Granted, it was a pretty wild house party, but with this kind of accomplishment already in the books, what could I do next?

My posse and I were intrigued at this new world chick fuck record. If it was even true. There was a lot of bullshit on the internet. Didn’t matter if it was true or not, our interest was piqued. Damn, if one of us or all of us weren’t going to make this happen. We tapped beer bottles together as the Four Amigos decided to take on the challenge.

The first day of December was going to be the start date for our record attempt. It was to be on the honor system, as we couldn’t figure out how to get video documentation of so many conquests without being caught by some angry bird. An angry bird combined with today’s social media could quickly spell the end of our big adventure. The honor system and juicy details would suffice to document the journey.

Danny, the youngest of our gang at twenty-three, crapped out on night one. His girlfriend of two weeks was on the rags and would not put out. His pre-planned, easy, first night mark proved to be his downfall. Was he ever pissed. He dumped the poor girl the next day. Or tried to. Long story there. Long, ugly story.

Rico, the oldest of our gang at twenty-seven, fell next, on night number two. He actually got to bang his current girlfriend on night one, the easy bang Danny missed. Rico was forced to work a double shift at the General Motors plant on night two. Because Rico’s second shift ended at eleven p.m., and it was a Sunday, he was screwed. Twenty minutes to shower and change, thirty minutes to drive home, leaving him ten minutes to score.

It was the fat waitress at the pizza joint in the back room at one minute to midnight, or it was nothing. Rico chose nothing. Rico was loud, Latino and proud. He was not going to lower his standards. His girlfriend was gorgeous, probably a nine out of ten. He was used to soaring as an eagle. No way was he going to muddle around in the hen house. After all, there were no prizes up for grabs, no money and no trophies to be won. The drive to succeed on this mission rested solely with the desire of each individual participant.

Donny was the next member of the gang to fall. Donny actually made it to week two. Seven days of week one, plus one day of week two. Eight different chicks in eight days. Pretty impressive. Incredibly impressive, actually.

Banging eight chicks on eight consecutive weekends was impressive for most guys. Out of reach, for most guys. I could screw at this rate for ten years straight without blinking. Twenty years. Hell, probably for the rest of my life.

However, eight different girls in eight straight twenty-four hour time segments was something else entirely. Unless you dropped your standards into the toilet, or you lived on a commune. We know why those bastards ran the communes. Every commune in the news had a leader who fucked like a bunny. Naïve, silly girls looking for pure love or dirt farming communism. Finding an old man’s dick waiting for them.

Poor stupid girls.

Poor little bunny rabbits, being with the questionable reputation of fuck bandits.

As a young stud, I had commitments taking time, energy and resources from my day. There were full time job commitments, buddy commitments, family commitments, eating and sleeping commitments, wasting time by playing video game commitments. Grocery store, gym and workout commitments. Sports on TV, banking, shopping at the mall and all kinds of other commitments. Life commitments, you could say. As I would find out over the course of those thirty-one days, the consistency required to break this world chick fuck record would become an enormous draw on my life skills.

With Donny falling after night eight, I was going forward alone.

Alone I went, on my journey to fun, fame and fucking.

And something far worse. This place I was now in.