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Buttery Love (A True Story)

posted 8/29/2006 4:16:23 PM |
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At 22, Craig was a beautiful young man. I don't mean that in a gay
kind of way. Small of stature, he had a nicely chiseled nose, a
straight jaw line and a square chin. With blue sparkling eyes and a
shock of sandy brown hair, he was model perfect.

I was a year older than him. It was 1985 at ECU in NC. I met him at
a local dance club called the Elbo room. His friends had paired off
with my friends, leaving us the "old men out." We stood gawking at
each other, not sure if we wanted to even acknowledge the other
person. I mean he was just too pretty for me. I had a taste for
muscles and height. I wasn't blonde, which was the type he craved.

Finally he said, "I guess you want me to buy you a drink."

Never one to be an obligatory bar rag, I said, "No thanks, I will buy
my own."

He seemed taken aback. I guess 99% of the chickies in the bar would
have said yes. He bought me one anyway. Hence, the start of our
debating friendship. We loved to discuss with passion, different views
and takes on life. The funny part of it all was that our hometowns
were 20 minutes apart. Eventually our friendship became the kind
that neither of us would admit to enjoying. But we did. He helped me
out of a few situations with clinging drunk Military guys, and I was
his pretend girlfriend when drunken lushes would try to grope him.

One night, I ran into him at the Elbo Room. He was drunker than a
street corner Santa. I was sober for some reason or another. We were
doing our usual joking around, except he was more rowdy that usual.
When he stood on the table, singing "King of Pain" and unbuttoning
his shirt, I figured I would save the bar some pain and take him home.

I was going to drop him off at his apartment and leave, but he
mentioned that he was gonna cook something wonderful to show Julia
Child how its done. I knew if he burned down the apartment building
I would feel guilty. So as he jumped around to some music, I looked
for food to cook. I finally located some eggs hiding behind an empty
pizza box. I saw a stick of butter in the butter dish on the fridge
door. It had a funny curved scoop shape niched out of it. I decided
to use it anyway.

At that point, Craig bee booms over, dancing to "Obsession" by that
80's group Animotion. He freaks when he sees me with the butter dish.

He said, "Don't use that."

"Why not? I have to use something or your eggs will stick to the

"There's oil in one of the cabinets. You can't use my butter. Its
mine!" He actually took it from me in a very childishly possessive

I shrugged thinking, "Drunks!" And made a mental note to ask my
friends just how obnoxious I got when drunk as a skunk.
Looking at his butter stick, Craig said, "My roommates get pissed at
me for using the butter."

"Why?" I walked right into it.

"I jack off with it." He said matter-of-fact like.

I turned beet red. Never had I thought of him in a sexual way,
especially not masturbating. He took my silence to mean disbelief.

"Don't believe me?" He asked in his best double-D dare you voice.

"Hey, whatever, Captain Jack." I mocked him out of habit, which was a

"I'll show you, Smart Ass." His pants hit the floor. While the eggs
blushed, I stared hypnotized.

He began making love to his butter. His cock was the average size of
6 inches. (Yes guys, women are aware that the average is 6 inches.)
He sprung to life as soon as the butter touched it. I was surprised
it could work at all, after all the alcohol he had consumed. He
cradled his cock on the stick of butter that he held in his right
hand. With a cooing sound, he began to stroke across the butter. It
lavished his balls and cock with smooth creaminess. I had never seen
a guy masturbate. I watched with interest and was impressed to be
honest. Craig used the non stick method.

He threw his head back, breathing rapidly, gasping out, "Oh yea baby,
butter my cock."

Craig had this method down to a tee. He could even dot eyes with it.
He steadily stroked the butter, varying his rhythm, long swift
strokes and then shallow short ones. He literally was making love to
it and verbalizing about it. He must have forgotten I was there.

With his cock adequately buttered, he placed the stick on the table,
so he could begin to stroke his cock in earnest. It was weird to
watch but also kind of exhilarating. I was watching a guy jack off
and to butter of all things. His cock seemed to grow fatter as he
jack hammered away. It began to weep at the tip, a clear wetness that
I recognized. He was getting close and telling the butter about it.

"Oh yes, that's it. Butter my balls! Slip and slide, come alive. Oh
baby, nice juicy and slippery butter. I am gonna blow, baby. Butter
you up like you buttered me up."

He shot off in three long streams. I had never seen so much cum hosed
from a cock. I guess buttering your balls does that. He wiped his
hands in some paper towels, put his butter balls back inside his
shorts and went to bed. I left the butter where it was on the table.
Put the eggs up and went home, thinking that the next time Craig came
over to my dorm that I would make sure my tub of butter wore a chasity

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Aug 29 @ 5:47PM  
Wow! What a story. I wonder if you like the butter thing? Have you try it yourself?

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Buttery Love (A True Story)