The Friend Zone

(Twilight Zone music: Di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di, di-di-di-di-di-di-di) There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to men seeking love. It is a dimension as easy to fall into, as it is impossible to crawl out of. It is the middle ground between fear and joy, between desperation and devotion, and it lies in the mind of an associate, rather than the heart of a lover. This is a dimension of insecurity; Its an area which we call…The Friend Zone. (buhd-oo-bud-up!)

Written on 12/27/19

Featuring: The Ghost of Rod Serling

 

Brought to you by: Cous’n Cummings Entertainment

 

I’m Feeling: https://open.spotify.com/track/0iHPe4VwGQqdIbIFAtpYFb

 

Episode 16: Big Tits Donna – A New Year Story

5

Ghost of Rod Serling: Portrait of a frightened man, Mr. Terry Cummings: thirty-nine, single, healthy, an executive on an end-of-year vacation. All is well from outside appearances, but Mr. Cummings has just been discharged from a relationship, where he’s spent the last seven years recovering from being ‘single’. Tonight he finds himself traveling alone all the way to a new relationship destination in the year 2020, which despite Mr. Cummings’ plan, happens to be in the darkest corner of…The Friend Zone.

 

NY1

Me, at the START of any New Years party in the 90’s

New Year’s Eve. Julius Caesar established January 1st as New Year’s Day in 46 BC. The Romans dedicated this day to Janus, the god of gates, doors, and beginnings. The month of January was named after Janus, who had two faces – one looking forward and the other looking backward.

Pick a lane, wouldja Janus? What an asshole.

These Roman’s would worship a hard cock with a stripe on it if someone drew a picture of one on a wall. But what REALLY amazes me is that all these years later, nobody has had the balls to say “you know what? The Romans may have built some nice shit, but they were still a bunch of backwards kid fuckers who got together to watch each other puke. #nomorevomitoriums mother fuckers!” Let’s hope that in a thousand years, nobody is sitting around lamenting on what a pragmatic genius Jeffry Epstein was, or how Jared from Subway was a stable health advocate.

But now the new year is upon us and what will we do to drag 2020, kicking and screaming, into our collective consciousness? We’ll make bad drunken decisions while watching Ryan Seacrest drop a nutsack onto time square. Nine months from now, a bunch of unwanted future idiots who I wouldn’t trust to wash my car will be born. Such focus and determination in the human race since those ancient Roman times.

Does anybody out there actually write out a list of accomplishments and failures from the past year, in hopes of learning from your successes and shortcomings? No you don’t. So what will we do to make ourselves feel like we’ve accomplished something or that we’re going somewhere? We’ll make feeble pledges to quit smoking, eat better, and stop shoving things up our asses…pledges that we rarely if ever follow through on. Many of you have something shoved up your ass right now despite your resolution from the past year. It seems that, much like other holidays, the point of the New Year holiday has been lost over the years in its observance. In other words; it’s just another excuse to get wasted.

I, for one, will NOT be getting drunk this year. Not (only) from any stuck up sense of being better than the rest of you, but because I’m focused on a singular goal: to meet a woman with whom to to make my insides and outsides tingle.

See, I don’t really have any regrets to look back on from the past year and when I think back on it, I only hope to continue to grow as a person in the new year. 2019 started on kind of a…good, but stagnant foot. I had an amazing job, a great girlfriend, fantastic pets and it seemed that things were only going to get better, but there was something missing…I wasn’t growing as a person, and that’s on me.

In September, my girlfriend of seven years broke up with me and to be honest, I think it was the best thing for us both. Sometimes life just be’s like that. Our break up really made me take notice of who I am and where I’m going with my life. I started working out and eating better and I’ve lost 47 pounds to date. I took Transcendental Meditation classes and my blood pressure is at a steady 122/84. I’m healthier (and to be honest, hornier) than I’ve been in years. I’m walking around with a hard-on half the day like a teenager again. It’s…kinda wonderful.

Since September, the only thing I haven’t managed to bring together is a girlfriend, and look it’s not easy. Trust is a tough commodity to earn these days, and dating websites don’t make it any easier. Without the gift of inflection, a coy or sarcastic comment can be seen as snarky and disrespectful. I don’t know how to be insencere and I’m not good at small talk so pitching disingenuous humblebrags over the webs doesn’t come easy for me. But I’ll continue to try because SOME woman out there will ‘get’ my humor and realize that there’s real sincerity, honesty, charm and respect behind it.

But this would be a pretty boring blog about New Years if that’s all I had to say about it, so instead I thought I’d take you on a trip down memory lane to one of my more memorable New Years, in a tale that I maturely call:

 

The Tale of Big Tits Donna!

or

Raiders of the Big Tits!

or

Terry Cummings and the Temple of Big Tits!

or 

Terry Cummings and the Big Tit Crusade!

or 

Terry Cummings and the Kingdom of the Big Ole Crystal Titties!

 

I could go on for days, but you get the THEME I’m going for here, right? Ok.

Part 1

Some of my earliest memories of New Year’s Eve are of sitting up late into the night watching Dick Clarks New Years Rockin’ Eve on the TV, in an empty cottage, on a deserted military school campus. I never watched the show all the way until midnight though, because I’ve always had a general disdain, even then, for watching other people have fun while my thumb is placed squarely up my ass.

In hindsight, I know that having to spend every holiday alone, holed up on that military school campus because my mother wouldn’t take me home, was really a blessing in disguise…although it didn’t seem like it at the time. But what was the alternative? Sitting on the couch and waiting nervously to see what kind of drunk my mother would have on when she came stumbling through the condo door after work? Would it be one of the ‘beating’ drunks? Or the kind where she would just stand in the darkened doorway of my bedroom, naked, staring at me for hours?

NY2I could see the silhouette of her varicose veins, her gunt, and her big floppy fat woman titties outlined from the kitchen light casting its glow behind her. I would stare back at her from the darkness with one eye, barley open, not letting on that I could feel her evil drunken glare, and ready to fight if she came in. Sometimes the outline of her hideous body would play tricks on my mind as I stared back, like that painting of the cowboy where you can’t tell if he’s coming or going. I felt like the old man in ‘The Telltale Heart’, and I would sometimes be afraid that my mother could hear my heart beat and see my one eye open in a sliver of light. It wasn’t a sexual thing, never that, and I never felt threatened in that way; it was just a drunk thing, but the horror I felt on those nights was all too real.

Any psychologist worth his salt will tell you that the origin of my general lack of interest in dating a gravitationally challenged woman, lies at the feet of those memories. But that’s as maybe.

After my unceremonious expulsion from military school, I found myself at home on New Year’s Eve for a couple of years. My mother worked at the jail during the night shift on those evenings, so it wasn’t too different from being stuck on campus. I sat up all alone and watched TV late into the night. I’d made some friends during that time, and I even had a few jobs, but the constraints of a ‘legal age limit’ and not having a driver’s license,  kept a sixteen year old me, firmly glued to the boob tube.

During my second year of high school, I met a girl in the mall. High school was a bit nerve racking because I’d went to an all boys school for eight years, and now I was thrust upon a world of women. I had no experience with the fairer sex, and what was worse was that I had no guidance in how to deal with them now that I was among them. I had no father figure to teach me, I had no rules or theories in place, and as horny as I was…it seemed as though my dick was forever doomed to stay shackled under my zipper.

Rather than go home after school to deal with whatever kind of drunken tomfoolery my mother was up to, most days I would go straight to the mall. Other than the little person with a clipboard who always tried to get me to take surveys, I loved that place. I could window shop, see a movie, have a taco, and because there were so many people meandering about, I rarely got caught eye-groping the endless parade of sweater puppies that made my dick harder than Cyrillic Astrophysics.

One of my favorite places to visit was the photo shop. I had a fascination with cameras and the manager there was a nice guy who would teach me about f-stops, apertures, and developing; he was like my Doc Brown, but that’s a whole other story. One day, as I went to go into the photo shop, I noticed a young girl working behind the counter. My heart nearly stopped. I’d never seen a girl that looked like this, other than maybe in Madonna videos. She had short blond hair, tight black clothes and tig ole biddies (That’s my younger self talking, so deal with it.) I’d never thought of myself as a ‘tit’ man but the thought of rubbing my face all up in those things gave me the vapors. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead and I felt as though my legs would give out from underneath me. It wasn’t love that was making my knees go all akimbo, but the pure sexual desire of a 16 year old boy. I walked to the food court, sat down, and tried to collect myself.

Fuck. What was I going to do? I didn’t want to stop learning about cameras, but at the same time I couldn’t face this girl. She was beautiful, we obviously had a common interest, but my inexperience with women made her seem like an impossibility. I sat in the food court for about an hour, contemplating my assholedness, when the girl from the camera store sat down at a table next to me with her lunch. Shit…it was now or never. I knew if I thought about what I was going to do…I’d never go through with it, so I stood up, walked over to her table, and sat down across from her. Keep in mind…we were 16, and back then a move like that wasn’t considered (TOO) creepy. I introduced myself to her and she told me that her name was Donna. I was surprised to find myself confident and charming, and I was even more surprised when Donna gave me her phone number before heading back to work.

I called her later that week and we went out on a date. At sixteen, I still hadn’t developed an opening sex move (Or a car for that matter), so I never fucked Donna. We kept in touch over the next few months, and I came to find out that a lot of guys my age DID fuck Donna, or so the rumors would have you believe. Now that I’m older, I know that the more rumors you hear, the more likely they are to be untrue.

Even though she went to a different school than me, I heard that guys in MY school knew Donna as well…only they knew her as ‘Big Tits’ Donna. I felt bad that Big Tits Donna had earned this reputation, but I still wanted to fuck her AND continue to call her ‘Big Tits’ Donna, nonetheless. I think that my genetic makeup makes me predisposed to being attracted to that punk look. I don’t really have a story or an explanation for it, but I love a woman with short hair, black clothes and a sarcastic disposition; my problem is that since I’m not a 90 pound meth addict, THEY don’t like me. But, on New Year’s Eve that year, I would finally have my chance to see those alterna-titties in all of their glory…but I had to decide if releasing them from their sweater prison was worth the price I’d have to pay.

 

Part 2

Sometimes life will surprise you by putting opportunities in your path that you never even considered were possible, and then it will show you the folly of your ways by saying ‘Did you really think it would be that fucking easy, you moron?’

NY3

A ‘forced’ photo of Damarius and I, taken by mother in her condo.

Directly across the hall from my mother’s condo, there lived an older Greek woman and her daughter Damarius, who was my age. I later found out that ‘Damarius’ means ‘heifer’ in Greek. Damarius was very smart. She considered herself an alternative woman (What one might call ‘Goth’ now, though that word handn’t been put into the douchebag cycle yet.), but all of her clothing was ‘tubeish’ in nature, which gave her a….sausage-like look. She wore giant Harey Carey glasses, and she had short curly hair which she sculpted into a mushroom cloud on top of her head. Look, I’m no prize, but I was not attracted to Damarius.

Keep in mind that at that age I was spanking my dick so much that I was considering sending it so military school. I experimented with fucking inanimate objects like couch cushions, the rug, and I even tried fucking one of those big mouth ketchup bottles. I would have fucked a barbed wire fence if someone put one in front of me, but Damarius was like a sexual negative zone. Whenever she was around, my dick would deflate and a ketchup bottle that once looked like an inviting vagina to me, just looked like a ketchup bottle again (I might put that on a t-shirt, so get your wallets out.)

That said, Damarius made her intentions clear to me from the moment she moved in next door, by hitting on me daily, bringing over Greek pastries, and even talking my mother into making me take her on a date. Her nagging was incessant, and nothing could have made her goal harder to obtain than enlisting the help of my mother. She was a nice girl, but I just wasn’t into it.

But, like most Greek women…Damarius was cunning, and while chatting with me one day, we learned that we had a mutual acquaintance…Donna. Small fucking world. I had NO inkling that these two knew each other, but after learning of our common friend, Damarius told me, with great enthusiasm that she and Donna were the best of friends. I couldn’t very well tell her of my crush on Donna, but the fact that I was actually paying attention to the words that were coming out of her mouth kind of gave it away. She had something that I wanted, and she was going to use it against me to get what SHE wanted.

Part 3

After my mother left for work at 8PM on December 31st, I ordered a pizza and sat down on the couch for an evening of televised New Year’s Eve revelry. The few friends that I had acquired since I was thrown out of military school were busy with family celebrations, and I’ve never felt like one to intrude on holiday gatherings. I was always invited someplace, but I’ve always felt as if it’s not the responsibility of others to entertain me because of my lack of any viable family. At around 10PM, after I was well fed and while I was being deeply entertained by a Video Countdown on the MTV, there came a knock on the door.

It was Damarius. She told me that her mother was spending the night at a family member’s home, and she asked if I would like to come over and watch the Time’s Square countdown with her and a friend. I politely told her that I wasn’t feeling well, and that I’d probably be going to sleep in bit. A harmless lie that I hoped would get her to throw in the towel for the evening. Then she told me that the friend who was bringing in the new year with her…was Donna.

I’d been to Damrius’ condo before, and it smelled of old ladies and Baklava. As much as my hormones told me to go, just to see Donna, I knew that Damarius would only cock block me and the brunt of any sexual advances would come from her, not her friend. I thanked her, but told her that I would just be staying in for the night. She told me that they had alcohol, and if I changed my mind, I was welcome to join them.

At around 11:40 as I was sitting on the couch whistling the Globe Trotter’s theme and masturbating to Paula Abdul in her ‘Cold Hearted Snake’ video with the sound turned all the way down (Guess my age?); there came another knock on the door. I hate being interrupted mid-jerk. I opened the door and said with a heavy sigh “what is it Damarius?” Damarius gazed at me with a sly look in her eyes, put her hand on my chest, and pushed me inside the condo, closing the door behind her. I could smell the booze on her breath, and she moved her hand down my torso to just above my dingus. I was a little stunned and still horny as hell because…y’know, mid-jerk.

“What the hell are you…?” Damarius interrupted me with her best ‘come hither’ voice, and said “You should come over…Donna wants to fuck you…I want to fuck you.”

Ignoring the latter part of her statement, I said “Bullshit, Donna does NOT want to fuck me.”

“Oh, she does, but you have to fuck us both”

NY5The gravity of the situation started to weigh on me…holy shit, is she for real? No way. I was horny as hell, and even though I found Damarius disgusting, she was breathing heavily on my neck and touching me just above my dork. I was hard, I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I was still skeptical. “Why didn’t Donna come over here with you?” I asked her incredulously. Damarius looked up at me with a crafty smile, and opened my door. There, across the hall from my mother’s condo, stood Donna in Damarius’ doorway…topless, arms crossed over her chest and her head down. She lowered her arms tentativley and raised her head at the same time, biting her lip and staring me in the eye. I was speechless. Damarius knew that she had me, and started to pull me towards her door. I pulled my door shut behind me and walked the five steps across the hall. Donna took my other hand and the two of them led me into the condo.

Oofa.

Part 4

I’d fooled around with women before, but it was always a quick grope here, or a sloppy teenage kiss there. I’d seen naked women in magazines, but I hadn’t yet been familiarized with porn. This was my first set of real life ‘in-your-face‘ titties, and I couldn’t stop staring at them.

Donna offered me a beer which I gladly drank. My mouth was as dry as my dick was hard from the excitement of what was about to happen. Even though by entering her condo, I’d made an unspoken pact to fuck Damarius…she may as well have been in another galaxy because all of my attention was focused on Donna and her perfect rack. They were big and beautiful with medium sized areolas that seemed to be in perfect proportion to the breasts they were on. Her nipples were hard and pointed at a 45 degree angle towards the ceiling, like little pencil erasers. These tits had to have been bigger than a double D, and they seemed almost out of place on her tiny frame. Her skin was milky white in stark contrast to her black dyed hair; no tattoos, which would be a rarity now. Her blue eyes saw my nervous glare, and she comforted me by taking my hand and putting it on her left tit. Then she leaned in close and said “it’s OK, everyone has a first time” and she kissed me. And my head exploded and I died. The end.

But seriously, I felt her rubbing my hard-on through my jeans as we stood there in Damarius’ kitchen making out. My hand shook like a frightened puppy as it fumbled about her boobs. My eyes were closed when Donna leaned back and told me that I was a great kisser. I heard her pop open another beer as my head swam with the warm glow of booze and impending penetration. When she started kissing me again, it didn’t feel quite the same. As I reached up to grab her breast again, I quickly opened my eyes when I felt hair. In front of me, with her tongue in my mouth, stood Damarius. Oh. My. God.

NY4I thought at first that Damarius was wearing a sweater, but when I pushed her back, pretending that I needed another drink, I saw that she had taken her shirt off. Unlike Donna, Damarius had flat pancake titties that hung down and rested on her belly. Then I saw something that almost made a young me vomit…she had hair on her nipples. Not like a few strands of peach fuzz either. It looked like she had Buckwheat in her titty and he was being milked out of her, head first. Black nappy hairs, pointing this way and that. Her breasts looked like the hairy teets of an orangutan who just gave birth. I didn’t think that I could be less attracted to Damarius, but it just goes to show you that life can always surprise the shit out of you.

Donna suggested that we all go into the bedroom, and I didn’t mind that at all. My dick had deflated again after seeing those hairy spider nipples, and Donnas’ voice had sprung it back into action. Damarius announced that she was going to the bathroom to freshen up, and that the two of us should start without her. That was the best thing I’d ever heard. With any luck I’d be done in about 30 seconds.

Donna and I kissed down the hallway, and when we got into the bedroom, she threw me down on the bed, and turned off the light. The kitchen light was still shining through the doorway, which was more than enough to keep my eyes focused on those gazoongas. Damarius’ condo was the exact same lay out as mine, and her bedroom was in the same location as mine, at the end of the hall. The slight buzz I had gotten from the 3 beers I slammed made it seem as though I was in my own bedroom.

Donna climbed on top of me, and leaned down to kiss me as she unbuckled my belt. I thought my dick was going to explode. I could feel the heat from her pussy on my crotch, I could feel her breasts as they hung down and rested on my chest, and I could feel her tongue rolling around in my mouth. The countdown had started on the television in the living room, and the condo seemed to be alive with the sound of thousands of people in Times Square counting backwards from 10.

TEN!

Donna climbed off of me, unbuttoned my pants and pulled down my zipper as she snuggled next to me.

NINE!

She kissed me as her hand continued to tease my prick beneath my pants.

EIGHT!

She rolled off of the bed and looked me in the eyes as she bent at the waist and pushed her pants down; her breasts, pendulous as she did. I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my life.

SEVEN!

Then, still bent over, she slowly removed her black panties. There was a little pink heart on the front of them…I’ll never forget that.

SIX!

She came in and kissed me again, and then walked to the front of the bed. She grabbed my jeans by the cuff and pulled them off of me. My dick made a teepee out of my underwear. She continued to look me in the eyes, with hunger in hers.

FIVE!

She tiger crawled between my legs, up to the raging hard on that was tenting my underwear, nearly bursting through it like Superman through a brick wall.

FOUR!

With her ass in the air, she leaned down and put her face against my cock, and breathed heavily on it through my drawers. I moaned and she giggled. She was teasing me and I was loving it.

THREE!

She moved up to me and hovered over me, eye to eye. And kissed me again. She put her naked vagina on my still sheathed prick, and rubbed back and forth on it; her mouth was cold as she kissed me, and she bit my lip. She whispered, while shaking her head ‘yes’, as if I’d asked her a question, “I want to start the new year with you in my mouth…”, eyes wide, she crawled backwards.

TWO!

My excitement reached its pinnacle as she grabbed my underwear at the waist band and started to pull them down. I felt like I was at the peak of a roller coaster about to drop.

ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!

As the crowd began to cheer from the living room, I looked up and saw the silhouette of my mother standing naked in the doorway of my bedroom. Confused and frightened, I screamed and shot up out of the bed, accidentally kneeing Donna in the face as I did. My dick went from full on hard, to turtling up and hiding itself somewhere in my lower intestine. It’s up, it’s down, it’s up, it’s down; my dick was on a rollercoaster.

Terrified, I backed up against the wall, knocking over a lamp as I did. As my mother entered my room (can’t be my mother, not my room), she turned on the light, and I realized that it wasn’t my mother at all…but Damarius. Her large body and lengthy low hanging titties resembled my mother so much, that I found myself cowering like a frightened child against a wall with my pants around my ankles, while Donna mother fucked me on the bed with a bloody lip.

I quickly pulled up my pants, apologized to Donna, and dipped the fuck out. What a fucking mind job. I would have been more pissed, but truth be told, I came the minute Donna sat her naked puss on my underwear covered dork.

I never saw Donna again after that night, but three years later I would meet the man who would become my best friend throughout my twenties…Action Jim. Once again, I found out what a small fucking world it is, because as I was telling Action Jim of my adventure with Big Tits Donna (sans the part about my mother of course), Jim told me the HE went to the same school as Donna, and had occassion to fuck her. This has long been a topic of debate between Action Jim and me, as I continue to believe that he’s full of shit, and he continues to profess his accuracy in describing his fuckery of Big Tits Donna.

So what have I learned from this trip down memory lane that can help me change the course of my luck in the new year? Well, absolutely nothing really. Maybe…just maybe bringing this up has made me self-aware. Aware of how the past can leave an indelible mark on our psyche, but also aware that I can’t let that shape me. I can move on from all of the fears and trepidations of the past and find happiness with a woman that I love. Or, maybe…just maybe, I learned that sometimes…sometimes, it’s OK to skip the foreplay and get to the fucking.

New Year Everyone!

Ghost of Rod Serling: The flight of Mr. Terry Cummings has ended now. A flight not only from his memories, but also from a fear of his past. Mr. Cummings has that fear no longer, though for the moment he is, as he has said, alone in this assurance. One can hope that his conviction will not remain isolated for much longer as his quest for a girlfriend continues. However, Mr. Cummings will come to learn that tangible manifestations are very often left as evidence of trespass, even from so intangible a quarter as…the Friend Zone.

 

NY6

Me, at the END of any New Years party in the 90’s

The End