A Boy and His Couch by Nathaniel Tower

A Boy and His Couch

I was fourteen when my brother told me about couch fucking.

“Couch fucking?” I asked.

“Yes, couch fucking,” he said.

I was a virgin. He was 16 and had had sex in the backseat of many cars and last rows of movie theaters.

“So I’m supposed to fuck a couch? Isn’t that kind of weird?”

“Do you want to suck the first time you have sex? You have to practice.”

I didn’t want to suck. I wanted to blow her mind and make her tell all her friends to have sex with me. I even knew who I wanted her to be. Ida Rogers. The biggest-breasted girl in eighth grade. She was cute, funny, and she even owned a black thong.

“Can’t I just watch porn?” My dick was hard from thinking of porn and Ida’s thong.

“You don’t learn by watching. You learn by doing. Watch porn while you’re couch fucking.”

Couch fucking was simple. You took off your clothes, lay down on the couch, and slid your dick in between two couch cushions. Then you fucked the couch. Of course, it wasn’t really that simple. There were all kinds of techniques. My brother spent an hour explaining everything to me. I was in awe of his vast sex knowledge.

“And be glad we have a microfiber couch and not one of those textured ones. They’d rub your dick right off.”

After school the next day, I taped my class photo to a pillow. With Ida’s face — along with 27 other eighth graders — staring at me, I ripped off my clothes and flopped onto the couch. I knew real sex would be slower, but I only had two hours before Mom came home.

I imagined removing Ida’s thong and slipped my penis between the cushions. Just like my brother said, the cushions were warm and pressed tight against my erection. I couldn’t believe the delightful clutches of a vagina had been so close to me all this time.

As I thrust deep into the couch, trying my hardest to make my penis reach all the way to the bottom, I whispered Ida’s name. I was about to tell her how good her pussy made me feel, but the thought of “pussy” triggered the most intense ejaculation of my life. I pushed into the couch two or three more times to make sure I got all the drips, then I rolled off as Ida swooned over my prowess.

When I told my brother, he gave me a high five.

“You’re on your way to being a sex machine. What’d you use to catch the come?”

“Catch the come?”

“Yeah. Did you wear a sock or put a bag under the cushions? I like the bag method.”

“Ummm…”

“Dumbass. Now Mom’s gonna think I’ve been fucking girls on the couch again.”

I said I’d take the blame if Mom found the come.

That night as I watched The Big Bang Theory with Mom, I couldn’t help but notice how she kept sniffing strangely. Moms have this uncanny ability to detect any foreign odor. I stared at the TV, waiting for her to confront me and getting a boner every time Penny came on screen.

I fucked the couch again the next day, this time with a grocery bag under the cushions. Afterwards, I sprayed half a bottle of Resolve and scrubbed out my dried come puddle. I didn’t watch any TV with Mom that night.

During the third session, I didn’t bother with the class photo. By the fifth time, I was going a solid five minutes before coming. And by the tenth time, the couch started moaning along with me.

Then it happened. It was the thirteenth time I made love to the couch. Mom came home from work at least an hour early and was greeted by the sight of my skinny pale ass pounding away at the cushions.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled in a disgusted way that made me wish she’d caught me watching porn. At least that would’ve given me an excuse. Now I was just the perverted couch molester.

I jumped off the couch and covered my throbbing erection as I ran to my room. I didn’t even bother finishing myself off. I didn’t think I could ever come again.

Shockingly, Mom didn’t have a “talk” with me that night. I hoped she never mentioned anything to Dad, but I’m sure she did. What else did moms and dads have to talk about besides the deviant things their sons did to the furniture?

I stayed off the couch completely for a week, but I couldn’t stay away forever. The soft microfiber and warm embrace beckoned me, and we were soon humping again.

After the twentieth or so time, I knew I was ready to show Ida my skills. With all the confidence of the most experienced sex wizard, I demanded she come to my house after school. As confident as I was, I was still shocked when she agreed.

Ida rode my bus that afternoon. I wasted no time getting her onto the couch. My hands were up her shirt before she could even ask how the cable remote worked. I squeezed her nipples and she pulled me down on top of her.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked as she began humping.

“Dammit,” I said as I reciprocated her humps.

“That’s okay. I can just blow you.”

I opened my eyes to accept the offer, but I only saw the brown microfiber beneath her. I began thrusting harder and harder.

“What are you doing?” she yelled, obviously not getting any pleasure out of my efforts. But I was too far gone. I blew my load straight through my pants before I even realized that Ida wasn’t the one I was trying to fuck. I’d fallen in love with the goddam couch.

 

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Nathaniel Tower is a former English teacher who now spends his days marketing websites and writing web copy. When not working, he writes absurd fiction, manages the lit mag Bartleby Snopes, and juggles. He lives in Minnesota with his wife and two daughter. Visit him at nathanieltower.com.

 

(Next BAD SEX story: The Matador by Catfish McDaris)

(Previous BAD SEX story: Your Sheets Don’t Smell Good by Susan Tepper)

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(Photograph by THOR)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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