You loved Jerry Seinfeld.
First, Jerry was a comedian.
Second, there was a part of him-
and I didn t know how dominant that part might be-
that thirsted for the female touch.
And Third, you were unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.
You ve gone to all his shows. You even got an autographed photo once that you won in an obscure comedy club contest. You had to get closer. You needed him and his snexy member in you.
One day, you run into him on the street. Jerry! you cry out at him, accidentally using your fan squeal instead of your usual calm, cool n casual tone of voice. Jerry you repeat. Smooth.
He turns his head to you.
Your eyes first rest on his mop of curly brown hair, it suggesting to go down further. A large forehead - filled with brains and comedic genius -, perfectly landscaped eyebrows, nut brown eyes that seemed to be dead inside, feeling no sorrow or true emotion. Even his average looking nose and slender, pink lips seemed to suit his face ever so perfectly. He was adequately shaped, but what interested you most was the meaty chimichanga between his legs. He was...beautiful, in all aspects.
Jerry begins to walk closer to you. You feel your body shiver in ecstasy. Do I know you? he asks, quirking a brow. You coyly nod your head no, No, but you can get to know me now...I m _.
_? That s the name of a fish I had once, he joked, smiling his pearly whites down at you. You couldn t believe it- you heard his luscious smoker-on-helium-esque voice say your name-YOUR name! You were close to orgasm on the thought alone of him saying it again, but during the snex.
So, Jerry spoke again, how about the two of us go up to my apartment? You seem like a fun person, and people on dates shouldn t even be allowed out in public. He winked. You gasped.
The two of you walk to his urban New York apartment, endlessly talking and getting to know each other. When he wasn t looking, you d pinch yourself. You couldn t believe this was all happening so fast. You, going to Jerry s apartment. Alone. Just the two of you.
Once you make it upstairs, the clothes are off, scattered on the floor. You don t even make it to his bedroom, but rather stay in the awkward entrance-kitchen-living room area that he and his friends always tended to stand in before they ensued their usual antics. You couldn t believe it. His hands grazed your nippies, a fresh grin on his face. I ve never done it this fast, but yet again I never do anything, he joked once more, causing you to gasp for air. He turned you on so much with his charm.
You were both entirely named, your buttock resting against his counter top as he looked you, up and down. Jerry grew closer to you, his lips barely kissing your ear. He whispered, What s the deal with airline food? You cum immediately. He laughs, before taking a finger and shoving it up there.
You know, women have two orgasms, the real ones and the ones they make up on their own. And I can give you the male point of view on this, which is: we're fine with it. You do whatever you have to do, and we'll do whatever we have to. To a man, sex is like a car accident anyway, and trying to determine a female orgasm is like asking, what did you see after the car went out of control? well, there were a lot of screeching noises, I was facing the wrong way at one point, and in the end, my body was thrown clear . You couldn t believe your ears- Jerry was quoting his own stand up to you, with his fingers deep inside your pink fleshy.
Soon enough, his fat meaty Seinfeld was ready to go. You quiver in anticipation, before he whispers once more: it's like my brain and my penis are locked in a chess match, and I'm letting him win. He enters you. You scream in pleasure along side him as he fucks you hard on his countertop. His meaty canoodle pumps in and out of your body, tears of joy streaming down your cheeks. You could die like this- being bamboozled inside out by Jerry Seinfeld. It brought you such bliss, to the point where you actually die. Your dying breath was joined with the quick, faint vision of a cartoon, 3D model bee, his quirked brow and smirk saying "do you like jazz?", but his eyes saying "I support beastiality." You pass on to the afterlife, your corpse rotting for a few days in Jerry's apartment.
He and his friends soon disposed of your body, and moved on with their life until the season 9 finale, where they were trialed for not only your ruthless, sexual murder, but as well as many other things.
Jerry felt no remorse, staying true to character till the very end.