The Blitzkrieg Buttsex Bera Breakdown Bonanza

Let me take this opportunity to say that the following is absolutely a work of fiction.

Any resemblance it has to any orifices, living or dead, is regretted.


I. Bargain

I have a friend, GoldenBraid, who I’ve known since we were in the first grade. Back then we were just midget nerds. Now he’s a post-doc researcher in mechanical engineering focusing on nanotechnology, studying at a big university with money and amenities and palm trees all about. Whereas I am still an undergrad, at Hampshire to boot. Because there is a God, and he hates me.

We talk on Skype from time to time. Through his webcam I can see most of his office. It’s on the eighth floor of this monstrosity of a building. It’s like a fucking harem. There are paintings on the walls. There are nouveau fixtures all the hell over the place. The view takes in most of Texas, rolling plains and oil derricks as far as the eye can see. But still, the best feature of the whole place is this PolishGirl.

She’s also studying bioengineering. She has a brain. She has a waist. She has long blond hair and a sexy Slavic accent. Total Soviet-bloc hottie. She is, in other words, GoldenBraid’s kryptonite.

She is also engaged to be married. To someone older, richer, and a hell of a lot bigger than GoldenBraid.

Due to the number of shiny things that the University loaded on him, GoldenBraid’s office is big enough for fit one person comfortably. Too bad for him he has to share it with PolishGirl. They’re stuck in there basically on top of each other. Except, alas, not.

They’ve been in this position, or lack thereof, for about a two months now. This is absolutely driving GoldenBraid insane. Even from day to day you can see him getting crazier. He is in love. He is in lust. He is in Hell. He has no idea.

All he knows is, he would be willing to sell his dick to the Devil to have sex with this chick. After getting her in the sack, after all, it’s not like he’d need a sex organ anymore. Its purpose would have been served. Thereafter, it could only be retired.

She hasn’t picked up on this yet. She is the only one who hasn’t. Everyone else in the entire building knows GoldenBraid wants her pants. They keep rubbing his face in it. Taunting him. Torturing the poor guy. As if her constantly being two feet away from her wasn’t bad enough.

He began to get paranoid that she’d pick up on his unrequited lust. Not exactly an irrational fear. “Guys,” he’d say, “you gotta stop talking about PolishGirl like that. She’ll hear you. She’ll kill me.” Or worse, it would kill any small chance he had of getting her naked.

So they invented a code word, to keep things on the DL. No longer do they talk about GoldenBraid jumping her bones.

Instead, they talk about invading Poland.

In fact, they decided to go a step further. It has been decreed that the phrase invading Poland not not just limited to PolishGirl. Having sex with a Polish girl, any Polish girl, is also to be so described.

GoldenBraid wanted to invade Poland. We would see.


Now when I found out about this, I had a problem. Because I already had a definition for that phrase. Besides the normal one about the Wermacht in Warsaw. This one was also sexual in nature.

We all know about Fall Weiss, the Nazi invasion of Poland during World War Two. But only some of us probably know about the play, later the movie, The History Boys. It tells the story of a group of nerdy British schoolboys who are intensively studying history. It seeps into every facet of their lives.

For example, when one of the characters is talking about fooling around with his girlfriend, he uses strictly martial metaphors to illustrate his points. I can’t remember any of them offhand, except for one: invading Poland. Which, due to its surprising nature and the thoroughness of conquest it implies, referred of course to buttsex.

So now I had two different definitions for invading Poland. One is just having sex with a Polish girl. One is having sex with a non-Pole, and going in through the back door. I explained to GoldenBraid that this wouldn’t do. Problems would arise. There would be confusion. Hilarity would not ensue.

He replied, in short, that I should go fuck myself, because my occasional enjoyment of a little anal was nothing compared to his desperate longing for PolishGirl.

“The two are not comparable,” I pointed out to him.

“All longing is nothing to my longing,” he replied, or melancholy groans to that effect.

Well, call me Avi Halaby, but I think that such agonizing is so fundamentally pathetic that it requires a bit of correction. After all, GoldenBraid was my bro. I needed to help him. He needed my help to get back on his feet.

So “Fuck you, nerd-face,” I said most fraternally. “I bet you I can have sex with a Polish girl before you do.”

“Do it,” he said, smiling warmly, “and I will fucking kill you.”

Well. We had ourselves a wager.


II. Beast

Are you familiar with the metaphor of the Friends Ladder?

Basically it goes like this. There’s a big bucket in the ground with two ladders rising out of it. This bucket, and the ladders, represent a man’s relationship with a woman. One is the platonic or ‘Friendship’ Ladder. The other is the dating or ‘Relationship’ Ladder. The bucket is filled with the Pit of Sexless Despair.

Let’s say you’re this guy and you know this girl. Assuming your goal is to get her in the sack (which if you’re a straight guy, it is), you want to be at the top of the relationship ladder. At the very top of this ladder there are heavenly clouds, pearly gates, and sweaty secksmaking. Whereas at the top of the friends ladder is lifelong camaraderie and shoe shopping. In the middle, the pit of sexless despair.

Now, you can do things simply, and try to climb the relationship ladder. If you climb well, boom, you have hit the sex. Many good men have tried. Some have succeeded. From time to time.

But for some this is just too straightforward. It also presents complications, known collectively as ‘dating,’ or ‘earning it.’ If you think yourself unlikely to be able to survive to the third date, you can do what many men have tried before. You can establish yourself, not as a relationship interest, but as a friend interest. You can climb the friends ladder.

Get to know her platonically. Be nonthreatening. Pretend to listen when she talks. All that good stuff. Climbing that friend ladder all the way.

Until one day you are high on the ladder. As high on the friends ladder as the Beast with Two Backs is on the relationship ladder. Then you just have to find some way to jump ladders, and you can go right from friend to fuckin’.

The problem is that the ladders, to abuse the metaphor, angle away from each other. Sharply. So that the higher you climb on either ladder, the bigger chance that jumping ladders will land you in the pit of sexless despair. If you’re her friend, and you try to become her lover, chances are you’re going to get punched in the dick and she’ll never talk to you again. If you’re her lover, and something goes wrong, sometimes you can still be friends. But most likely she’ll punch you in the dick and never talk to you again.


I had a little problem. The only Polish girl I knew was a very dear, very nonromantic friend of mine. We’d known each other since the first day of classes freshman year. We’d had a tutorial together. We’d been lab buddies. By this point we were juniors, so we’d been friends for almost three years. We hung out from time to time. We grabbed drinks and took walks. We talked about relationships. We would never have one.

So to put this into the context of the metaphor, I was at the very top of the friends ladder. I was at the right height to jump right to the top of the relationship ladder, i.e. right into her vagina. However, this was also the place where the chasm was widest, maximizing the chances that I’d fuck things up, lose a friend, and, of course, sexless despair.

On the other hand, my girlfriend had just left me, again, for a woman, again. So I really didn’t give a fuck. So to speak.

It was a Wednesday night, about five thirty. I was sitting on my bed in my tiny dorm room. I picked up the phone, and called up MyPolishGirl.

“Want to grab some dinner?” I said.

She said, sure.


It took her ten minutes to walk over to my room. During that time I hid my dirty laundry, and put on pants.

We went out for dinner. I had a really great time. I told her more jokes than I usually would, I made more eye contact, I didn’t talk about other women, only hinted that I was looking for something casual and fun while I was rebounding. The check came. We each paid our portion. We went back to my room, and had sex.

Okay, it wasn’t that simple. First we had to watch ten minutes of a movie.

But then we got naked and fornicated.

(Editor’s Note: I am Jack’s fucking awesome.)

Now I should also say that the girl I’d just broken up with was of a very specific body type. She was very curvy. Hugely curvy. Especially of tit. Giant tits, I’m talking ridiculous. Black hair, olive skin… basically the kind of body type I usually go for, only moreso. Squared, cubed… and rounded up.

MyPolishGirl, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. She was five foot nothing and weighed one hundred and six pounds in chainmail. She had pale skin and ash-blond hair down to the small of her back. She had no tits at all, I mean absolutely nothing. She still got carded to get into R-rated movies.

Likewise she was a big change from the loud-and-dykey type I’d gotten used to. She was quiet. She was timid. She was flighty, almost ethereal.

That is, until we got into bed.

She fucking attacked me. She made sure I ripped off her clothing and then she got me naked in about five seconds. She jumped on me and I went down onto the mattress, arms pinned to my sides. It was like getting mauled by an ocelot. I was pinned.

She kissed me like my lips contained the cure to cancer. She bit me. She declared war on me with her tongue. She was grinding into me, her public bone digging into my leg. She took my hands in hers and fucking drove them into her tiny tits. I was rubbing bone, man, and I couldn’t seem to rub hard enough. She completely overpowered me, and I was about twice her size in every dimension.

It was only then that I remembered the occasional friendship that she had with cocaine. I think that explained a lot. Though what I found out later might explain things even better.

So anyway, I wrap up and slide in, and this tiny little Polish chick with the figure of a twelve-year-old just starts conquering me. It’s not rape but it’s fucking close to pillage. She’s on top of me. She’s riding me. She’s pounding me so hard with her pelvis I’m afraid we’re going to spot-weld together. She’s screaming and moaning and panting like a triathlete. It’s like she’s trying to subjugate me. I expect any second she’s going to plant a flag on me and claim me in the name of her vag.

And let me tell you I’m basically ripping her in half. It is not like she’s needing to do this to get normal amounts of sensation. She is impaling herself to the hilt. I’m surprised I even fit. She’s fucking me so hard and she’s so fucking tight that the whole thing is just on the edge of being painful.

(But not quite!)

We shift positions a few times, and eventually I end up taking her from behind. Her face is down on the bed, neck bent sideways, and I’m just jackhammering her into the mattress. She’s begging for it harder. I’m not really able to do it any harder. I’m only human. As it is I’m fully expecting any minute that she’s going to break in half and won’t that be hard to explain.

She screams, “Harder!” I get off my knees and put my weight on my feet. That is to say, on my dick. My whole weight is now focused through my dick directly onto her cervix. I am doing my very best to drive her into the bed like a rail spike. I can’t see how she’s even alive at this point.

That’s when she yells, “Fucking stick it in my ass.”

I stop thrusting. I’m just confused. Who is this demolition derby she-whore and what has she done with MyPolishGirl? And besides, the physics of it! How does this tiny-ass little girl possibly expect to fit me in her ass? Let alone give her the kind of cock-beating that I’ve been giving her vagoo? It’s just not physiologically possible. She’s going to end up in the hospital. She’s going to rip off my dick. I’m going to end up in the hospital. Or in jail, for killing her with my fucking wang.

On the other hand – buttsecks.

I pull out and jam it in.

It’s about this point where I realize that nothing I do is going to be too much for her. I expect it’s just because I was fucking and my testosterone was up, but I’m thinking to myself: this is a challenge. And not in the abstract either; she was specifically challenging me. She wants it harder? Fine. How hard can I actually fuck this girl? How much is too much? How much is enough?

So on the first thrust I go balls deep into her small hole, and start dry-pounding her as hard as I can.

I should state here that I do not have the longest penis in the world. It’s about average, no more, no less. But I have been told, by a number of women, that I have an exceptionally wide penis for my size. Anal sex with me can take months to get fully used to. Whereas with this girl, who has no ass to speak of and is as tight as a preteen, I am slamming into her like a fucking hurricane with a cock.

She seems to be liking it. She’s grunting, she’s moaning, she’s clawing at the bed. It does occur to me that the noises she’s making would be the same for extreme pleasure as they would be for soul-breaking agony. But hey, she’s an adult. She’ll be twentytwo in three years. She can take care of herself. So I continue to destroy her from the ass down.

Finally, after about forty-five minutes, I can’t take it anymore. I am one big ball of sweat. There is no feeling left in my dick to speak of. She hasn’t come yet, or she’s been coming for three quarters of an hour, I don’t know which and I don’t care. I let it go. I cum. With the amount I let out I am surprised to this day that nothing shot out of her mouth. Or maybe it did, and she’s just a swallower.

I pull out and she rolls over onto her back. I’m not surprised. I’d be tired too if I’d just spent almost an hour bent double with something uncomfortably large getting stuffed up my down staircase. But then she pulls me down to her! She takes two of my fingers and jams them up her pussy, and suddenly, hey!, I’m fingerfucking her. She grabs my head and pushed me down to her. I start licking her clit. I am full-on going down on her. Oh, and my other hand is being used, by her, to attack her breasts like they are Wiimotes hooked up directly to her G-spot.

This is not gentle stimulation. This is not a postcoital massage. My whole hand is inside of her. I can’t even see my wrists. I’m reaching so far up her I could work her like a puppet.

About fifteen minutes of this go by. She gives no sign of cumming, but she doesn’t seem displeased with the world. She’s grinding her hips down on me and bucking on the bed as hard as a hundred-and-six-pound Polish girl can. I reflect on how interesting it is that there’s really only about four inches between one side of her and the other. Her pubic bone is like an exposed girder on a construction project. I want to graffiti my name on it, while I’m down there.

Then her cell phone rings.

She suddenly stops driving herself down onto my fingers and tongue. She looks over, reaches onto the nightstand, and grabs her phone.

She answers the phone.

Now what am I supposed to do with the two fingers that are basically inside her uterus?

I leave them in. It seemed rude to just pull out.

She listens for about a minute, saying little. I just hang out. In her vag. La li la.

Then she hangs up the phone.

She pulls herself off of my fingers. “I have to go,” she says.

“Glabuhh?” say I. But she’s already off the bed.

She pulls her clothing off the floor, stuffing her bra into her pocket, leaving her panties on my desk. She puts on her shirt, doesn’t button it, and throws her scarf into her purse.

“Will I see you again?” I ask.

She takes that as an opportunity to jump on the bed and start attack-kissing me again.

Her phone rings again. “Shit,” she says, and runs out of the room, leaving the door open behind her.


III. Business

Somehow I manage to pull on boxers and take a seat at my desk. I don’t know how. My dick is throbbing. I have never cum that hard. Or fucked that hard. It’s throbbing inside and out. I am so sweaty I feel dehydrated. I’m dizzy. I’m seeing stars.

Also, what the fuck just happened to my sex?

I reach over to my laptop and stop the movie. I close it my media player and open up gMail. I type a little note to GoldenBraid.

Hey boyo.

I just had sex with a Polish girl.

In the ass!

(Among other places.)

So you see, this is just the sort of paradox I was referring to.

Because if having sex with a Polish girl is Invading Poland-

And having particularly raucous buttsecks with a girl is Invading Poland-

This is like… invading Poland… squared.

So what do you call it, then

when you fuck a Polish girl in the ass?

I hit send.

I rule.

I am the ruler.

I am the king of upper and lower fucking Egypt.

Which is not necessarily a sexual euphemism. But in this case, it very well could be.

Then I hear the door to my mod slam shut and heavy footfalls cross the floor. It sounds like a herd of elephants has come into my domicile in search of free beer. These are the noises which can herald the approach of only one person.


He comes over to the doorway of my room. There he is, filling the doorway, over six feet tell with a fedora on top. and a ridiculous grin coming off him like sunlight on a funhouse mirror. I, on the other hand, am almost unconscious in my chair, wearing nothing but boxers, trying to think what kind of analgesic I should rub into my knob.

Bera doesn’t seem to notice.

“MISTER KURTZ!” he says, gesticulating joyfully with his arms. “How MARVELOUS it is to see you this afternoon! What are you up to on this GLORIOUS day?”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “W… w… what do you think?” I finally manage to say.

He looked down at me. “I don’t know. You’re kind of wet. Mister Kurtz, have you… JUST COME OUT OF THE SHOWER?”

Keep in mind I look like I just ran a marathon. Inside someone’s asshole.

“No, Bera. Look around you.”

He takes in my whole room, savoring the view.


“No, Bera. Bera. Bera. Look at my room. Look at it.”

The bed is destroyed. It’s almost beyond repair. Half the covers are on the floor. Some have landed in my closet. There’s clothing everywhere. Including pants. And panties. It looks like the Gap catalog had an abortion on my floor.

“MISTER KURTZ! Your room is covered in dirty clothing and linens! Have you by any chance been… DOING YOUR LAUNDRY?”

Oh, Jesus.

“No. No. Look, Bera… look around you, goddamit.”

There are candles lit all over the room. There’s essential oils in a volatilizer. The lights are off. The curtains are drawn. Oh, right, and I’m still IN MY UNDERWEAR, COVERED IN SEX.

“Well well… this is quite a nice setup you have here. MISTER KURTZ… have you by any chance been… LISTENING TO MUSIC?”

“BERA!” I say. “Inhale through your nose. Inhale, through, your nose. What does it smell like I’ve been doing? Huh? What’s it smell like? What’s it smell like?”

He takes a long deep drag of my room’s musky sex-bombed air. He savors it, rolls it about on his tongue.

“MISTER KURTZ… there is a certain musky quality in your room. It smells almost like roasted meat. Rather like… lamb. Mister Kurtz, have you been… ROASTING LAMB?”

“BERA!” I say. “MOTHER. FUCKER. Your parents are FARMERS. Does it smell like anything you usually smell on the FARM?”

He inhales again, deeply. He smacks his lips.

“Well, to tell you the truth, it does remind me a little of breeding season back at the old farmhouse. At that time of year my parents would breed minks in the backyard. Wait. MISTER KURTZ. Have you been… BREEDING MINKS IN YOUR ROOM?”

Oh good God.




He stares at me.

Suddenly his hands fly to protect his nose and he recoils back two feet in horror.


With that he runs from my doorway and out of my mod.

I consider taking a shower, but first, I have one new message.

From: GoldenBraid

I hate you with every fiber of my being, and I will come to kill you as soon as I can afford bus fare.

Oh, and word you’re looking for is “Blitzkrieg.”

IV. Beyond

I didn’t hear from MyPolishGirl the next day. Or the next day. Or the next. I was kind of upset about the second ‘next’ there, because it was my birthday, and we had made plans to hang out. Therefore I got to spend my birthday evening on the second floor of Cole Science Center, hanging out with my ex-girlfriend and her new lady, freezing to death in the December chill. Plus, no secks.

By the third day I was worried. Also I was feeling a little stalkish. So I called up a mutual acquaintance of ours, FilthyHipsterWhore.

She obviously didn’t know that he friend and I had hooked up. Nobody did, I think. But she said I was right to worry about MyPolishGirl. It seems that she was in kind of a bad way.

It turns out that she had taken an emergency medical leave of absence, with something like a week left of the semester. She had dropped out of school and was taking a full roster of incompletes.

At first I thought I had done it. What was it, impacted bowel, accidental hysterectomy? But no, FilthyHipsterWhore informed me, it wasn’t physical. It was psychological.

Within 24 hours of us hooking up, MyPolishGirl had a full nervous breakdown.

She had to be hospitalized.

She entered a mental institution.


Maybe it was the fact that she had allowed herself to become intimate with a good friend. Maybe the sexual insanity I witnessed was just the first signs of a deeper instability coming to the surface. Maybe it had nothing to do with me, or my penis, and it was just coincidence. But the long and short of it was, I had fucked this girl, and immediately afterwards, she went mad.

“Don’t worry,” an ex of mine said, later. “Your dick isn’t all that special.” I think she said this to comfort me. I hope she’s right.


It was three days later that I finally saw Bera again. I was sitting on a picnic table in front of my mod, drinking a post-driving-a-girl-insane brandy and reading whatever I was reading that day. Bera sauntered over, staring at me askance, his fedora resting judgmentally upon his brow.

“OH, MISTER KURTZ, I still cannot believe that you made me smell your BUSINESS! For SHAME, Mister Kurtz, for SHAME.”

Oh, relax, Bera. It’s nothing you haven’t smelled before.

“But MISTER KURTZ, it is nothing if not ungentlemanly for one man to allow another to inhale of his JISM!”

His what? I mean, my what?

“Play not the simpleton with me, Mister Kurtz! I know it was your dreaded plan that all the while I would have to smell your JISM!”

Wait. Wait. You think I set you up? WAIT – you think I had just been playing with myself when you walked in on me?

“But of course, Mister Kurtz! How else would you have succeeded in bring to fruition your dastardly plot to make me smell your JISM?”

Oh. My. Christ.


“Spare me your LIES, Mister Kurtz! Spare me your LIES! I heard you admit, from your own lips, that-”



“A woman?”



“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Bera said. “Yeah, I can see that.”


Bera and I continued to be friends thereafter, even if I had given him three sleepless nights as he fought with the image of being attacked by jism-demons.

FilthyHipsterWhore tried to come on to me a few times, but there’s something about that level of skanky that I can’t really abide. Sexually I am not that impure. I may not be the driven snow, but I am not quite ready to bathe in acid rain. Meteorologically, as it were.

GoldenBraid is still in that office, and still hasn’t invaded Poland. In either sense of the word. In fact, he just got back from a mathematician’s conference in Poland. During which time nothing of more substance was invaded than my inbox, filled as it was with bad Polish jokes and melancholy references to the Blitzkrieg that he would never have.

His PolishGirl is still engaged to be married. It is rumored that her husband and she are waiting until marriage to consummate their love. It is quite possible that she is still a virgin. Intactae. In both holes! Whether this calls for Breaking the Warsaw Pact jokes, or references to the Red Storm Rising, we haven’t quite decided.

I saw MyPolishGirl once the following semester. She was sitting outside a new mod, smoking a cigarette with a shaking hand, and she wouldn’t meet my eyes. I suppose there’s something about getting fucked institutionalized by a guy that makes it a little awkward afterwards.

Apparently some people just can’t hold their Blitzkrieg.


~ by davekov on 29 July 2009.

2 Responses to “The Blitzkrieg Buttsex Bera Breakdown Bonanza”

  1. awww geez

  2. That, I think, is the correct response.

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