Assholes Finish First (15 page)

Then we had sex. I kinda hate to say this, but it was pretty normal sex. Don’t get me wrong—it was great, and we hooked up two or three times, but there was nothing all that unusual about it.

Here’s the thing: As you can see from the pics, her amputation is below the knee. How often do you really deal with a girl’s shins or feet during sex? Not much. Even when I had her legs over my shoulders, the little stub was like a hook and that secured her to me, no prob.

As we were leaving, I told her about the Sexual To-Do List and how she now had a place on it. She actually thought it was pretty funny.

Peggy “So, now that you’ve checked amputee off your list, am I going to see you again?”

Tucker “Yeah, maybe. You’d be pretty cool even if you had all your appendages.”

Peggy “Then you better call me again, or I’ll be hopping mad with you.”

Tucker “Don’t get jumpy. You barely have a leg to stand on with me.”

My only lasting regret is that, when I fucked her from behind, I didn’t spank her with the prosthetic leg or at least find some way to use it as some sort of hilarious prop. Oh well, I’ll probably get a chance to fuck another hot amputee. There are forgotten landmines all over the world, and my first book was translated into dozens of languages. Wish me luck!

T
HE
A
BORTED
T
WINS

Occurred—February 2005

I’ve definitely hooked up with two pairs of identical twins, and possibly three. The third pair, I’m not so sure they were twins. They might have just
been two girls who looked a lot alike and were lying to me. I was kinda drunk that night. If we’re counting fraternal twins, I think it might be more. I don’t know, I’ve lost track of details like that. Awesome people fuck lots of twins. Creepers take a census.

Even though I’ve fucked multiple pairs, I don’t really have any great hooking-up-with-twins stories. What can I tell you? Real life doesn’t always cooperate with my need for material.

But I do have a pretty funny story about a pair of twins I was
supposed
to fuck. It all started with this email:

“Hi Tucker!

We’re 19 year old TWIN girls from [redacted]. We just started reading your website and we can’t stop cuz you’re so freaking hilarious (even though you have asshole tendencies). We think if you hung out with us, you’d have a good time cuz we’re funny and gross… just like you! (not gross like unhygenic or physically disgusting), but we have a weird sense of humor we think would mesh well with yours! By the way… you have beautiful blue eyes :-) For your viewing pleasure, we have enclosed three pictures, we know we’re flat… no need to bring that up… OK well please write us back just to let us know you read and considered this email. Thank you so much!

Love, [redacted] and [redacted] (your new favorite twins)”

A lot of things suck about being infamous, but getting emails from hot 19 year old twins wanting to fuck you is pretty awesome.

In the abstract, at least. But then they showed up. These girls were giggly, nervous, immature teenagers. With Sleeping Beauty sleeping bags and Finding Nemo pillows. And too much makeup on. And braces. And blue tongues and teeth because they mixed the rotgut vodka they drank on the drive here with some fountain drink from 7-Eleven so they could
get it down. And they didn’t have fake IDs so I couldn’t even take them out to a bar. You should have seen the judgmental faces on D-Rock and Bunny (my roommates at the time).

Whatever, fuck those two, they’re just jealous because I’m going to fuck twins, right?

Tucker “All right, so do I get you one at a time, or both at once?”

Twin 1 “Uh… well…”

Twin 2 “We thought you would just pick one of us.”

Twin 1 “You said I got to sleep with him!”

Twin 2 “It’s up to him, let him pick!”

Twin 1 “You’re going to do something to make him pick you, I know it, you always do this!”

This is the dark side of twins they don’t show you in those Doublemint commercials.

I decide we’ll head out for drinks, to see if this can be worked out. Because of the ID situation, we are forced to go to an apartment party being thrown by a friend of D-Rock. This guy went to the University of Chicago with us. I only vaguely remembered him as an annoying dork in college, but he was smart enough to get a job in finance that made him more money than he could spend on original anime cels and Philippine sex vacations, so with the extra money, he bought a really nice apartment in Wrigleyville and had people over all the time, hoping he could develop coolness by proxy.

Well, of course, he and his friends nearly choked when I walked into his party with twins on my arms. They remembered me as an asshole from undergrad, well before I was famous for it, and of course they hated me for it then. Seeing the twins enraged them.

For the rest of the night, the host and his coterie of nerd friends gawked at me and acted appalled to each other. Leave it up to hipster nerds to pretend to hate something they actually want.

Unbeknownst to them, I was having problems of my own. I was trying to convince the twins that the best situation was not me picking one to sleep with, but me fucking both of them. They were vehemently against anything that even resembled a threesome, which was fine. Yes I’m from Kentucky, but only some of us rednecks are incestuous.

This meant I had to figure out a way to fuck them both, but separately. They weren’t opposed in principle to me fucking both of them; the problem was that neither wanted to be second. Essentially, if I fucked one, the other wouldn’t fuck me for the rest of the weekend. It became this infuriating, circular dance whose steps were defined by whore logic and sibling rivalry. But like Solomon, I find a way to split the baby:

Tucker “But why does it matter who’s first and who’s second?”

Twin 1 “It’s just weird.”

Twin 2 “It’s more special if it’s only one of us.”

Tucker “How about this compromise? I’ll fuck one of you in the vagina and then the other one in the ass. That way, you’ll both be the first of what you get… and thus it’ll be special for both of you.”

Twin 1 “I don’t know.”

Twin 2 “Maybe.”

Tucker “I’ll even shower between you two. To make it
really
special.”

Because I was drunk and being loud, everyone around me heard this exchange. You should have seen the nerds’ faces as they listened in. I thought they were going to shit Haterade all over the polished wood floors.

But just as I was making real headway with the “vaginal and anal can make you both special” argument, Twin 1 started to feel woozy. Apparently two pints of Popov vodka mixed with blue sugar water will do that. She ran to the bathroom to vomit, with the host chasing after her, whining, “Get it in the toilet! In the toilet!” Nice, dude—without your helpful screeching, she wouldn’t know where to put her vomit.

When she came out of the bathroom, the dude followed her with a bucket, like a nervous maid. All that money, all that stuff, and no freedom to just have fun.

Now I was presented with a conundrum. With this anal on one, vaginal on another plan, I could possibly pull off the greatest twins threesome ever, but I had to figure out a way to sober up Twin 1 first.

I took her outside. It was February in Chicago, so it was fucking COLD.

Tucker “OK, if you want to be the first one to fuck me, you have to prove it by sobering up.”

Twin 1 “OK. How do I sober up?”

Tucker “Do some sprints up and down the street. As fast as you can, down to the white house, then back. Do it four times, then we’ll see how sober you are.”

I’m not saying that this makes me cool or anything, but I will say it does strange things to a man to watch a 19 year old girl sprint up and down Waveland Avenue in the bitter winter cold, just so you’ll fuck her in the pussy, before you fuck her twin in the ass.

As she was doing her Carl Lewis impersonation, some random dudes walked down the street, saw her, and stopped, completely baffled.

Random “Why is she sprinting up and down the street?”

Tucker “She drank too much.”

Random “It’s only too much if you can’t handle it.”

The sprinting actually worked. She sobered up enough that I thought she was ready to have sex, so I collected everyone and we headed home. The twins drove to the party in their car, but they were both way too drunk to drive now and so was I, so Bunny and I took their car, and D-Rock drove the twins in my car. As Bunny and I got in their car, I could not help but brag:

Tucker “Seriously, Bunny, how amazing is this? I might be the coolest dude on earth.”

She rolled her eyes, turned on the car, and we were assaulted by the tape deck blaring out calypso music:

“Up on the shore they work all day, out in the sun they slave away

While we devotin’ full time to floatin’, UNDER THE SEA!”

If you don’t recognize those lyrics, it’s either because you don’t have children or you’re Amish. Either way, consider yourself lucky. That is “Under the Sea.” The title song from
The Little Mermaid
. Playing, at full blast, on the twins’ car stereo.

Bunny “Tucker…”

Tucker “Shut up.”

Bunny “Hehheheheheheheheehehheh!”

Tucker “Whatever. Sebastian is underrated anyway.”

Bunny “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHH!”

Tucker “Fuck you! That song won an Oscar!” [Fuck you too, it really did.]

We got back to my place, and they started arguing like Persian rug merchants. It appeared they rejected the whole “vaginal for one and anal for the other” idea on the ride home and reverted to arguing about who would be the one to fuck me.

Twin 1 “If you fuck him, I’m leaving!”

Twin 2 “Shut up, you’re too drunk to even walk to his bedroom!”

Twin 1 “You said I got to fuck him!”

Twin 2 “You’re too drunk! You can’t even get off the sofa!”

Twin 1 “I worked two shifts for you! You always do this, you slut!”

You know how when you get super-excited about something and then don’t get it, it makes you ten times more disappointed than if you’d never had any expectations in the first place? If I’d expected to be with just one
twin, I’d have been happy with that night. But the apparent loss of the legendary twin threesome, on top of everything else, was too much for me.

Tucker “You two figure this out. I’ll be in my room waiting for whoever shows up.”

About ten minutes later, Twin 2 came to my room, told me Twin 1 was passed out, and fucked the shit out of me. And the next day, Twin 1 got up early and made Twin 2 leave with her, without letting me fuck her in the butt.

At least, I think it was Twin 2. It wasn’t both of them, so who really cares which one it was?

T
HE
M
IDGET
S
TORY

Occurred—July 2006

We all have dreams. Martin Luther King dreamt of racial harmony. Larry Hagman dreamt of Jeannie. I dreamt of fucking a hot female midget.

A hot female midget. Those four words had been sitting on the top of the Tucker Max Sexual To-Do List for going on eight years. As I checked more and more types of women off the list, that one remained, always there, staring at me, mocking my feeble efforts and castigating my failures. It was the one arena I’d always yearned to conquer and the one that had consistently eluded me. The last meaningful box to check off my list. It had become my white whale, and in my monomaniacal pursuit, I had become Ahab. Yet, as relentless as I was, each time it skirted my harpoon.

Then, in July 2006, I finally did it. This story is about how, by risking everything and by never giving up, I accomplished my dream:

I was living in NYC at the time. I was at the gym when I got this text message from my buddy Nils. He likes to play with my emotions, so I never take his text messages seriously:

Nils: “There is a midget convention at the hilton in milwaukee here with my girlfriend and soylent is here too”

Tucker: “Fuck you”

Nils: “Im dead serious”

Tucker: “I hate you”

Nils: “Soylent has a free roundtrip ticket”

Tucker: “STOP TEASING ME”

He called me a few minutes later, when I was at home, wiping off the sweat and preparing to cook dinner.