That Time I Disinfected My Dick with Rum

The problem with having a blog is that sometimes you decide to meet certain people just because… they could be great subjects for a story. This is the case with Gothic Doll, a 23-year-old Russian with an incredibly refined style, an artist who exhibits in Milan, New York, Venice (Biennale), a person whose appearance is incredibly edgy while her mannerisms are soft and silky.

But let’s start from the beginning. I’m still reeling from Piccolina, whom I pushed away for reasons I’ll explain later. I’m feeling a bit down and looking for new people to let into my world, to fill that need for affection that’s been with me for as long as I can remember. I want someone to cuddle me, to make me feel loved, and to look at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world… exactly how my long-term ex used to before our mutual shortcomings clouded that sweet, bright gaze of hers, turning the realest thing in the world into the faded memory of an illusion.

On the usual dating site, I scroll through girls like a teen scrolls through trashy outfits on DollsKill. They’re all “super”: Super beautiful, Super slutty, Super basic (at least in their descriptions). And here emerges a somewhat disturbing photo: a cliff, rough sea, in the foreground a girl dressed in black, with beautiful and distorted features, like in a Tim Burton film.

The plump lips and the suspicion

I zoom in on the face: pronounced cheekbones, typical Eastern features, and two gigantic lips. You know how much I loved Nymphette’s big lips and how much I miss her blowjobs!
I scroll through the gallery and feel like I’m at a photography exhibition: industrial, decadent backgrounds or wide natural panoramas alternate; improbable and highly refined outfits; features sometimes hypersensual, sometimes distorted.

“This girl must surely have an interesting story!” I think.

The description is simple yet very honest, not stereotypical. She loves extreme sports; she’s an artist; she seeks open-minded people with artistic and musical interests, sensitive to different cultures. She tells me about when she went paragliding alone, flying through a cloud.

I contact her. She’s very quick to decide to meet me. She lives near me; I invite her straight over to my place.
While waiting for her arrival, I message a bit with my friend Phil. Phil has always had a significant impact on my sex life, having this superpower of either resolving or installing paranoia. Bad luck would have it that this time he applied himself to installing some.

I tell Phil about the girl I’m about to meet and send him the public profile photos, selecting the most normal ones. He starts reassuring me with:

“I think she does drugs”
“If someone does drugs, they probably have unprotected sex around”
“Who knows what disease she might give you”
“Use two condoms”
“You’ll be so afraid of catching something that you won’t get hard”

In short, the friend every man wishes for!

Conversation screenshot from the rum story

Champagne and performance anxiety

I confess I’m getting a bit anxious.“Maybe she’s dressed weird in the photos because she’s an artist. You’ll see she’ll be totally normal in person,” I think.
“Oh my god!” I think as soon as she arrives. Outfit exactly like the photos: a glittery jacket with Siberian bear fur, a holey lace t-shirt with two small pink nipples peeking through, tight sweatpants, big boots. Dark hair, a short cut that seems to scream “I don’t need to be sexy to be liked.” Very unique make-up, with black dots and lines alternating in a tribal and esoteric pattern; light eyes that radiate tranquility… She could be a serial killer, but the kind that gently calms you down before carving you up.
Those two lips, gigantic! If Nymphette’s were two dinghies, these are two destroyers.
And then… what an ass! The international scientific community, after numerous conferences, has precisely defined a standard scale for measuring the perfection of ass SHAPE, the so-called BIBI Scale: Bea Ideal Butt Irresistible Scale, in honor of my friend Bea, a shining example of butt perfection. Well, Doll earns an impressive 9.5 on the BIBI scale. Then okay, in terms of being “firm”, the American girl remains unbeaten.

“Champagne, prosecco or white wine?”, I ask her. She opts for the latter. I uncork a good Anthilia from Donna Fugata, historic Sicilian companion of many fucks.
We settle on the couch.

As I look at her, I reflect that she has everything a girl usually wants: gorgeous features, flawless skin, incredible eyes, a killer ass. And yet, to express herself, she dresses in a very extreme way, paints herself like a Maori warrior, rejecting the standard of beauty.
She tells me about her life. About her art. About how she loves nature, moss, and spending days in the middle of forests. She shows me her work.
Many self-proclaimed artists are conceited, arrogant, full of themselves. Not her, she’s modest, serene, passionate. Being an artist is something that’s part of her nature; there’s no ego, self-satisfaction or fear. She just is.
I feel deeply affectionate. We both feel completely at ease.
I ask her to show me her tattoos.
She partially undresses.
What luminous, magical skin!
I see some scars: an accident or… does she cut herself?
A surge of affection rises from my heart. I seek contact by reaching out my hands onto her thigh.
She responds to the touch, with warmth.
We look at each other.
It’s the moment: she asks to go to the bathroom. And while I watch her walk away, anticipating the moment when she’ll jump on me, I notice something…

The marks on the lip

On her lower lip, I see dark spots.

“Oh God, could it be… herpes!?!“, I think. That devil Filippo jumps on my neurons projecting apocalyptic images of diseases: what if she gives me a blowjob and passes it to me? And how do I deal with that now?
I text Fil, so worried that I can’t type “herpes” correctly.

Jokingly, he tells me to prepare some alcohol to disinfect my dick.

She comes out of the bathroom.
She takes off her lace top, showing skin as pale as milk when it’s illuminated by the moon.
She approaches to kiss me.
I perceive time in slow motion… I see those lips – normally super attractive – approaching menacingly.
To avoid the stains, I kiss her on the upper lip, then on the nose and, finally, on the forehead.
Who knows what the girl must have thought!
We undress. I compliment her on her ass. I hug her from behind to avoid other kisses.
She reaches her hand toward my dick.
Ok, I’m very proud of my dick. I like the shape, the size and especially the width. If I could take a photo of it and put it on my business card… I would.
But this time my dick is below zero. Not only is it not firm as it should be, but it’s even shorter than when it’s at rest. In short, it shrank from fear!

The girl commits to a blowjob, with great dedication.
Those huge lips are beautiful, her features perfect, but I’m scared. Her hands go down to my balls, politely approach my asshole, trying to escalate the stimulation. I need to come up with something quickly to help her! So I imagine the worst fantasies to get hard. Something moves when I imagine being a dirty old gallery owner and opportunist and she’s a naive young artist, willing to do anything for success. I really like fantasizing about being a corruptor of youth, opportunistic and perverted. There, it’s hard! She gets to work, I cum in her mouth. We smile, hug, I mumble something about getting emotional the first time.

We continue talking amiably, with great chemistry for a good hour. Finally, she says it’s time for her to go, that she needs to see a friend, but – if I want – she’ll come back later and sleep with me.
“No, no, I’m tired, I get up early, let’s do it another time.”

She tells me she really had a good time and would like to see me again. “Certainly, as soon as this super busy period ends,” I tell her.