It’s a Thursday night, approaching 10:00 pm. I’m slumped atop my recliner, ottoman comforting my feet, exhausted after a long day. Remote control in hand, perusing my DVR recordings. I like those storage and pawn shows. So with a few beers to hydrate myself, a can of salted mixed nuts, and a bowl of pretzels within arm’s reach, I click “Play” to watch the latest episode featuring rare Civil War relics.
The instant I stretched over to grab my second beer the phone rings, “Hey numb nuts“, that’s what my crazy-ass x-roommate, Frank, calls me when, in his mind, he thinks he’s got something extraordinary to offer me.
Franks’ quite the lady’s man, to say the least. We call him ‘HeF’; an obvious connotation to Hefner, because the initials for his nickname are HF. In our minds, he’s not just Frank, he’s Horny Frank. His lifestyle characterizes ‘Playboy’ to the truest sense of the word, and would certainly impress the real Hef.
“Get your fat ass off that couch and over to Mario’s”, Frank shouts inside the crowded and loud Mario’s. “The place is packed. And Joey, Tommy and me are sitting at a bachelorette party’s table. These chicks are all already drunk, so your cheap ass doesn’t have to worry about spending a friggin penny bro!”
Mario’s is a cool place to hangout. It’s quite a drive but they got cheap drinks and I can eat all the salted nuts and pretzels I want. The place always has some kinda private party going on, and the babes regularly out-number the guys.
Before I get a chance to say ‘boo’, Frank hangs up. I could tell the guys are having a great time but, to be honest, I’m getting too old for this nightlife stuff, especially during the week when I have to work the next day. But as corrupting as he is, Frank does motivate me to socialize more than I would on my own and, occasionally, we all get ‘lucky’; if you know what I mean???
If it were up to me, like Frank blurted out, I would bury my ass on my couch, drink beer and stuff my face all night till I crashed.
I’m Irish and the guys are Italian. We’re all horny, but Frank is on another level. He’s always scored with the chicks; and Joey, Tommy and me customarily end up having a blast just being part of Frank’s wild and crazy escapades.
Awhile back, even though there’s-no-way-in-this-lifetime-he-needed-it, Frank enrolled in this on-line course called ‘Pick Up Artist’; PUA for short. When he completed that course you’d think the friggin guy graduated Harvard or won the lottery. He was so gung-ho on mastering, more like proving, his new techniques. And ‘master’ he is.
I listened to Frank, cleaned up in a rush, and since I had started drinking, waved a taxi to take me to Mario’s. (That was the only money I ended up spending that night, thanks to Frank.)
So I end up at Mario’s. The place is rockin; guess I’m the only person in town interested in Civil War relics. I see Joey first then Tommy. They’re both laughing hysterically pointing at the bachelorette party’s table; not ‘at’ the table, they’re pointing ‘under’ it.
As I bent over to look under the table I thought maybe one of the babes wasn’t wearing any panties and the guys wanted me to see who was showing off her beaver. But it wasn’t just a beaver, it was the bride-to-be. She was the one the guys were pointing to under the table, she was totally naked and sucking off the male stripper; great way to pay honor to her upcoming marriage???
Even though Mario’s gets really wild at times, tonight hit an all-time high. And just take a guess who the friggin stripper was? It was Frank! He sweet-talked the maid of honour into letting him be their exotic dancer; making a deal he’d strip butt naked and dance for her best friends’ bachelorette party in return for a few ‘favors’; wink, wink, wink; or as it ended up Joey, Tommy and me. Frank’s just that type of character; a master PUA, and he gets away with this type of shit all the time; while Joey, Tommy and me just forage up all the left-over’s.
When the bride-to-be is done servicing Frank he tells her, “Hey honey! You gotta take care of my brothers now.” as he points to all three of us, “This is the last time you’ll ever be able to have this much fun before you vow to a life of monogamy!”
I won’t speak for Joey or Tommy, but I wasn’t going there, and Frank knew it. Even though he has as many sexual morals as you can count of one, fingerless, hand, Frank let me slide on this one. Plus, he knew Father O’Callahan would choke me silly inside the confessional on Sunday if he found out I had sex with a bride-to-be.
So, instead, Frank reluctantly agrees with me for the first time in my life and turns his attention to the maid of honour he cut his deal with. “Hey honey, it’s your turn to repay those favors you agreed to. Take care of my three little brothers for the great entertainment I’m giving your best friend and bride-to-be, and we’ll call it even!”
So there I was, plumped across my recliner getting ready to learn about some rare Civil War relics, drinking beers and stuffing my face with nuts and pretzels, and I end up getting laid by the maid of honour under a table at Mario’s. This is your classic HeF story.
Our Happy Ending
It’s almost 2:00 am when the lights flicker on then off then ON; Mario’s is closing. I hitch a ride home from Frank. He was still fired up, he wanted more, “Hey, Hot Shot’s is open til 5. Let’s swing over there for a couple hours!”. I told him just to take me the f—k home; I was worn out and completely satisfied how things turned out tonight.
As we drove all he did was reminisce every little tiny detail of tonight’s bachelorette party; and when I say detail I mean ‘detail’. He bragged how terrific a PUA he was while emphasizing how great a brother he was for sharing his babes with the PUAs ‘Wingmen’. Wingmen are the PUAs low-life sidekicks who don’t have the balls to approach girls on their own but who stand in the wings; positioned off to the sides, in the background, and who ultimately get laid because they’re all in on some giant sexual conspiracy.
While we’re driving and he’s running his mouth, Frank starts to have trouble clearing his throat, his mouth and throat are obviously worn out. I tell him, “Why the f–k don’t you shut up and save your voice. You gotta get up for work too in a couple of hours.” He asks me to reach into his glove compartment and get him the box of lozenges. As I reached inside I noticed this bottle that was obviously some kind of vitamin supplement or nutritional formula. I picked it up, read the label and ask, “Frank, what’s this?”
For the first time all night Frank started muttering, pretending he desperately needs that throat lozenge; obviously not wanting me to know what he was concealing from all of us. He kept trying to divert me from asking again, using distracting gestures and trying to change the subject like pointing out the window and saying, ‘Hey bro! That’s the new Vette. It’s loaded. Fastest one Chevy’s ever made. That bitch can clock out at 200 mile per hour!”
“Screw you Frank. Quit changing the subject. Yohimbine? Tribulus? Epimedium? Isn’t that stuff called ‘Horney Goat Weed’ too? Like you need to get more horney!” as I read the label ingredients and try to get him to respond.
I’m asking him what this stuff is but I know what this stuff is. I’m holding the friggin bottle in my hand and just finished reading the label. My beef isn’t that I found a nutritional formula in his glove box; my beef is that Frank never told us about it. He’s breaking one of our brotherly codes of honor. He always tells Joey, Tommy and me we’re the only (three) people on the planet he tells ‘everything’ to; but he’s obviously hiding this stuff from us.
“I can read Frank. Male Performance? Stamina? Energy? This label reads exactly like your resume! You never told Tommy, Joey or me about this. Some brother you are. Why are you holding out? Is this what’s making you so friggin horny all the time?”
Realizing I’m not letting up and can give a shit about 200 mph Vette’s, Frank gives in a bit and discloses he’s been using this herbal formula for a little over a year. In addition to his daily protein shakes he uses this stuff to nourish his ‘other’ muscle, as he sarcastically refers to it. Frank blurts out in typical Frank style, “It’s like taking steroids for my dick and balls, but this stuff is all-natural and safe. I wanted to make sure it worked for me before I let you and the guys in on this. Does that make you happy now?”
I respond, “Oh, so now you’re our crash test dummy? Your PUA course and now steroids for your family jewels are all for us? You’re so full of shit, you weren’t gonna tell us; I know it. You said you’ve been using this for over a year. How long does it take for you to know if that Italian sausage of yours is working better?”
I kept laying into him because he knows I don’t eat well and have had some health issues lately. I could really use something nutritious in my life. Frank’s always digging into me for all the weight I’ve gained, how shitty I’m playing these days when we go 2-on-2 on the basketball court, and he knows I’ve lost a lot of my passion, motivation and desire.
Frank always tries to teach us his PUA techniques but they only work when you want them to work; when you have the energy and motivation to make them work. A couch potato like me isn’t ever gonna be a successful PUA. So I think I could really benefit from this stuff. It seems so simple. Just pop a pill. That’s something I’m willing to commit to, especially if it makes me feel, and perform, a fraction as good as Frank does.
Frank continues, “It helps me get hard lightning quick, and stay hard. My erections have all the babes screaming. That’s why they crave me, and my Italian sausage. And the best part is after I’m done cumming I can do it all over again. These herbs are great by themselves but when mixed together into this formula, it’s magic bro, and it does everything the label says it does, and MORE!”
I ask, “How much hornier do you want to get Frank? You’ve already screwed every single girl in this town now you’re going to get us all killed by screwing the married ones.”
“Correction!” Frank says, “Soon-to-be-married. She hasn’t committed to her vows yet. Father O’Callahan would let you slide for that one!”
“You’re sick man. Come on, tell me; where I can get this stuff? If it weren’t for you I’d be telling the guys at work later today stories about rare Civil War relics. I’m sure they’ll enjoy my HeF-at-Mario’s story much better!”
By the way, I’m Mickey. An Irish Catholic who still goes to church on Sundays. I used to be an alter boy, now I’m a paltry Wingman; Frank has had more influence on my life than Father O’Callahan.
As you can tell, I enjoy boasting about the adventures we have with Frank. There’s plenty more HeF stories I’ll share with you later, but that’s the latest, and craziest one for now.
Hope I wasn’t out of line with my fowl language but trust me, Frank, Tommy and Joey are much worse.
It was nice to talk to you!
The preceding story is intended for entertainment and promotional purposes. The names are fictional while parts of the story are inspired on actual events. Although there are plenty of guys who think and act like characters depicted in this story, the producers and marketers of Androzene only advocate safe, ethical, moral and consensual sexual behavior between consenting adults. www.Androzene.com