Toledo Tales

(Toledo, OH) A 1991 teenaged tryst between local resident Terry Hillebrand and "this really hot cheerleader" continues to be a source of pride and sexual inspiration for the sales manager.

"Dude - it was like the heavens opened or something, the night I nailed [cheerleader] Kerry Grogan," he recalled over a beer with fellow bar patrons. "We're talking crazy sex here, brother, like straddling-the-gearshift kind of shit. We did things porn stars haven't thought of. It was nuts, man, NUTS!"

The encounter, which took place behind the old FoodTown store at the Deveaux Village shopping center, continues to provide Hillebrand with fond memories.

"Whenever the old Johnson needs to be fired up, all I have to do is travel back to that night," he noted. "All it takes is a quick vision of that tight little ass of Kerry's and I am good to go, mister. It's just too bad about her going off to Florida for school, because she was hotter than a set of jumper cables after a Cinco de Mayo dance."

Hillebrand admits that he has at least one regret about the "epic score."

"If I had boned her in, like, 2002 or something, I might have had one of those digital cameras to record the insanity," he said, downing a proffered shot of Jägermeister. "Except we were screwing like rabbits on crystal meth, and we probably would have knocked the camera off the dash. Still, what I wouldn't give for a film of that nasty night."

Labels: sex, Toledo

A Toledo Tales Exclusive
By Ted Kuster, Local Retiree

Kuster: War Veteran, Grandfather, Sex-Starved Recluse

When I was young, I had no trouble getting laid. In high school, I got more pussy than Robert Redford. When I took shore leave in Vietnam, I made Bangkok earn its name. But since my wife Carol died a few years ago, I haven’t come close to seeing a woman naked, let alone boning one. So I might as well cut my dick off, for all the good it does.

A bit extreme, you say? Son, I’m 67 years old, and I got a stiffy yesterday at the grocery store so hard it could have shattered glass. The sad thing is, the checkout girl weighed about 210. Pathetic. Thirty years ago, during the war, we called that a “pity screw”—you know, taking one for the team. But hell, I’m so out of my game that I would’ve bent that heifer over a crate of navel oranges in the storeroom and given her the ol’ Kuster Tornado.

I can hardly jerk off without feeling a sense of failure. Sure, the random Tuesday when the mailman brings a new Victoria Secret catalog always makes for a fine evening, but that’s only once a month. My jimmy hasn’t done the horizontal mambo with a bearded clam in so long, it’s a shock he still knows to squirt his sauce at the end.

I know what you’re thinking. Why not just get a hooker, right? I don’t think so. Those whores downtown have more diseases than a daycare swing-set. And besides, last year [my close friend from the war] Tommy Werner went down there for a blowjob. Bastards caught him in a sting operation, so he ended up spending three days in the hole for soliciting. Try explaining that to the grandkids.

The reality is, I’m all washed up. Kaput. I might as well cut my dick off. I should wait until after dinner, though. They have a great early bird special at Denny’s today—an omelet, juice, and toast for only $4.99. Maybe, just maybe, some hard-up waitress will take pity and screw me in the crapper.

Labels: hookers, loneliness, old men, sex