Africola Bottle

From Sgt Zeno

Mon, 29 May 1995

Greetings, fellow a.t'ers. Here I sit again in the miserable humidity of another northern Virginia day. Sucking on the spit from a big old plug of Skoal long cut. The Coors bottle I'm spitting in is starting to reek like last month's unwashed briefs, and I'm not sure whether I should throw the damned thing away or just let it sit here and ferment in the sunlight. I am sure that my beautiful bride will step in one of these days and grab it to take a drink. Can you imagine the shock on her face when she gets a mouth full of stringy hot spit intertwined with nasty old tobacco leaves? I can only fantasize about the thrashing she would give me.

Anyway, today I am here to relate to you the story of the Africola bottle. To start things off, Africola is one of the substitutes for Cocacola used in Europe. I was stationed in Germany at the time this wondrous soda hit the market. It came in a tapered, hourglass-shaped bottle similar to the Cocacola bottle that you all know so well, and it tasted like flat, caramel piss. The bottle was a little smaller than the old time ones, but it did the same trick for orifice penetration. I wonder who came up with the design.

Did you ever see the movie that took place sometime in the mid 1950's or something? It was about a store owner (and also local bigot) who had way too much money somewhere in Louisiana. He used to abuse his spouse like nobody's business (at the time, it was nobody's business). One day he was extremely pissed at the old lady and decided to give her a good reaming with his Cocacola bottle right there on a busy day in the store. She wound up having to serve the next customer as blood dripped from her flaming rectum onto the floor.

But I digress [as I always seem to do].

It was Tom, Mike, Jeff, and I in Munich during Oktoberfest 1988. We were getting our full swill of thick German beer that would knock an elephant on is ass. The big-breasted, big-armed German women served seven steins of beer at a time and gave us chubbies that just wouldn't quit. We fantasized about their large, muscular asses pumping repeatedly against our groins for hours on end. For three days, we went into blackout drive, drinking beer until our bellies couldn't hold any more. Ocassionally we would vomit some up into the gutter and get right back into our alcoholic nocturnal activities.

Sometimes when we went out into the great European wonderland, we would pick up some of the wondrous skank that foreign lands are famous for. I have had a Swede, a Morrocan, a Finnish girl, and several Germans. Actually, the best blowjob I ever had in my life was by a XX- year-old by the name of Yvonne in a park in Worms, Germany. Jeff can vouch for the quality of her choad swallowing.

The ones that you really don't want to mess with are the Turkish girls. They usually look pretty good with their dark skin and whatever tight dress they are wearing at the time. Many an American soldier has sniffed after their rear ends like dogs in heat. But the truth of the matter is, if you ever actually get to screw one, their relatives seem to get a trifle angry about it. I'm talking bloodthirsty angry.

Good old Muhammed, Achmet, and the rest of his clan will learn about your carnal exploits with their relatives within minutes of the act and appear out of thin air in any situation. Usually it's in a crowded bar right after all of your friends have gone to another bar. Visualize this:

Maha gets up to go powder her nose. You kick back in the seat of your favorite corner of the Smash Disco and suck on a Weizen Bier. Ahhhh...she's a good one - you think to yourself. Reminiscing about the way her groin muscles contract at just the right time when you were ready to blow your goo. You raise your hand towards the waitress for another round, and POOF! It's Achmet.

You've seen him around, and vaguely remember him being a cousin, brother, father, lover, whatever of your new mainsqueeze Maha. You nod your head at him in recognition when he pulls out the biggest stiletto you've ever seen. It looks like it came out of the Guiness Book of World Records.

Lucky for you, 6 steins of beer and 5 shots of Asbach are swilling around in your head making you the modern age equivalent of the Incredible Hulk without the green skin dye. You jump to your feet and bust a beer bottle against the table, holding it by the neck as your newly aquired Vorpal Blade.

BAM!

Achmet's family unfolds like paper dolls. They all have knives in relative proportion to Achmet's and are ready to skin you alive for having safe sex with Maha (who now seems to have fallen off of the face of the earth). Tom, Mike, and Jeff are now over at the Mad Cafe sucking down shots during happy hour, and all you have to rely on is the local Polizei to break up the fight before another fatality occurs in everyone's favorite bar...

That's pretty close to what it's all about - sleeping with the world and all. I wouldn't recommend it unless you come prepared. Maybe these days they carry derringers or small zipguns. I wouldn't put it past them. However, I do recommend the Doener Kebab, they make a great mutton in pita bread with garlic sauce.

Anyway, back to the story of the Africola bottle. After the probable homicide I just discussed, this may not seem so exciting.

Tom, Mike, Jeff, and I are wandering in our drunken stupor from the Strassenbahn. We decide that the park is a good shortcut to get back to our hotel when LO AND BEHOLD the woman of our dreams appears.

From this point on, I cannot verify the validity of my own ramblings. More than likely, the girl mentioned below is a bag lady looking for an easy 50-pfennig piece.

Here she is in all her glory. Seductively poised on the park bench. The moonlight catching her hair, her eyes glinting with seductive fire. She smiles at us, and we all glance at each other with those knowing eyes in a drunken stupor.

Mike: "Yep."

Jeff::unreeling his hose-like monster:: "Heh heh."

Tom: "Wahnsihn." (in a disquieting, unaccented voice)

Me: "All right!"

Blindly we engage in a drunken orgy....does it actually require more than one woman to qualify as an orgy?...Anyway, we roll into the bushes with the girl. Mike, being the most male- chauvenistic of all of us, mounts her quickly, and Jeff drops his schlong into her mouth. I stand back playing pocket pool with myself and move in closer. Tom pulls his pud out and begins pushing it up against the side of her face, and I follow suit.

Jeff discharges his load down her throat pretty quickly and steps back, zipping up his pants - too drunk to even smile abou it. Tom nuzzles the head of his choad against her nose and into her eye socket. Mike drops a load in her quim, then moves around to the side to play with his dick ooze on her left tit.

I maneuver myself to push my ready-to-go organ into her mouth, and Tom rolls her over into the doggie position and crams it home.

Whether with true excitement or pain, I don't know, she begins a wonderful, rhythmic moaning....sort of like a banshee. That part of it I remember like yesterday. The other details I can't remember. I was pretty sure that I was going to blow a good drunken load. However, fate had other plans for my skanky little orgasm.

Tom, a great friend and seriously deranged individual, was too drunk to enjoy the old jism shot. He had a terrible case of whiskey dick and thought he could get his rocks off in a better way. A glinting off to the side disclosed the existence of an empty Africola bottle in the grass.

Tom grabbed the Africola bottle firmly in his left hand, and after removing his pecker from her juicy twat, pushed just a little bit of the top of it into her sphincter. She let a moan just a little bit louder as he did this. I thought that this was going to be good, so I pulled out of her mouth to get a better view. Mike and Jeff leaned forward to get a good angle on the penetration. Then...

POW!!!!

Tom slammed the whole bottle home with a hard smack of his right hand, and it must've buried itself 5 inches into her rectum.

She let out with the loudest shriek I have ever heard in my life.

As we ran from the scene of this horrific sexual assault, I remember looking back seeing the half- naked woman pulling the bottle out of her anus, cursing us in the most foul-mouthed German I have ever heard.

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"Ouch!" -John Bobbit
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