Sloppy Seconds: The Tucker Max Leftovers
SLOPPY SECONDS: THE TUCKER MAX LEFTOVERS
TUCKER MAX
BOOKS BY TUCKER MAX
I HOPE THEY SERVE BEER IN HELL
ASSHOLES FINISH FIRST
HILARITY ENSUES
SLOPPY SECONDS
Follow Tucker on
,
, or through his website,
TuckerMax.com
COPYRIGHT © 2012 TUCKER MAX
WHY IS THIS BOOK FREE?
When I started writing down all my funny adventures and drunk hookups, I thought I had two books worth of stories. It turns out I had three full books. These books are written and published, but when I was done with them, I had about 50,000 words left over. 50k words is only half a book.
Of course, the publishers only care about their bottom line, so they tried to convince me to stretch that material into four books. That’s bullshit. I hate it when a writer puts out a tiny book just to squeeze every last cent out of me, especially if that half-book contains subpar material. I hate it when writers I like do that to me, so I refuse to do that to my fans.
Another problem was that this last 50k words was, at least in my opinion, not as good as the stuff that in my first three books. Don’t get me wrong, the stories are funny and worth reading for a laugh, but I think they are pretty clearly a step down from most of the stuff in my first three books.
But the fact is, lots of my fans wanted to read this material, even if it wasn’t my very best. So I decided to go ahead and put the leftovers into a book, but instead of charging for it, I’m giving it away for free. It made sense for a ton of reasons, but there was one that stood out to me:
I always claim to appreciate my fans and their support, and I do. Well, if that’s true, why not prove it by giving something back to them, something truly free that provides real value? No other writer gives books away for free, but so what? Maybe they
should
be doing that. So I put my money where my mouth is I’m giving the ebook of my fourth book away, for free, as a thank you to my fans for buying my first three books and supporting me as a writer.
Two quick things before you start reading:
1. Only the ebook is free:
Because of the wonderful nature of digital media, it doesn’t cost me anything when someone downloads an ebook, so I can give it away for free. But I do have to charge for things that create an out of pocket expense for me, so the audio book and physical book for
Sloppy Seconds
are not free. You can buy the physical book from Amazon or off
my website
. The audio book is available all the normal places audio books are sold. But rest assured, they’re the
exact same
material that is in the free ebook.
2. The book is divided up into two sections, one for new readers and one for old fans:
Because so many people who read this free ebook will be new to my writing, I decided to lead the book off with three of my favorite stories; one from each of my previous books (these stories are also up on my website, for free of course). If you’re a new fan and you liked those stories, go buy my first three books and read them, you’ll love them just as much. If you’re an old fan who’s read all those already, you can just skip to the second section of new, free material.
Contents
From I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell: “Tucker tries buttsex, hilarity does not ensue”
From Assholes Finish First: “Tucker goes to campout, owns Duke nerds”
From Hilarity Ensues: “Sexting with Tucker Max”
Tucker goes to Muslim wedding, drinks anyway
Some glimpses into my childhood
Dude, we are drinking too much
Tucker goes to doctor, hilarity ensues
Girl determined to fuck Tucker
Tucker debates postmodernism, wrestles midgets
Homeless people are good for something
The time I got arrested at O’Hare Airport
My real life law school application essay
Special Bonus: More SlingBlade Stuff
THE GOOD STUFF
FROM
I HOPE THEY SERVE BEER IN HELL
:
TUCKER TRIES BUTTSEX, HILARITY DOES NOT ENSUE
Occurred, Summer 1997
I spent the summer between my second and third years of college suckling on the parental teat in South Florida. It was the absolute prime of my “do anything to get laid” phase. Recently freed from a four-year long-distance relationship that began in high school, I wanted nothing more than to have sex with as many girls as possible.
Most of the things I did that summer are not story-worthy; you can only tell the same, “I got drunk on Dom and fucked this hottie” story so many times before it gets annoying. That summer I experienced every random sex situation that a 20-year-old can imagine: fucking on the beach, getting head from random girls in club bathrooms, sleeping with two or three different girls in a day, getting so drunk I passed out during sex, getting arrested for receiving fellatio in the pool at the Delano, blah, blah, blah…Jesus. What does it say about how fucked up my life is that I don’t consider these stories to be extraordinary anymore?
Anyway, while most of my stories from that summer may not be extraordinary for me, there is one very notable exception…
I was seeing one girl, “Jaime,” about twice a week. She was a fresh arrival to South Beach, having moved there five months ago from Maine as a 19-year-old with a modeling contract. We met through a mutual friend who befriended her while they were modeling. Five weeks and lots of sex later, she thought we were dating. I knew better, but she was way too hot to bother correcting her assumption.
The ex-girlfriend of four years I previously spoke about was very sexually conservative. It was missionary in the dark and then straight to sleep, with maybe a blowjob on the weekends if she’d had a few glasses of wine with dinner (it was a high school relationship, I didn’t know any better). After four years of this, I was ready to experience all the things I’d missed out on (when I wasn’t cheating on her, of course).
Buttsex, known in the biz as “anal,” was one of these unknowns, and I decided that I wanted to try it. Jaime was the perfect partner: very hot and very sweet but, more importantly, very naïve and very open to suggestion.
She was reluctant at first, not understanding why we just couldn’t keep having normal sex, so I had to employ my persuasive powers:
Jaime “But…I’ve never done it.”
Tucker “I’ve never done it either; it can be our thing.”
Jaime “But…I don’t know if I’ll like it.”
Tucker “You won’t have to worry about getting pregnant.”
Jaime “But…I like normal sex.”
Tucker “Everyone’s doing anal. It’s the ‘in’ thing.”
Jaime “But…I don’t know…it seems weird.”
Tucker “It’s the preferred method in Europe. Especially with the runway models. Don’t you want to do runways in Europe?”
After a few weeks of this, she finally consented. Though she agreed to let me put my penis in her small hole, she extracted a promise in return:
“OK, we can try anal sex, but I want it to be special and romantic. You have to take me out to a nice place, like The Forge or Tantra, NOT one of your father’s restaurants, and it has to be a weekend night, NOT a Monday. And you have to keep taking me out on weekends. I’m tired of being your Monday night girl.”
I made reservations for the next Friday at Tantra. Aside from being insanely expensive, Tantra is famous for having grass floors. Really; they put in new sod every week. They also advertise their food as “aphrodisiac cuisine.” Yes, at that point in my life, I thought these things worked.
Thanks to my father’s connections, I got us a corner booth in the grass room. She was quite impressed. I ordered like it was the Last Supper. No expense was spared. Two $110 bottles of Merlot, veal rack, stone crabs, the Tantra Love platter—it was lavish and decadent. I was 21, stupid, and wanted to fuck Jaime in the butt; I wasn’t about to let a $400 tab get in my way.
By the time we left Tantra, this girl had doe eyes that would have made Bambi look like a heroin-chic CK model. She could not have been more in love with me. The entire drive back to my place she was rubbing my crotch, telling me how badly she wanted me to fuck her, how hot I made her, etc., etc. We get back to my place and our clothes are off before we even get in the door. We collapse on the bed and start fucking. Normal vaginal sex at first, just like always.
Now, what she did not know, and what I have not told you yet, was that I had a surprise waiting for her.
[Aside: Before I tell you what the surprise was, let me make this clear: As I stand right now, I am a bad person. At 21, I was possibly the worst person in existence. I had no regard for the feelings of others, I was narcissistic and self-absorbed to the point of psychotic delusion, and I saw other people only as a means to my happiness and not as humans worthy of respect and consideration. I have no excuse for what I did; it was wrong, and I regret it. Even though I normally revel in my outlandish behavior, sometimes even I cross the line, and this is one of those situations…but of course, I’m still going to write about it.]
This was going to be my first time foraging in the ass forest, and I wanted to have a reminder of my trip, a memento I could carry with me the rest of my life…so I decided to film us.
I planned this beforehand, but I was afraid she would decline, so instead of being mature and discussing this with Jaime, I just made the executive decision to get it on camera…without telling her.
That alone is pretty bad. But instead of just setting up a hidden camera…I got my friend to hide in my closet and film it.
No really—I know that I will burn in hell. At this point, I’m just hoping that my life can serve as a warning to others.
I left my door unlocked, and we arranged it so that around midnight my friend would go over to my place and wait until my car pulled in, and then run into the closet and get the camera ready. The top half of the closet door was a French shutter, so it was easy to move the slats and give him a decent camera shot through the closed door.
