Having hooked up with almost everything under the sun, the Internet’s most unhumble narrator heads to the Midwest in hopes of finally bedding a little person. Leave it to blogger Tucker Max to pen the ultimate short story, which he now shares with our readers.
WE ALL HAVE DREAMS. Martin Luther King dreamt of racial harmony. Larry Hagman dreamt of Jeannie. For over a decade I dreamt of fucking a midget. One weekend in July of 2006, I finally achieved my dream. It went down like this:
I was at the gym when I got this text message from my buddy runkasaurusRex. He likes to play with my emotions, so I never take his text messages seriously:
5:51pm DrunkRex: There is a midget convention at the hilton in milwaukee here with my girlfriend and [SoylentGreen] is here too.
5:52pm Tucker: Fuck you.
5:53pm Drunkrex: Im dead serious.
5:54pm Tucker: I hate you.
5:56pm Drunkrex: Soylent has a free round-trip ticket.
6:00pm Tucker: STOP TEASING.
He called me a few minutes later, when I was at home, about to cook dinner.
DrunkRex: Did you get my message? I am in Milwaukee with my girlfriend …and there is a midget convention in town this weekend.
Tucker: I got your fucking message. Come on, man, stop playing.
DrunkRex: Tucker, I am DEAD serious. They are everywhere. It’s like the circus and The Wizard of Oz are in town at the same time. I swear on my life there are hundreds of midgets here.
(Ten-second pause.) Tucker: I am on the next flight.
It took me about 40 seconds to throw clothes into a duffel bag. Another 20 seconds to sprint out the door and onto [New York City's] Park Avenue. I was in a cab to LaGuardia within two minutes of getting the call. The TV and lights were still on in my apartment, I’d left the steak I was going to eat for dinner thawing in the sink, and I was still covered in gym sweat.
None of that mattered; I was finally going to fuck a midget. In the cab, I called all my best friends, screaming incoherent babbles about sex with little people. The call to Junior was the best:
Junior: What is wrong with you? Why not just get a midget hooker and be done with it?
Tucker: FUCK THAT. Just because you buy Dwight Gooden’s World Series ring off Ebay doesn’t mean that you were on the ’86 Mets. Some things you can only claim if you have earned them. MIDGET PUSSY, HERE I COME!!
I was more excited about this than I was when my book hit the New York Times bestseller list. I felt like a six-year-old on the night before Christmas.
At the airport and in line for my ticket, I am forced to fly Midwest Airlines because they are the only airline that cares enough about Milwaukee to fly there. A very nice, very Midwestern couple is in front of me. The man’s shirt has a picture of cheese on it.
Tucker: You guys going to Milwaukee?
Guy: Yes, sir, heading home after a vacation.
Tucker: Did you know there are midgets in Milwaukee? The man and his wife are silent and confused.
Tucker: HUNDREDS OF THEM!
They turn around and mumble something about crazy New Yorkers. Whatever, they’ve never fucked a midget; they don’t matter.
The flight was nearly intolerable; my mind was spinning with questions. How do you pick up a midget? Are you allowed to physically pick them up? When you hug them, can you hold them tight like a teddy bear, and promise to pet them and love them? Do they get pissed if you set your drink on top of their head? No one really talks about this.
What about their day-to-day lives? How do they get luggage in the overhead bin when they fly? Do they get to live in those cool apartments with the really low door handles and counters? What if a midget punches me in the nuts? Since their arms are too short to reach their crotches, how do they wipe? Or masturbate? Even more to the point, what do their pussies feel like? Are they normalsized? Can they give me head without kneeling? When she’s riding me, can I spin her like a top?
I was in Milwaukee by 10pm. My buddy SoylentGreen picked me up, and we were at the Hilton hotel bar by 11pm. I almost hyperventilated upon seeing my first gaggle of midgets. There were six of them, sitting at a table drinking just like normal people, their tiny little legs barely hanging over the seats, tiny little feet dangling like a toddler’s. Their Miller Lite bottles looked massive as they gripped them with both of their tiny little hands. Their humongous foreheads and brow ridges were raised in excitement as they laughed at a tiny little joke.
Tucker: You know CPR, right? I think my heart might explode.
Soylent: You are so fucking weird. Then I saw her: my MidgetPrincess.
Her blond hair and sparkling blue eyes made me think of Gwyneth Paltrow. Her missing neck and bowlegs gave me an idea what Gwyneth would look like if placed in a vise and squished to onequarter size. As her pigeon-toed feet carried her past my table, I slid down in my chair, hoping to catch her eye. She looked at me and smiled, her mashed-up teeth sparkling in the oily light of the popcorn machine. I gave her an unmistakable “I want to fuck you” look, she shot me back a quick “My spine hurts” face, and I was smitten.
I start planning out how I am going to hit on her, but much to my dismay, I find myself feeling something I haven’t felt in years: nervousness. I literally can’t even remember the last time I was nervous around a girl. Is this what it’s like to be a normal guy? This sucks. Every time I tried to talk to one of the midgets, I would start giggling and sweating. I felt like a middle-schooler who’d snuck into his sister’s college party. Eventually, SoylentGreen—who thinks he’s better than me because he isn’t obsessed with fucking a midget—had to take over.
I think the midgets took a liking to Soylent because he is barely taller than they are, and he looks exactly like Gimli the Dwarf from the Lord of the Rings movies. Within minutes we were sitting with the little people. My MidgetPrincess was at the table, and even though I’d only had like five beers, the room was spinning around her. I would talk, but I couldn’t hear the words coming out of my mouth. She would answer back, and it sounded like a chorus of tiny little angels. Is this what love is like? If so, I might have to try it. Then it happened:
Soylent: So, what’s up tonight at the chocolate factory? Any cool parties?
MaleMidget: Oh, dude, you should come with us upstairs. It’s the last night of the LP [Little Person] convention. There is a big dance on the fifth floor.
Tucker: Don’t play with my emotions. If you are lying about this, I don’t think I could handle it.
MaleMidget (looking at me like I am some sort of weirdo ): No dude. It should be fun. Everyone is up there.
Do you know what it takes to make me speechless? For fuck’s sake, I had a girl tattoo “I Fucked Tucker Max” over her pussy. You could say that my sense of “wow” is a bit numb. Knowing that, I ask you to put yourself in this situation and see what your reaction would be:
Go to a hotel. Hit the button for the elevator. Take note of the step stool below the button panel, with the note above it: “Please do not remove stool.” Ride the elevator up to the fifth floor. Walk out into the hallway, and do a double take at the FLEET of Rascal scooters in the ballroom lobby. (Rascals are those red motorized scooters that you always see old people on in the grocery store.) You might first think you stumbled into a geriatric convention, but you study the people on the Rascals, and realize something: None of their feet are touching the base. They are all midgets! MIDGETS ON RASCALS!!!
Reeling from this discovery, you head into the ballroom and see approximately FOUR HUNDRED MIDGETS!!! ALL OF THEM ARE DANCING TO BABY HUEY!!! AND THEY ARE POPPING AND LOCKING! I REPEAT: HUNDREDS OF MIDGETS ARE POPPING AND LOCKING!!!
What would you do? WHAT WOULD YOU DO???
I know what I did. I got a massive erection.
As much as I would love to tell you a really cool story about how I spent the next hour hitting on all the hot midgets, dancing with them, doing tiny little body shots off tiny little bodies, and tossing midgets all around the hotel, I can’t…because nothing like that happened.
Basically, I just sat there, vacant as a lobotomy patient, staring at the midgets, in utter disbelief at the scene unfolding before me—it was complete Midget Overload. Six midgets at a table had me nearly catatonic; you can only imagine what 400 midgets popping and locking did. And when I saw the two midgets slow dancing, but the midget guy was so short that the midget girl had to kneel to dance with him…I was done.
I am honestly not sure how the next part unfolded, but I do know for damn sure I had nothing to do with it. One moment I was sitting at a table in the ballroom, staring in utter disbelief at the midget dance party in front of me, the next moment I was part of a group walking toward the elevator. That group was me, DrunkRex, SoylentGreen, our female friend Jessie…and three midgets, one female and two male.
Tucker (whispering ): Jessie, there are three midgets with us.
Jessie (normal voice ): I know. I invited them. I think the cute one will fuck you.
Tucker (still whispering ): I will name all my illegitimate children after you if she does.
The elevator ride was awesome:
Soylent (to one of the male midgets with us ): So, you like midget girls or normal girls?
Midget: Fuck that midget shit, man. I want me a BIG girl! (Pointing at Jess, who is half black, half Italian.) Soylent, you think you could set me up with some black pussy?!
Soylent: Fuck! Goddamn, man, that is Afro- Italian pussy. What do you think, I’m running a midget convention whorehouse special? I’m not fucking her; you are welcome to knock yourself out trying, fucker!
Tucker: Hey, man, can you talk to dolphins and pilot whales with that huge forehead of yours?
DolphinMidget: Fuck you, asshole! Did you come with Jessie? I’m gonna fuck her in front of you!!
Tucker: EEK EEK EEK!! That’s dolphin for “I’m sorry.” But you already knew that.
DolphinMidget: Hey, you guys want to smoke some rock? I got a connection in Milwaukee, this taxi driver. I’m gonna call him in a minute.
At the hotel bar, Jessie starts to go to work on my MidgetPrincess. Jessie is pimping me so hard, she’s doing everything short of smacking me up for having short money. Being pimped by a girl to another girl is pretty much the optimal situation for a guy, so I did the best thing I could do: shut the fuck up, smile at the MidgetPrincess when she looked at me, buy everyone beer and hope for the best.
Guys, when you have a girl running game for you, the more you speak, the greater the chance you’ll fuck it up. Be quiet and let the girl do the work. Women trust women, not men. The less you interfere, the less game you run, the better. Sounds counterintuitive, doesn’t it? Welcome to women, enjoy your stay.
When I got beers for us all, I discovered something mildly amusing about Milwaukee. If you are ever there, order a Budweiser. Seriously, people FLIP OUT at you. I was confused at first, until it was explained to me: The city of Milwaukee is basically owned by Miller Brewing Company, and of course their big rival is Bud, presumably because they are located in St. Louis. Hey, Milwaukeeans, I’m going to let you in on a little secret: Bud, MGD, Bud Light, Miller Lite—it’s all shitty beer. No one cares except fat-assed cow-town hicks, i.e., all of you. Get over it and focus on something important, like not being such fat asses.
At one point, DolphinMidget accosts Jessie when she is in the women’s bathroom.
DolphinMidget: Hey, baby…wanna get down?
Jessie: Uhhh, no.
DolphinMidget: IT’S ‘CAUSE YOU HATE MIDGETS, ISN’T IT?!
Though she did not fuck him, Jessie found out the answer to a question we all had. She came back from the bathroom giggling: “I just saw him pee! He pulled his junk out of his pants, and laid across the toilet sideways. It was awesome!!!”
At closing time, the whole crew—three midgets included—came back with us to Soylent’s place to party. As we crossed the street, several cars zoomed past, so I reached down to hold the hand of my MidgetPrincess, you know, because I’m a gentleman and shit. She reaches up to grab my hand, but hers is too small to grasp mine…so instead she wrapped her entire palm and Jimmy Dean sausage fingers around just my pinky.
I’m going to pause here so the visual of me crossing the street with a hot midget holding my pinky can sink in (and yes, as soon as she did this, the image of playing with a toddler came into my sick, sick mind).
In the elevator, MidgetPrincess grabbed my butt.
MidgetPrincess: Damn, you got a fine ass.
Tucker: I do Pilates.
MidgetPrincess: Do you really? I bet you are good in bed.
There isn’t a better opening than that. Did I come back with a smooth line? Did I woo and charm her, sealing the deal with a suave and debonair retort?
Tucker: I wanna make a mess in yer mouth.
That’s what I said. Don’t ask me why. Thankfully, she thought it was funny, because if she had been offended and left, I am pretty sure I would have slit my wrists with the closest sharp edge I could find. (And for the record, I have never done Pilates. I don’t know why I said that either.)
We get into Soylent’s apartment, she pulls me into his bedroom, and we start fucking. See, this is why you need good friends. In fact, this should be one of the measures of how good a friendship is: Will your buddy let you fuck a midget in his bed? If the answer is yes, then you know that dude is solid.
Clothes off, I slid right in. Her pussy was not that tight; in fact, it basically felt normal. First question answered.
One of my favorite positions is me on top with the girl’s legs over my shoulders. I like that position because it gives my dick a more direct line of entry and, if I position my hips right, I hit the girl’s G spot in the process. For the most part, I am all about myself in bed, but if everyone can win, why not go with that? Plus, when her legs are over your shoulders, you control everything that is going on, and I am a big fan of dominance.
After a few minutes of missionary, I move to throw her legs over my shoulders. Normally when I do this, the girl’s knees are over my shoulders and her lower legs are either in the air or resting on my back, depending on how I hit it. It went different with my MidgetPrincess. I grab her legs, push them up on my shoulders, but instead of having her knees next to my ears…her feet were next to my cheeks…and a few of her toes went into my mouth. Yes, her legs were completely straight.
This was a bit disturbing, to say the least. About ten seconds later she made me stop because I was hurting her. Even though her pussy is a normal width, it is much shallower than the average pussy, and with her legs on my chest (and her toes in my mouth), my dick was smashing into her cervix. Second question answered.
Only one final question: I got on bottom and had her ride me. Despite my best drunken attempt, I was not able to spin her like a top on my penis. It might have worked if my dick was longer, but alas, I am an average white guy.
She passed out when we were done, and I joined the party that was still going. Flush with excitement and pride, I triumphantly threw my hand in the air and yelled across the apartment: “RAISE YOUR FUCKING HAND IF YOU’VE EVER FUCKED A MIDGET, BITCHES!!”
The other two midgets raised their hands. Thanks, assholes.
I truly live a blessed life.
We wish to thank blogger Tucker Max for permitting us to reprint the above story. For other outlandish yarns or to purchase his hilarious best-seller I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, visit TuckerMax.com.