19 January, 2012

CLASSY AS FUCK.

I'm putting this here because it's my blog and I can do whatever the hell I want.
Well, today, I am thirty one years old. Thirty, the cool number, is over. I'm now thirty one.
Thirty one.
But, it's not like I can't accomplish things anymore. For one thing, check out what I came up with: Breakdance emoticons.
~O~That wavy arm thing.
(@)That spinning on the floor thing.
O~The worm. (Yes, I know what it looks like.)
nunuThe worm (alternate version).
-\|/-Poppin' & lockin'.
_O -O \O |O O| O/ O- O_The robot.
OK, so what did I do while I was thirty? Considering I'm born smack-dab in the middle of January, that's practically asking me to do the 2011 year end review all over again. What to tell you, what to tell you...
OK, so here it goes.
This is the one I held out on since... when was it? October. Some of you, mon petit illiterati, I told you this over the phone.
The rest of you? Buckle up and fix a cocktail. This one is NSFW and I paint a rather unflattering picture of myself.
AGAIN, WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS NSFW. IT'S FAIRLY GRAPHIC AND IT'S NOT AT ALL PRETTY. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.
Early in October, 2011, we had a guest here. She was fairly attractive but had a few screws loose. A few necessary screws loose. But as long as she was sober, she was alright and easy going.
So Carson was over one night and we build a little bonfire out back on the patio with a few of the guests, ol' girl included. It's been a slow night and there's nothing better to do, so we're all sitting around drinking more than we should and the guy in the tux - he'd come to Minneapolis to be in a wedding - rolls a pinter and passes that around. The whole while, the conversation stays at a fairly decent, inside-voice level. Next door neighbor, the one who's cute in that young, pre-plastic surgery Courtney Love way but was dating the fauxhawk guy who complained to me about the parking situation out back, is flying off the handle, yelling at us from her third floor window to keep the noise down, at one point threatening to call the cops (that point, it should be noted caused us all to shut up for a second... and then erupt in laughter that actually was too loud).
It was late, probably about one o'clock in the morning, and ol' girl - the only woman present - and I get to talking and I ask her, Do you want to go downstairs? Fool around a little?
She says yes.
So we leave the party, now four guys just sitting around getting high, and go downstairs. I put on HTRK's Marry Me Tonight while we get undressed and she tells me that she wants me to fuck her in the ass. Me? I oblige. As time goes by, I'm about ready to pop, I ask her where she wants it. She tells me she wants it on her face.
I know, right? This is some dirty, dirty porno shit. First of all, I've never had a woman tell me she wanted it in the ass. I've been offered the ass before and I accepted but never has a woman told me to just straight up fuck her in the ass. Secondly, no woman has ever told me to shoot it on her face. I've been told to bring myself to completion in sundry other locales, but never on the face.
So I pull out (of, yeah, her ass), straddle her chest, and let it go.
I get up and tell her, Let me get you a towel. I walk over to the hamper of clean clothes I had still not put away from the day before and grabbed a hand towel. As I turn around, I find her wiping her face off on my pillow.
What are you doing?
"Huh?"
I've got a towel, right here.
"Oh."
I shook my head in forfeit and went to the bathroom to wash my hands, after all, I had just jerked my freshly-out-of-her-ass dick off on to her face. I then went back to my quarters and finished getting dressed and asked, Do you want to go back to the party?
"Yeah."
We go out to the bonfire and the guys are all having a good laugh, still at a normal, not-really-a-public-disturbance level and Carson is stoned. I'd never seen him stoned before and I have to say I like him better stoned than drunk. But he wants a beer and I want a cigarette, me being out of cigarettes at this point, something that hasn't happened in a few years. (Look, I'm trying to quit, OK?) So we go down to my quarters and I grab him a beer out of the fridge and tell him what had just happened because I'm a little miffed about my pillows.
He has a good laugh and we return, each with a fresh beer in hand, to the bonfire.
After about ten minutes goes by, the back door opens and this tall, skinny gal with a pageboy hair cut comes stumbling out and does a fucking face plant right into the patio bricks. Thus initiated the second instance where the group's volume encroached upon the rights of our slumbering neighbor as a collective "OOOHHH!!!" erupted from us as though we were watching skateboard wipeouts on YouTube. Pillows and I help her up and over to a lawn chair where she sat and chatted with us for a while before deciding she'd had enough and said something like "I need to find my room."
Pillows says, "I can take you."
I step in and say, Nah, it's cool, I've got the keys and all.
Pageboy says, "Yeah, I want him to do it."
So we go inside and I figured she was up in the third floor dorm. So I took her up there and it's not until we're at the top of the stairs that she says, "This isn't my room."
It's n-
"No, it's like down," she motions with her hands, "and around the corner? You know?"
Down and arou-
"Yeah." So we go to the second floor and she says, "Yeah, that's it," pointing to her room.
OK, so do you need a key or -
And then she just pins me to the wall and puts her tongue in my mouth. Me? I'm going with it. She pulls away long enough to say, "I want to make out but I don't want to bother my roommate."
I ask, You want to fuck?
"You gotta place we can fuck?"
Yeah, I say, and we head down to my quarters, I put on the same HTRK record from earlier and Pageboy says, "Nah, I want something a little more upbeat."
Being decently shagged and fagged, I couldn't think of anything beside mclusky do Dallas. No sooner do I turn around from the 'puter than she's ripping my clothes off - "without ceremony" is the way I usually describe the scenario - as I'm yanking hers off and she says, "I want to blow you."
Was I going to stop her? No. You know why I wasn't going to stop her? Because, seriously, hand to whichever god you want me to put my hand to, I had forgotten that my dick was in somebody's ass maybe a total of twenty or thirty minutes earlier. In fact, I hadn't considered it until I was in the middle of eating her out.
That? I did that for about an hour, hour and a half. I had nearly a full case of beer in me and I was damned lucky I had gotten it up in the first round. I knew that there was a slim chance of me getting fully erect at this point. But I'm whistling in the wheat field, trying to get Little Bruce Willis to wake up and she tells me, "I think it'd be cute if you fucked me in the ass."
Did you catch that part?
"I think it'd be cute if you fucked me in the ass."
SSSooo... O-fucking-K, then. We're good. We're going to do this. Little Bruce Willis is awake and raring to go now. So I reposition myself and prepare for entry and realize, out loud, Uh, that's not your ass.
She doesn't care. She just wants me to shut up and fuck. Cool. I can do that. And, as it happens pretty much every time, it came time to blow. I pulled out and shot it across her stomach. Being fairly whooped, I gave her a kiss and told her, Let me get you a towel.
I wiped her off and we rolled over to go to sleep, at four thirty in the morning.
At five thirty in the morning, her Blackberry alarm went off. She reached over me to grab it and said, "Uh, I think I just lost my job." She shot out of bed and put her clothes on before I showed her out.
I still have her socks.
Also? That night was the first night that I ever tossed salad.

No comments:

Post a Comment

 
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.