Montage
...he leans in close to, I dunno, kiss me I guess. Just then a huge glob of foam falls on my head and slides right into my eyes. Vigorously shaking my cranium to dislodge the stinging detergent bubbles from my face I feel an impact as my teeth connect with and split the skin covering the bridge of his nose.
"Look, not to be mean or anything, but I'm really not interested and I'm just here to dance. Also, there's blood running down your face. Maybe you should go take care of that."
"What?!"
"I said there's blood running down your face, go to the bathroom and wash up."
Fast forward to:
"...I think you should jerk off with me on the phone."
"I really love it that you only call me when you're drunk and horny."
So I do it, because I still love him no matter what. Also, he's obcenely hot even if he is several states away these days.
Rewind to:
"...can you believe we're getting married?!"
"So I guess I won't be seeing you again this weekend."
I only wish he'd mentioned his boyfriend before I spent three days screwing his brains out. I would've given him more to remember me by when marital boredom inevitably sets in.
Two steps and a shimmy to:
...takes my hand and leads me down the hall to his bathroom, both of us reeking of post-coitus. He tells me we should do it again in the shower.
Then he points to the monstrous dildo he's suctioned onto the shower wall and refers to it as his "boyfriend". I lost his number pretty fast after that.
Left-right tango into:
"...kiss me baby, kiss me!! Waaauughaghaghagahgauaaa....."
What the hell kind of noise was that? Did he just have an orgasm or a stroke? No, wait, he's trying to talk. No stroke after all. Damn, now how am I supposed to get rid of him?
Take a big running jump to right now,
...and you'll understand why I find myself wishing that my creepy love of boobs included an appreciation of below-the-belt lady-parts. It's not that I don't like guys, I do. I really, really do. It's just that they're often insane. Not "fun at parties" insane, more like watching his shell-shocked neighbors on the evening news saying "he always seemed like such a nice guy" insane. Trust me, I'm under no illusions about being just as nuts as every other XY chromosome sack out there. It has me wondering how I've traumatized other men during my time on this big blue-green ball of mud and molten metals.
"Look, not to be mean or anything, but I'm really not interested and I'm just here to dance. Also, there's blood running down your face. Maybe you should go take care of that."
"What?!"
"I said there's blood running down your face, go to the bathroom and wash up."
Fast forward to:
"...I think you should jerk off with me on the phone."
"I really love it that you only call me when you're drunk and horny."
So I do it, because I still love him no matter what. Also, he's obcenely hot even if he is several states away these days.
Rewind to:
"...can you believe we're getting married?!"
"So I guess I won't be seeing you again this weekend."
I only wish he'd mentioned his boyfriend before I spent three days screwing his brains out. I would've given him more to remember me by when marital boredom inevitably sets in.
Two steps and a shimmy to:
...takes my hand and leads me down the hall to his bathroom, both of us reeking of post-coitus. He tells me we should do it again in the shower.
Then he points to the monstrous dildo he's suctioned onto the shower wall and refers to it as his "boyfriend". I lost his number pretty fast after that.
Left-right tango into:
"...kiss me baby, kiss me!! Waaauughaghaghagahgauaaa....."
What the hell kind of noise was that? Did he just have an orgasm or a stroke? No, wait, he's trying to talk. No stroke after all. Damn, now how am I supposed to get rid of him?
Take a big running jump to right now,
...and you'll understand why I find myself wishing that my creepy love of boobs included an appreciation of below-the-belt lady-parts. It's not that I don't like guys, I do. I really, really do. It's just that they're often insane. Not "fun at parties" insane, more like watching his shell-shocked neighbors on the evening news saying "he always seemed like such a nice guy" insane. Trust me, I'm under no illusions about being just as nuts as every other XY chromosome sack out there. It has me wondering how I've traumatized other men during my time on this big blue-green ball of mud and molten metals.
posted by Zeroes at 2:25 AM
2 Comments:
Hilarious post. Some insight into your twisted mind. Ahhh, the pieces begin to take their rightful places.
You like boobs, huh? Hmmm.
Boobs are great, they're like Play Dough that you can't turn into anything; though it's really fun to try!
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