I fucking hate not being able to sleep, especially alone. There’s nothing worse than fantasizing about a well-mannered sexual deviant when there are options less provocative and productive, just a tug away. Tonight is one of those nights which I would take a quick stroll to the nearest whiskey factory, and tell the wage-laboring bar slave to give me “four fingers deep in jack”, which translates to a shit-load of Tennessee’s finest. Instead, I don’t feel like walking five blocks in my undies, so I’ll just take out my store bought fifth and tip myself to some god damn good pouring.
The cellphones these days can do almost anything you desire;you can slice fruit, trebuchet birds onto pigs, and according to a rough estimate of 99.9% of generation x-er’s out there, less importantly, communicate with people. Tonight, on this eerily vibe-induced early morning, I have discovered that my phone possesses another talent I was not aware of, judgment. No, my phone does not erratically vacate all of my self-esteem through its pessimistic views of my actions. Instead, it lies on my bed and stares at me screaming, “Don’t do it!! DO NOT CALL UP EX BOOTY CALL. If you do she’ll stay and talk about feelings, rainbows, ponies and all that other shit girls talk about.” Short story even shorter, I called her, we had some drugs, drinks and some pretty awesomely sobering sex, although not in that exact order…the drinks came first as well as she soon thereafter.
After finishing my superb Olympian form tuck and roll towards the garbage to throw the goalie away, I heard a soft, innocent voice behind me ask, “So you wanna talk about what happened?” Fuck my face, i thought, my fears actually came true, even though they were pretty obvious they were destined to happen, but were dimmed by clouded judgement of Jameson…damn you again, John. As a I walked towards her I lightened the mood and persuasively tried to change the subject by performing a pineal helicopter spin. She laughed but responded with, “I like your humor, that’s why we go so well together!” Hell-to-the-fucking-no she did not just squeeze in a relationship hint after seeing my swinging meat?! I copped out of the proposition by then telling her I needed to get some rest, which was followed by an impromptu, “I call little spoon!” My rage had then escalated to a level which even I, myself, was uncomfortable with. After hearing that I slowly turned towards her, looked into her eyes and said “If you do, please cradle my asshole with your tongue, because you have a better shot tossing my salad than spooning with me.” I was then met with the most awkward, pure non-verbal communication mixed in with intense, motionless eye contact. She looked down in disbelief after a minute or two and squeaked out a submissive, “If that’s what it’s gonna take…” I was shocked, thrown off, and quite mysteriously turned on, which I continued to stare into her gaze while taking my briefs off slowly and unsure of what ramifications meant for this debauchery. The next 10minutes were the most confusing 10 minutes of my life as I laid there with my legs resting on her back, pondering the deeper questions to life, but more importantly morally propagating the idea that indeed, ‘She asked for it’, and I am the receiver of an act which I did not fully intend on actually doing.
Moral of the Story: When Its 2am and you can’t sleep, don’t drink, smoke a bowl instead. The chances you calling your ex booty call will drop 75% studies suggest, and you will end up watching some cool documentary on netflix, and not get your asshole eaten out.
Fin.
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