Let me let you in on a little secret. This guy likes himself a good time, sometimes at the expense of another. Sometimes the profit margin is so colossal, though, that it null and voids that expense. It’s times like those that add loop-dee-loops to the great ride of life.
I’m prone to doing some pretty fucking stupid stuff. But there’s always a payoff; there’s always a reason for my behavior. And this time… well, you’ll see why.
Once upon a time there were these mean ass bitches over at my place, and we were all drinking and having a merry old time. The hot tub was on, the girlies were getting wet, and the alcohol was flowing like the Euphrates. These girls were real hotties, but they had a real attitude problem.
You know the type: The World Owes Me A Favor skanks that think every breath they bestow upon this earth is a miracle of their endless grace.
They start doing everything wrong: they pour alcohol into the hot tub, get the couches all wet, start being really loud and obnoxious, and start making fun of my crew. Yea, my own crew, at my own house. Not good.
We decided to learn ‘em a lesson. Nobody fucks with the Dick and his friends.
I targeted the hottest and meanest skank out of their little group and started putting some moves on her, verbally poking and prodding my way into her good side. I took it slow, but a fleeting touch of the arm here, a toothy smile there, and and occasional touch on her knee when we laughed started changing her mind.
My buddies were acting as wingmen; they were each assigned a different girl and were told not to have them leave their sight. My main man LB, who took the brunt of most of the bitches’ rude remarks, was reserved a special position.
She started loosening up. I was searching for an in the whole time, and I found it. Turns out the bitch was really into horses, and I recalled a few funny stories about my time in Jackson Hole. We started hitting it off, and one thing led to another. Yada yada yada, as Seinfeld likens it.
I follow her into my room. We’re kissing heavily, and the clothes start coming off. She pushes me onto the bed and strips me down completely, except for my socks.
“Hey!” I complain. “If I have to keep my socks on, so do you.”
“Fine then, big boy. She strips completely for me, except for her little pink socks. Her body is perfectly sculpted. There’s not an ounce of fat, and everything is a miracle of fitness and proportion. Yet there’s something obscurely comical about seeing someone naked while wearing socks. I can’t contain myself, and start busting up laughing. Hard.
She gives me a stern look cold enough to freeze vodka. “You don’t exactly look too swell, either, honey.”
I’m snorting with laughter now. “Pink? I mean, come on, seriously. Seriously.”
She jumps on me with an evil smirk, and proceeds to do things with her hands and lips that shut me up real quick.
I slap her ass real hard, and go to work on her. I have a hard time getting myself in her. She’s so tiny it feels like trying to fuck a thimble.
“You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“Ha! I’m as clean the winter snow, buddy.”
Hm. Fine, then. I fucking throw myself hard into her. She lets out a whimper of pain, and then a deep moan of satisfaction. She likes it. As clean as a chimney sweeper, I’d say.
She digs her fingers into my chest and starts rubbing herself back and forth on me. She throws her hair back in a lavish display of shimmery, shiny dark hair as she grabs her perfect tits. It looks like a Herbal Essences commercial from my point of view, except she’s moaning pretty loud and she’s actually fornicating with something besides a shampoo bottle.
I’m getting her pretty hot, and she’s getting ready to come. “Don’t. You. Fucking. Stop.” Her fingernails are digging into my chest. Yup. She’s enjoying herself.
Not for long though. Payback’s a bitch, bitch.
“You know where my favorite horses are from?” I ask nonchalantly.
She gives me a puzzled look as she begins shuddering her throes of orgasms.
“RODEO!” I yell, and a hidden LB suddenly leaps from the closet in a frenzied cacophony of yippie-ka-yays and yeeee-haws and mounts the bitch like a bronco and holds on for dear life. On cue, my crew busts through the door and yell RODEO!
“ONE! TWO! THREE!” he starts yelling as he waves his cowboy hat around the air with the biggest fucking smile I’ve ever seen.
The bitch has NO idea how to react. A huge near-naked black man jumps out of the closet wearing tighty-whiteys, a cowboy hat, and some white socks (a nice touch, I might add), and starts riding her like a fucking horse whilst she’s fucking.
“FOUR! FIVE!” Her primal instict is to start to struggle and break free, and she starts bucking like a wild fucking bronco!
“Atta kid LB! HOLD ON BUDDY YOU CAN DO IT!” I scream with laughter. All the boys are hootin’ and hollerin’ at the door, and I’m desperately trying to keep her from jumping off, while LB is riding her fucking bareback.
“SIX! SEVEN! I’M COMING HOME, BOYS!”
The cheering, coupled with the laughter, coupled with terrified screams from her aghast friends, coupled with the crazed laughing of LB as he rode the naked bitch with the pink socks as she’s getting proper fucked… man. If there was ever one time I would pick as a victory, I’d call this one a fan-fucking-tastic winner.
“EIGHT!” We turn to the door and give our best smiles.
Click goes the camera flash. One for the record books, bitches.
LB falls off to the floor, clutching his stomach with his signature high-pitched giddy laugh. The bitches (”don’t worry, don’t worry, it’s gonna be ok, honey, it’s gonna be ok“) rally around their traumatized friend, and hurriedly throw her a blanket and rush her out the door. My friends are all on the floor, laughing and laughing and laughing at what a fucked-up sight they just witnessed.
I throw on some shorts, and LB and I take off after them as the girls take off the front door into the street. We’re next to naked, chasing them in the dark. All you can see is white shorts and white underwear two sizes too small floating down the street.
“Wait! You bitches forgot your socks! Your socks!”
“Keep the fucking socks, you ASSHOLES!”
They’re hanging from the arch of the front doorway to this day.
By Robert Shagwell | Jan 6, 2005 | Permalink |
