N O C U D D L I N G I N T H E
C H A M P A G N E R O O M
C H A M P A G N E R O O M
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Miami Chronicles Part I: "Why 'Gang Bang' is Not Always a Good Conversation Starter"
I wish I could start the story of one of the crazier weeks I've had with "As I stepped off the plane in Miami..." However, my unwavering love for wine starts this particular part of the story in the Philadelphia airport.
While walking along to the gate with Rita and realizing we had some time to kill at around 2 in the afternoon, I detect a sign that says "Wine Bar" my excitement spurs my nipples to stand at attention as I quickly hop onto the bar stool. Rita not at all surprised by the speed of my sprint which could have only rivaled that of a Nigerian training for the 100 yard dash, slowly followed me to the bar. As always, at a safe distance in case someone may think she's associated with me in some way.
Here an innocent glass of Pinot Grigio turned into 5 and while on the last glass an older and sophisticated and by sophisticated I of course mean 'shits money' looking man walked over and sat with us at the bar. He continued to place his order with the bartender who as I examined more closely looked as if her right eye has something against her left because it was permanently turned in that direction. I always find that interacting with these people is rather confusing seeing as I'm not quite sure what eye to look at. In this case I think, "What would Jesus do?" and seeing as Jesus was a guy, I talked to the waitress while starring at her rack the entire time. However, as my attention focused back on Daddy Warbucks to my left something caught my eye. I noticed a ring on his RIGHT hand the size of which could only be suitable for a piercing in Ron Jeremy's shlong. I quickly became intrigued. What does he do? Where is he from? Is that gigantic ring compensating for a Frodo like dick? Probably around the same time I was eying his crotch to answer the last question of mine, he decides to strike up a conversation. Turns out he is on his way back home from his house in the Bahamas. He stays there for part of the year, when he's not abroad visiting his family in the Greek Islands. Well...fuck me sideways and call me AVAILABLE! We got to talking about traveling and art, some other shit I can't quite remember, and I may have even been invited to come down to the Bahamas sometime.
"You should come see the Bahamas sometime"
"I want to but not sure when I can afford it, maybe I can just stay in a hut on the beach"
"Oh no please don't. A pretty girl like you will get gang raped there"
The 'gang rape' remark coming out of his mouth after we discussed artsy fartsy shit for a good 10 minutes or so made me pull a Scoobie Doo when he stares up with one ear up:
"ARrr, well nothing wrong with a good gang bang every now and then, I guess" I finally chime in predicting that I would agree to most things in the Bahamas.
"Uhh yeah well whatever your into" he responds while chugging down his glass of wine faster than a fat sorority chick tapping a keg.
As I then try to go over the pros and cons of gang banging and how a sandy beach may not be the most sanitary place to do it, I begin to sense his level of discomfort growing. I then realize that I could only pretend to be high class for so long before my drunk ass mouth fucks it all up for me.
So as I conclude that this conversation took a turn in a direction that is not leading to me staying at his house in the Bahamas or Greece I quickly jump off the bar stool and stumble over to the gate with Rita. She glared at me on the way over and proceeded to explain to me how I fucked up royally... I almost had it and I fucked it up! If I had balls I'd be kicking myself in the right now. So close so fucking close! This fact gave me a deep feeling of intense disappointment, a feeling that closely resembled that of a rather unfortunate 'one minute man' experience I had a few years back. How can I solve this problem? Perhaps I should be more careful of what comes out of my mouth instead of always being so concerned with whats going in? Maybe I should cut down on my drinking? hahahahaha naaahhhh!!!! Simple solution:
The plan is to invest in a t shirt I plan on wearing every time I go out drinking. It will have a "FOR SALE" printed along with a clear price tag scrolled across my tits. With my almost always firm nipples clearly being show cased in a couple of the 00's. The back of the shirt will say "For more details please call (my phone number) cash and all major credit cards are accepted and appreciated with blow jobs."
I then debated on attaching a portable cash register on my crotch for fast and easy billing but decided to hold off on that idea until I decided how to attach my vibrator to it. Or as I like to call it: Plan B.
Proud of myself for my rather impressive problem solving skills, I called over the stewardess "The wine's not gonnna pour itself sweetheart!" And off I went to Miami all the while dreaming of getting off in Miami...
Miami Chronicles Part II: Prayers to the Vodka Gods Always Get Answered
While walking along to the gate with Rita and realizing we had some time to kill at around 2 in the afternoon, I detect a sign that says "Wine Bar" my excitement spurs my nipples to stand at attention as I quickly hop onto the bar stool. Rita not at all surprised by the speed of my sprint which could have only rivaled that of a Nigerian training for the 100 yard dash, slowly followed me to the bar. As always, at a safe distance in case someone may think she's associated with me in some way.
Here an innocent glass of Pinot Grigio turned into 5 and while on the last glass an older and sophisticated and by sophisticated I of course mean 'shits money' looking man walked over and sat with us at the bar. He continued to place his order with the bartender who as I examined more closely looked as if her right eye has something against her left because it was permanently turned in that direction. I always find that interacting with these people is rather confusing seeing as I'm not quite sure what eye to look at. In this case I think, "What would Jesus do?" and seeing as Jesus was a guy, I talked to the waitress while starring at her rack the entire time. However, as my attention focused back on Daddy Warbucks to my left something caught my eye. I noticed a ring on his RIGHT hand the size of which could only be suitable for a piercing in Ron Jeremy's shlong. I quickly became intrigued. What does he do? Where is he from? Is that gigantic ring compensating for a Frodo like dick? Probably around the same time I was eying his crotch to answer the last question of mine, he decides to strike up a conversation. Turns out he is on his way back home from his house in the Bahamas. He stays there for part of the year, when he's not abroad visiting his family in the Greek Islands. Well...fuck me sideways and call me AVAILABLE! We got to talking about traveling and art, some other shit I can't quite remember, and I may have even been invited to come down to the Bahamas sometime.
"You should come see the Bahamas sometime"
"I want to but not sure when I can afford it, maybe I can just stay in a hut on the beach"
"Oh no please don't. A pretty girl like you will get gang raped there"
The 'gang rape' remark coming out of his mouth after we discussed artsy fartsy shit for a good 10 minutes or so made me pull a Scoobie Doo when he stares up with one ear up:
"ARrr, well nothing wrong with a good gang bang every now and then, I guess" I finally chime in predicting that I would agree to most things in the Bahamas.
"Uhh yeah well whatever your into" he responds while chugging down his glass of wine faster than a fat sorority chick tapping a keg.
As I then try to go over the pros and cons of gang banging and how a sandy beach may not be the most sanitary place to do it, I begin to sense his level of discomfort growing. I then realize that I could only pretend to be high class for so long before my drunk ass mouth fucks it all up for me.
So as I conclude that this conversation took a turn in a direction that is not leading to me staying at his house in the Bahamas or Greece I quickly jump off the bar stool and stumble over to the gate with Rita. She glared at me on the way over and proceeded to explain to me how I fucked up royally... I almost had it and I fucked it up! If I had balls I'd be kicking myself in the right now. So close so fucking close! This fact gave me a deep feeling of intense disappointment, a feeling that closely resembled that of a rather unfortunate 'one minute man' experience I had a few years back. How can I solve this problem? Perhaps I should be more careful of what comes out of my mouth instead of always being so concerned with whats going in? Maybe I should cut down on my drinking? hahahahaha naaahhhh!!!! Simple solution:
The plan is to invest in a t shirt I plan on wearing every time I go out drinking. It will have a "FOR SALE" printed along with a clear price tag scrolled across my tits. With my almost always firm nipples clearly being show cased in a couple of the 00's. The back of the shirt will say "For more details please call (my phone number) cash and all major credit cards are accepted and appreciated with blow jobs."
I then debated on attaching a portable cash register on my crotch for fast and easy billing but decided to hold off on that idea until I decided how to attach my vibrator to it. Or as I like to call it: Plan B.
Proud of myself for my rather impressive problem solving skills, I called over the stewardess "The wine's not gonnna pour itself sweetheart!" And off I went to Miami all the while dreaming of getting off in Miami...
Miami Chronicles Part II: Prayers to the Vodka Gods Always Get Answered
I would have agreed to getting face raped by a gang of circus freaks if it would take back my first few hours of my vacation. This is because they were spent in a car with a group of my friend Rita's friends on our way down to the house they rented for all of us. Along with the house, her friend, Iggy, which I affectionately referred to as Princess Cum Dumpster, rented the whole group a van. The exact type of van the retarded kids ride to school everyday. Upon seeing him barely peering over the wheel in this Special Ed vehicle I was so overwhelmed with insults that I swear I almost had a seizure. And as if that was not enough to keep me laughing for the next few years, he had a gang of douche bags he packed into retard van with him. One in particular was beefy and blond dumb jock type. I immediately named this one Captain Ass Munch. After climbing out of re re van he proceeded to place a pair of female sunglasses on his face which sparked my curiosity considering they resembled a pair I saw on Cher's face in a tabloid just a few weeks ago. This of course inspired me to conduct a friendly conversation:
"So uhh where'd you get those?" I inquired.
" I got em at fucking Target, so hot"
"Oh yeah? Niiice, so like in the women's department or...???"
" Ha no the men's, fuck yeah sweet deal on the hot shades"
"Oh good, well maybe I'll do you a favor and borrow them some time so that you can look like less of a flaming homosexual."
"Yo yo yo hold up! Are you making fun of my sunglasses?"
"No of course not, I'm simply making fun of what your placing them on"
"Huh? You don't think they look good on me?"
"You look like Vanilla Ice and Prince's downs syndrome love child.." I mumbled under my breath as I walked away. I had to end this conversation immediately as to attempt to submit a new posting to FML on Rita's Blackberry. "We're extending this trip Rita!" And we did.
Needless to say, the ride in the van was a bust, and so was this so-called "house" that turned out to be the perfect size for a crew resembling the Lollipop Guild from the Wizard of Oz and not a group of life size human beings. Upon exploring this fine establishment I decided pregaming that night was a must. As I polished off my third drink I noticed that we were all buzzed and the mood relaxed a tad. This presented itself as an oppertunity for Princess Cum Dumpster to try and see if he would be granted access into my pants later in the night. I gave him a once over and realized that although he's not bad looking at all, he is in fact shorter than I am, big no no. I immediately decided on investing in a baseball cap with a bar attached to the top and "MUST BE THIS TALL TO GO ON THIS RIDE!" scrolled below it, in case I pass out that night and am not able to vocalize my point.
Later that evening we hopped on the tard bus and headed to a bunch of clubs. Luckily we parked the red beast elsewhere and walked because I would have sooner pulled up to the club on the back of a tricycle equipped with basket and bells. After some bar/club hopping we settled at Mansion. While dancing with Rita and enjoying the shit out of a buzz that I was planning on steadily maintaining for the next week, I suddenly felt something humping my leg from behind. "Who the fuck let a Doberman into a club?!" I was just about to scream over to Rita until I felt hands grab my hips. Then the realization that this was in fact spring break in Miami hit me harder than a pair of 'chin nuts.' I took another much needed gulp of my drink while deciding whether I should look back or not. Most of the time it is wiser not to. As always Lord Grey Goose gave me the answer and I decided to ask Rita whether or not the Happy Humper behind me was passable with the vodka goggles I had developed. However, as my gaze zeroes in on her through the lights, I see two small hands positioned on her breasts. They looked like a small child's hands for a second until I came to the realization that Rita's one tit was the size of my two and one of my ass cheeks combined. They were definitely man hands though, and as my attention came up to her face I was barely able to make out her mouthing to me "Who the fuck is dancing with me? Is he cute?" As I look over her shoulder to see who it was I spent the next 30 seconds trying to make out this mysterious character through the strobe lights...
"Hmm let me see"...
Nose?:check!
Eyes?:two!
Mouth?: check!
Limbs?: check!
Dick?: most likely!
DING DING DING SOUNDS LIKE A WINNER!!!
Just as I was about to give Rita the thumbs up I feel this oddly familiar sensation that I couldn't quite make sense of right away and all of the sudden after about a moment I exclaim "Uhhhhh PENETRATION! PENETRATION! PENETRATION!" Holy shit Happy Humper had a less than happy surprise for my asshole! I instantly jolted and shifted to the other side of the club which played house music rather than hip hop. I applauded myself for this wise move seeing as the beat on the house side of things was less conducive to me getting asshole raped. Here we settled dancing with more desirable looking people. And just as things began to get interesting Sargent Cock Block, another one of the roommates, swept me to the side and began dancing with me. Appalled at this blatant disregard of my super special cock scoping time, I hardly had a chance to react as the potential poker for the night disappeared into the crowd. Before I had the chance to reprimand him by a swift uppercut to the ball sack, Princess Cum Dumpster shows up with Rita in hand. Judging by the look of horror and disappointment on her face I concluded that the same thing happened to her and we quickly B- lined our way to my personal safe haven (the bar).
"Ok what the fuck is going on?!!!!!" Rita screamed into my ear as if I suddenly turned into a 80 year old man with a hearing aid.
After coming to terms with the deafness in my right ear, I respond, " I have no fucking clue but if Princess Cum Dumpster takes another step in this direction I'm propping his 5' 2" frame up on this bar and playing Genital Piñata "
"Thank God we decided to extend the trip by two days!!" She stammers in my good ear. "We just need to get the fuck out of the hell house ASAP, I'm calling my aunt to see if we can crash at her place."
I agreed with the sentiment, and we began discussing logistics just as PCD and his boys made their way over to us again. Obviously their attempt to find pussy and lead it to the Red Retard Van in true Chester the Molester style, was unsuccessful. "We're going to head out" they announced in unison. I would have gladly protested, but then remembered how a cab refused to pick us up from the magical house earlier that day, and would probably have little to no desire to drop us off. I suggested to Rita that perhaps her giving the cabby road head would work to out advantage. Apparently we did not see eye to eye on this point and we proceeded to head home.
The next day was spent entirely on the beach. And after I chugged down a Margarita, that was the size of my head, and smoked a cigar the size of Tommy Lee's Cock; Rita and I made our escape. We packed up all of our shit and jetted to her Aunt's apartment at a speed that would have put O.J Simpson to shame. This apartment building was a definite source of comedic relief for the rest of the stay in Miami seeing as it was a retirement home of sorts. Even though all the older women looked at us like we were two dollar whores, and the men used us as a final checking of their old age impotency; the place was DIRECTLY across from the beach and we were able to come and go as we pleased. The location was so amazing that I even learned to look over her Aunt's Boyfriend, George, checking me out with his good eye every chance he got. Luckily I do not have a weak gag reflex because his 70 year old pregnant looking physique, paired with an amount of ear and eyebrow hair that would make a notable donation to the Locks Of Love charity, would have sent me into convulsions. That aside, we proceeded to start off each day going to the beach and tanning until noon (otherwise known to me as a respectable time to start drinking). Then we would catch an afternoon buzz and crawl back onto the sand where we would continue to pass out. Not even a 10 person game of football being conducted over our heads could rustle us, even though I'm fairly certain they used us as their 50 yard line marker.
Luckily our friend Mike who was in Miami visiting his girlfriend came down to hang out with us and make sure we didn't get robbed, molested, or kidnapped while in our daily drunken stupor. After his departure, however I managed to lose 2 pairs of shoes, 1 bikini bottom (still not sure how, but George is on the top of my suspect list), 3 towels, and a sweatshirt. I also came home with one less thong than I had packed but that's a whole different story all together on account of the fact I remember exactly how and when that happened. I call it my Miami One Night Stand (Up if You Like to Fuck) courtesy of Mr. Miami. To be continued...
Miami Chronicles Part III: Going Out With A Bang
"So uhh where'd you get those?" I inquired.
" I got em at fucking Target, so hot"
"Oh yeah? Niiice, so like in the women's department or...???"
" Ha no the men's, fuck yeah sweet deal on the hot shades"
"Oh good, well maybe I'll do you a favor and borrow them some time so that you can look like less of a flaming homosexual."
"Yo yo yo hold up! Are you making fun of my sunglasses?"
"No of course not, I'm simply making fun of what your placing them on"
"Huh? You don't think they look good on me?"
"You look like Vanilla Ice and Prince's downs syndrome love child.." I mumbled under my breath as I walked away. I had to end this conversation immediately as to attempt to submit a new posting to FML on Rita's Blackberry. "We're extending this trip Rita!" And we did.
Needless to say, the ride in the van was a bust, and so was this so-called "house" that turned out to be the perfect size for a crew resembling the Lollipop Guild from the Wizard of Oz and not a group of life size human beings. Upon exploring this fine establishment I decided pregaming that night was a must. As I polished off my third drink I noticed that we were all buzzed and the mood relaxed a tad. This presented itself as an oppertunity for Princess Cum Dumpster to try and see if he would be granted access into my pants later in the night. I gave him a once over and realized that although he's not bad looking at all, he is in fact shorter than I am, big no no. I immediately decided on investing in a baseball cap with a bar attached to the top and "MUST BE THIS TALL TO GO ON THIS RIDE!" scrolled below it, in case I pass out that night and am not able to vocalize my point.
Later that evening we hopped on the tard bus and headed to a bunch of clubs. Luckily we parked the red beast elsewhere and walked because I would have sooner pulled up to the club on the back of a tricycle equipped with basket and bells. After some bar/club hopping we settled at Mansion. While dancing with Rita and enjoying the shit out of a buzz that I was planning on steadily maintaining for the next week, I suddenly felt something humping my leg from behind. "Who the fuck let a Doberman into a club?!" I was just about to scream over to Rita until I felt hands grab my hips. Then the realization that this was in fact spring break in Miami hit me harder than a pair of 'chin nuts.' I took another much needed gulp of my drink while deciding whether I should look back or not. Most of the time it is wiser not to. As always Lord Grey Goose gave me the answer and I decided to ask Rita whether or not the Happy Humper behind me was passable with the vodka goggles I had developed. However, as my gaze zeroes in on her through the lights, I see two small hands positioned on her breasts. They looked like a small child's hands for a second until I came to the realization that Rita's one tit was the size of my two and one of my ass cheeks combined. They were definitely man hands though, and as my attention came up to her face I was barely able to make out her mouthing to me "Who the fuck is dancing with me? Is he cute?" As I look over her shoulder to see who it was I spent the next 30 seconds trying to make out this mysterious character through the strobe lights...
"Hmm let me see"...
Nose?:check!
Eyes?:two!
Mouth?: check!
Limbs?: check!
Dick?: most likely!
DING DING DING SOUNDS LIKE A WINNER!!!
Just as I was about to give Rita the thumbs up I feel this oddly familiar sensation that I couldn't quite make sense of right away and all of the sudden after about a moment I exclaim "Uhhhhh PENETRATION! PENETRATION! PENETRATION!" Holy shit Happy Humper had a less than happy surprise for my asshole! I instantly jolted and shifted to the other side of the club which played house music rather than hip hop. I applauded myself for this wise move seeing as the beat on the house side of things was less conducive to me getting asshole raped. Here we settled dancing with more desirable looking people. And just as things began to get interesting Sargent Cock Block, another one of the roommates, swept me to the side and began dancing with me. Appalled at this blatant disregard of my super special cock scoping time, I hardly had a chance to react as the potential poker for the night disappeared into the crowd. Before I had the chance to reprimand him by a swift uppercut to the ball sack, Princess Cum Dumpster shows up with Rita in hand. Judging by the look of horror and disappointment on her face I concluded that the same thing happened to her and we quickly B- lined our way to my personal safe haven (the bar).
"Ok what the fuck is going on?!!!!!" Rita screamed into my ear as if I suddenly turned into a 80 year old man with a hearing aid.
After coming to terms with the deafness in my right ear, I respond, " I have no fucking clue but if Princess Cum Dumpster takes another step in this direction I'm propping his 5' 2" frame up on this bar and playing Genital Piñata "
"Thank God we decided to extend the trip by two days!!" She stammers in my good ear. "We just need to get the fuck out of the hell house ASAP, I'm calling my aunt to see if we can crash at her place."
I agreed with the sentiment, and we began discussing logistics just as PCD and his boys made their way over to us again. Obviously their attempt to find pussy and lead it to the Red Retard Van in true Chester the Molester style, was unsuccessful. "We're going to head out" they announced in unison. I would have gladly protested, but then remembered how a cab refused to pick us up from the magical house earlier that day, and would probably have little to no desire to drop us off. I suggested to Rita that perhaps her giving the cabby road head would work to out advantage. Apparently we did not see eye to eye on this point and we proceeded to head home.
The next day was spent entirely on the beach. And after I chugged down a Margarita, that was the size of my head, and smoked a cigar the size of Tommy Lee's Cock; Rita and I made our escape. We packed up all of our shit and jetted to her Aunt's apartment at a speed that would have put O.J Simpson to shame. This apartment building was a definite source of comedic relief for the rest of the stay in Miami seeing as it was a retirement home of sorts. Even though all the older women looked at us like we were two dollar whores, and the men used us as a final checking of their old age impotency; the place was DIRECTLY across from the beach and we were able to come and go as we pleased. The location was so amazing that I even learned to look over her Aunt's Boyfriend, George, checking me out with his good eye every chance he got. Luckily I do not have a weak gag reflex because his 70 year old pregnant looking physique, paired with an amount of ear and eyebrow hair that would make a notable donation to the Locks Of Love charity, would have sent me into convulsions. That aside, we proceeded to start off each day going to the beach and tanning until noon (otherwise known to me as a respectable time to start drinking). Then we would catch an afternoon buzz and crawl back onto the sand where we would continue to pass out. Not even a 10 person game of football being conducted over our heads could rustle us, even though I'm fairly certain they used us as their 50 yard line marker.
Luckily our friend Mike who was in Miami visiting his girlfriend came down to hang out with us and make sure we didn't get robbed, molested, or kidnapped while in our daily drunken stupor. After his departure, however I managed to lose 2 pairs of shoes, 1 bikini bottom (still not sure how, but George is on the top of my suspect list), 3 towels, and a sweatshirt. I also came home with one less thong than I had packed but that's a whole different story all together on account of the fact I remember exactly how and when that happened. I call it my Miami One Night Stand (Up if You Like to Fuck) courtesy of Mr. Miami. To be continued...
Miami Chronicles Part III: Going Out With A Bang
Compared to Miami, Philadelphia resembles a city of ugly red headed step children. As apposed to what I have become sadly accustomed to, while in Miami at night, I was able to peel off the beer goggles I insist on wearing while out in Philly and enjoy the views of the people and places. I'm a huge fan of looking at, admiring, touching, and on occasion fondling beautiful things. This made each night spent in Miami like one big dream, wet dream of course. Although I unfortunately do not remember the details of each night spent out, I do remember feeling like a kid in a candy store. A candy store packed to capacity with cock for my sampling and picking. Purely aesthetically, it's a fucking playground equipped with enough alcohol on each block to intoxicate a family of Bison. Needless to say I felt right at home from day 1. Aside from the always fun and interesting clubbing nights, which went surprisingly smoothly, here are a few random events that stand out in my memory:
Walking down the street on any given night/afternoon I got checked out enough for Rita to take notice and for me to start wondering if my pussy somehow traveled from my crotch area to my forehead in my sleep. That thought was of course a ridiculous one, until the stares from straight men, women, and the gays increased progressively through out the day. This paired with a pitcher of Sangria or some other alcohol under my belt, had me seriously question the Foreheadgina Condition. While sitting at a hookah bar on Lincoln Road, completely plastered; paranoia got the best of me as I waited for Rita to come back from the bathroom. I subconsciously caught myself rubbing my forehead every time someone checked me out, when I caught myself I quickly stopped what I was doing because A) Another 10 minutes of this ritual would make me look like a schizo on the run from the mental institution, and B) If my pussy really did magically appear on my forehead, this incessant rubbing would only make it look like I'm fingering myself. A counter productive action.
Mid-thought I caught a glimpse of Rita hustling back to our table in a fluster. "What's up?" I asked as her disgruntled look turned into uncontrollable laughter.
"It happened again!" She managed to formulate mid-snort. "In a unisex bathroom this time!!!!" I can't control my laughter as I catch on to what she is referring to. Through out the whole stay in Miami, Rita managed to get walked in on a record 6 times in one week. To make matters even better (for me), according to her it was always at the moment when she was just about to pull up her pants leaving her hot pocket out on clear display. How she and I managed to use the same restroom and random guys would only walk in on her and not me puzzled me and made me slightly jealous all at the same time. I made a mental note to myself to undergo a brief training session on how to lock doors back at the apartment later that night. If anyone was going to be showing strangers their love pocket it would be me! And most certainly not by accident.
"Oh and by the way, our waiter kept asking me if you had a boyfriend, he wants to talk to you," she announced in a way forcing me to believe that our waiter was a 13 year old boy who just discovered his first pube. "Did he also give you a note to pass to me?" I mumbled as I looked around for the waiter to get a better look at what I was dealing with.
To my disappointment my gaze shifted to a man that wasn't bad looking in the least for HIS AGE. But Jesus, he must have been pushing 50 over there. I do have a record for only messing around with older men, but he was pushing it big time. I just don't know what I would do with those balls unless Antique Roadshow happened to come to town. Clearly he misread my " I wouldn't fuck you with someone else's punani!" look with one of interest. Needless to say we were forced to switch our hookah place to one where the waiter's balls were not old enough to be collecting dust.
While out with our friend Mike and his girlfriend one night, they both got hungry so we decided to check out this Greek place OPA that was recommended to us. They ordered food which looked quite delicious, and I ordered my all time favorite meal replacement: BOOZE. The place itself is loud and upbeat, the waiters and diners end up dancing on the tables before/during/after dinner. Most of the people dancing were fairly young and attractive. I enjoyed watching it and had to keep reminding myself that this was not a strip club and yelling "Take it off bitch!" is probably not appreciated.
However as I was just able to build a baby buzz, a table of middle aged couples decided it was time to hop up and shake what their mama gave them but should have kept to her fucking self! I was about ready to take the shish kabob skewer to my eye ball when Mike nudged me to look back up at the scene taking place right in front of us. The females of the party had luckily gotten the fuck off the table, I say luckily as I noticed one was in fact very pregnant. I wonder if she was that pregnant when she climbed up there in the first place, or if it were her husbands slightly pornographic dance moves that did the trick?
All of that no longer seemed the least bit interesting as I see before me 4 middle aged men grinding up on each other. Ass to crotch, lips to lips. beer belly to beer belly. But before I could even open my mouth to express my disgust the guy getting sandwiched in the middle decided to pretend as if he's going down on his friend to the right all the while laughing as if he was performing at Gay Night at the Apollo. This action triggered a collective gasp from the crowd, and his friend to uncomfortably climb off the bar while protectively grabbing at his genitals.
"Hahahahaha!!! Holy shit! We need to get the fuck out of here!" I announced as I tried to hail the waiter who was still in awe of what had just happened.
"You better show a tit to get him over here!" I announced to Rita seeing as hers is a Shaq handful and mine is a modest yet convenient mouthful. While Rita proceeded to give Mike's girlfriend the apologetic "I'm sorry I forgot Elina's muzzle at home" look my friends know so well, my gaze just happened to catch a woman that was headed for the door. She instantly turned all red, as I kept my gaze on her longer to figure out what the fuck was the matter with her face (a mild case of constipation perhaps?) She then proceeded to smile and wave at me flirtatiously before she exited.
My look of sheer confusion matched that of a Amish boy being exposed to a pussy for the very first time, did she just hit on me? Before I could even mumble those words out loud Mike stammers " Wow, wow did that just happen?" "Huh, yeah I think it did." I answered trying my very best to figure out what about me screams " I enjoy a good pussy!" that night.
I immediately kicked myself for never getting around to printing my "I Love The Cock" t shirt that I wanted to wear in case of these types of emergencies.
However there was no time for regrets now, and we sprinted out of there as middle aged dance freak/ closet homosexual took center stage for an encore performance.
Walking into Aerobar I felt a lot calmer. The crowd was nice and easy on the eyes which was a welcomed relief after the OPA disaster which almost left me with Lamb shish kabob for eyes. I instantly found my place at the bar and befriended the bar tender. I love bartenders and they love me. Not sure why we have such a strong bond no matter where I go, but I would venture to say it's because I admire their craft more than most and consume it like it's my job. This particular bartender slid over a specially made chocolate vodka, as I took my first couple of sips I had to quickly turn away from the Tool that was talking to me at the bar because I think I almost came.
Vodka AND Chocolate! Has someone been reading my diary? The look of sheer pleasure must have sent out some sort of Dike Amber Alert Signal because the girl that was heading in my direction started looking me up and down. I was instantly thrown for a loop because I couldn't understand what this drop dead gorgeous model looking chick was looking at me for. She was kind of thin, maybe she was hungry, fuck do I still smell like Greek food?!
Before I got the chance to ask Rita to take a whiff my way, the girl brushes by me as if to get through. Then all of the sudden I feel her hands rub me from my legs all the way up to my hips and back again. This rub down was then followed by her whispering "Hey baby" in my ear. By the time I coughed up the rest of my chocolate vodka, which does NOT taste the same on the way up mind you, lipstick lezzy disappeared into the crowd.
" HOLLY DIKE BALLS" I finally let out for the whole bar area to hear. Rita and Mike just stood there with their mouths agape at what had just happened. When did I become the Ellen De Generous of the evening?! I'm not even wearing a pant suit for fucks sake!
I marched my way into the bathroom to regroup. As I looked in the mirror I got another awkward wave from a girl standing behind me. "Ok that's it!" I decided, outright annoyed at all the female attention this night brought. I stomped out of the restroom in a huff, laid eyes on the first guy I saw " You'd fuck me right?!" I exclaimed. Baffled, he took a moment and answered, "Well yeah sure I mean yeah, yeah I would. Like uhh right now?" All the while tugging at his belt buckle. "No,no jest making sure. Keep it in your pants cowboy." I quipped as I made my way back to the bar." Feeling slightly better I hauled my ass to the bar, ordered another drink, and declared an end to Dike Night once and for all. Not thatthere's anything wrong with it.
What's spring break in Miami without a hot one night stand (up if you like to fuck)? A whole bunch of bored chicks surrounded by blue balls. Not happening under my watch kids, not while I'm still alive and kicking. My inquiry into pursuing this started off from the first night we went out. The first candidate was a model from Milan. Just like most pretty faces I've come on I mean across: dense. But seeing as talking to him was not even on the list of top 5 things I'd want to do with him, it hardly mattered.
As the night progressed of him sitting and staring at me, I felt like I was spending the evening with Helen Keller. Sense of humor is the biggest turn on for me but lack there of can only be looked over if they compensate in other departments. Let's find out! As he pulled me up to dance, I realized how drunk I had gotten that night, and it took me a while to figure out what the fuck he was doing.
Fuck I think he's having a seizure. It took me a whole 2 minutes to figure out that these muscle spasms and sudden head movements were in fact not seizure symptoms but what he considers dance moves. I then proceeded to stop signaling at Rita to call an ambulance and focused back in on Milan. While trying to conform to his retarded chicken dance moves, I was just barely able to dodge one of his arms that came swinging at my head in the nick of time. This alone gave me a rather disturbing look into what being in bed with him would be like. I can't afford to not be able to walk upright for the next week. I have to cut my losses. BYE MILAN!
The next week was followed by almosts and not quites. I was pretty much over the idea until the second to last day of my trip. Enter: Mr. Miami. So, not a complete stranger, but I was willing to bend that rule for a good lay. We talked back and forth and when he threw my own pick up line in my face (Let's fuck!!) I knew this was going to happen. The "How bout a pizza and a fuck?" line was my personal favorite, before I had to start cutting out the carbs. Now I have to watch who I mean what comes in my mouth.
There was some text foreplay, which can only be conducted properly by few, but is a useful skill to have none the less. Then it was all decided, I had plans to hop a cab to his place, instructed to bring my lucky fedora and cigar. Done and done! My impeccable fuck buddy etiquette is considered above par and appreciated by most. There are very specific rules that must be followed in order for both parties to bang to their hearts desire without the fear of a clinger alert after the fact. (Clingers are right up there with cuddlers on my shit list). It's hardly ever about enjoying someone's company that night, it's about making sure they're asses are gone by morning.
On a side note, I plan on writing an instruction guide about it soon : "Boning Etiquette for the Clingy Bitches." We agreed upon all the details pretty easily seeing as it appears that he might just be the male version of me. Strange thought at first but truth be told, Me+ Dick= Better Me. I walk out of the apartment building for a quick drink or three with Rita before I grabbed a cab. I didn't need a drink to calm me down or anything like that. I needed one because I found myself walking down to the CVS, purchasing condoms, wearing a white shirt, shorts, heels, red lipstick, and a fedora. I dodged in as fast as I could upon spotting a cop who I suspected may try and pick me up for 'soliciting.' I'm too pretty for jail.
While walking into the condom isle 6, a pair of two spring breakers approached me. "Yo can I get a picture with you?" They asked repeatedly as if I was a tourist attraction of some sort. "I'm gonna say no" I answered as Rita burst out laughing " I only make exceptions for Asian tourists." I bought the condoms as the Jesus freak behind the counter glared at me. She may have proceeded to cross me as I headed out, but I was half way down the street to my favorite bar before before I got the whole "Jesus will save you bit" If by Jesus she meant the Hispanic cab driver, she was right on the money.
While making my way over to order the biggest glass of Sangria they had, the stares and whistles from the guys walking toward me increased. Before I could put my finger on to exactly why, Rita shouts in my direction, "Elina!!! Shove that fucking CVS bag in your purse, you can see the pack of Trojans through the plastic bag!"..."FML" After this little scene I proceeded to order 2 Sangrias right away much to the waiter's surprise. "Two right away?" he asked looking directly at my nipples "It's an anticipatory order I barked back." This better be a Porkfest I thought to myself as another group of barking guys passed by. "Condoms?!" I huffed at Rita, "Fuck, what I get my tramp stamp for?!" I let out with a smirk.
After hailing a cab and getting to Mr. Miami's place I was slightly buzzed and rather excited even though at this point I could not have looked like more of a hooker to both the cab driver and the security guard at his building. Any other normal person would have been embarrassed. I decided to make the best of things and go along with it, shoving a cigar in my mouth just as I met him. I could have sworn I heard my 60 year old cab driver say a prayer for me as he drove away. If all goes well I'll be speaking to God myself in a little while I concluded.
And it did.
The benefit of screwing the male version of myself:
1) Good, and fun conversation. Particularly about Hockey because that's the equivalent of dirty talk in my world. ( Not always acceptable in these situations, but exceptions were gladly made seeing as neither one of us are dumb as balls)
2) Both of us look exceptionally good in a fedora
3) Smoking and drinking are not only encouraged, rather, required
4) Mr. Miami was able to provide the tie I needed to polish off my outfit. Note to readers: when it's done the right way the tie DOES NOT come off
5) No awkward moments before during or after
6) Absolutely no cuddling
7) A cigarette, more enjoyable and by no means 'deep' conversation. This of course includes a debriefing of the night
8) A fun game of clothes hunting... ( learned the hard way, panties may not always be salvaged)
9) A friendly call to the cab company, no hard feelings
10) A good night's sleep in our respective beds
The night ended on this note: as the elevator doors closed the women over head announces " going down".... hahaha "that's what she said" And the next day I flew out of Miami.
That's how it's done kids: good night, good booze, good conversation, and hot sex. No strings attached, no hard feelings, and lots of material for happy tissue time. And on the bright side I finally found an appropriate home for my favorite nick name of all time. I now pronounce him Thunder Cock!
Karma can be a bitch, so give her a good smack on the ass and tell her to make you a sandwich
1) Genitals Should Have a Shelf Life
Walking down the street on any given night/afternoon I got checked out enough for Rita to take notice and for me to start wondering if my pussy somehow traveled from my crotch area to my forehead in my sleep. That thought was of course a ridiculous one, until the stares from straight men, women, and the gays increased progressively through out the day. This paired with a pitcher of Sangria or some other alcohol under my belt, had me seriously question the Foreheadgina Condition. While sitting at a hookah bar on Lincoln Road, completely plastered; paranoia got the best of me as I waited for Rita to come back from the bathroom. I subconsciously caught myself rubbing my forehead every time someone checked me out, when I caught myself I quickly stopped what I was doing because A) Another 10 minutes of this ritual would make me look like a schizo on the run from the mental institution, and B) If my pussy really did magically appear on my forehead, this incessant rubbing would only make it look like I'm fingering myself. A counter productive action.
Mid-thought I caught a glimpse of Rita hustling back to our table in a fluster. "What's up?" I asked as her disgruntled look turned into uncontrollable laughter.
"It happened again!" She managed to formulate mid-snort. "In a unisex bathroom this time!!!!" I can't control my laughter as I catch on to what she is referring to. Through out the whole stay in Miami, Rita managed to get walked in on a record 6 times in one week. To make matters even better (for me), according to her it was always at the moment when she was just about to pull up her pants leaving her hot pocket out on clear display. How she and I managed to use the same restroom and random guys would only walk in on her and not me puzzled me and made me slightly jealous all at the same time. I made a mental note to myself to undergo a brief training session on how to lock doors back at the apartment later that night. If anyone was going to be showing strangers their love pocket it would be me! And most certainly not by accident.
"Oh and by the way, our waiter kept asking me if you had a boyfriend, he wants to talk to you," she announced in a way forcing me to believe that our waiter was a 13 year old boy who just discovered his first pube. "Did he also give you a note to pass to me?" I mumbled as I looked around for the waiter to get a better look at what I was dealing with.
To my disappointment my gaze shifted to a man that wasn't bad looking in the least for HIS AGE. But Jesus, he must have been pushing 50 over there. I do have a record for only messing around with older men, but he was pushing it big time. I just don't know what I would do with those balls unless Antique Roadshow happened to come to town. Clearly he misread my " I wouldn't fuck you with someone else's punani!" look with one of interest. Needless to say we were forced to switch our hookah place to one where the waiter's balls were not old enough to be collecting dust.
2) Dike Night
While out with our friend Mike and his girlfriend one night, they both got hungry so we decided to check out this Greek place OPA that was recommended to us. They ordered food which looked quite delicious, and I ordered my all time favorite meal replacement: BOOZE. The place itself is loud and upbeat, the waiters and diners end up dancing on the tables before/during/after dinner. Most of the people dancing were fairly young and attractive. I enjoyed watching it and had to keep reminding myself that this was not a strip club and yelling "Take it off bitch!" is probably not appreciated.
However as I was just able to build a baby buzz, a table of middle aged couples decided it was time to hop up and shake what their mama gave them but should have kept to her fucking self! I was about ready to take the shish kabob skewer to my eye ball when Mike nudged me to look back up at the scene taking place right in front of us. The females of the party had luckily gotten the fuck off the table, I say luckily as I noticed one was in fact very pregnant. I wonder if she was that pregnant when she climbed up there in the first place, or if it were her husbands slightly pornographic dance moves that did the trick?
All of that no longer seemed the least bit interesting as I see before me 4 middle aged men grinding up on each other. Ass to crotch, lips to lips. beer belly to beer belly. But before I could even open my mouth to express my disgust the guy getting sandwiched in the middle decided to pretend as if he's going down on his friend to the right all the while laughing as if he was performing at Gay Night at the Apollo. This action triggered a collective gasp from the crowd, and his friend to uncomfortably climb off the bar while protectively grabbing at his genitals.
"Hahahahaha!!! Holy shit! We need to get the fuck out of here!" I announced as I tried to hail the waiter who was still in awe of what had just happened.
"You better show a tit to get him over here!" I announced to Rita seeing as hers is a Shaq handful and mine is a modest yet convenient mouthful. While Rita proceeded to give Mike's girlfriend the apologetic "I'm sorry I forgot Elina's muzzle at home" look my friends know so well, my gaze just happened to catch a woman that was headed for the door. She instantly turned all red, as I kept my gaze on her longer to figure out what the fuck was the matter with her face (a mild case of constipation perhaps?) She then proceeded to smile and wave at me flirtatiously before she exited.
My look of sheer confusion matched that of a Amish boy being exposed to a pussy for the very first time, did she just hit on me? Before I could even mumble those words out loud Mike stammers " Wow, wow did that just happen?" "Huh, yeah I think it did." I answered trying my very best to figure out what about me screams " I enjoy a good pussy!" that night.
I immediately kicked myself for never getting around to printing my "I Love The Cock" t shirt that I wanted to wear in case of these types of emergencies.
However there was no time for regrets now, and we sprinted out of there as middle aged dance freak/ closet homosexual took center stage for an encore performance.
Walking into Aerobar I felt a lot calmer. The crowd was nice and easy on the eyes which was a welcomed relief after the OPA disaster which almost left me with Lamb shish kabob for eyes. I instantly found my place at the bar and befriended the bar tender. I love bartenders and they love me. Not sure why we have such a strong bond no matter where I go, but I would venture to say it's because I admire their craft more than most and consume it like it's my job. This particular bartender slid over a specially made chocolate vodka, as I took my first couple of sips I had to quickly turn away from the Tool that was talking to me at the bar because I think I almost came.
Vodka AND Chocolate! Has someone been reading my diary? The look of sheer pleasure must have sent out some sort of Dike Amber Alert Signal because the girl that was heading in my direction started looking me up and down. I was instantly thrown for a loop because I couldn't understand what this drop dead gorgeous model looking chick was looking at me for. She was kind of thin, maybe she was hungry, fuck do I still smell like Greek food?!
Before I got the chance to ask Rita to take a whiff my way, the girl brushes by me as if to get through. Then all of the sudden I feel her hands rub me from my legs all the way up to my hips and back again. This rub down was then followed by her whispering "Hey baby" in my ear. By the time I coughed up the rest of my chocolate vodka, which does NOT taste the same on the way up mind you, lipstick lezzy disappeared into the crowd.
" HOLLY DIKE BALLS" I finally let out for the whole bar area to hear. Rita and Mike just stood there with their mouths agape at what had just happened. When did I become the Ellen De Generous of the evening?! I'm not even wearing a pant suit for fucks sake!
I marched my way into the bathroom to regroup. As I looked in the mirror I got another awkward wave from a girl standing behind me. "Ok that's it!" I decided, outright annoyed at all the female attention this night brought. I stomped out of the restroom in a huff, laid eyes on the first guy I saw " You'd fuck me right?!" I exclaimed. Baffled, he took a moment and answered, "Well yeah sure I mean yeah, yeah I would. Like uhh right now?" All the while tugging at his belt buckle. "No,no jest making sure. Keep it in your pants cowboy." I quipped as I made my way back to the bar." Feeling slightly better I hauled my ass to the bar, ordered another drink, and declared an end to Dike Night once and for all. Not thatthere's anything wrong with it.
3) If Fedoras Could Talk/The Reason Why I left Miami Walking Funny
What's spring break in Miami without a hot one night stand (up if you like to fuck)? A whole bunch of bored chicks surrounded by blue balls. Not happening under my watch kids, not while I'm still alive and kicking. My inquiry into pursuing this started off from the first night we went out. The first candidate was a model from Milan. Just like most pretty faces I've come on I mean across: dense. But seeing as talking to him was not even on the list of top 5 things I'd want to do with him, it hardly mattered.
As the night progressed of him sitting and staring at me, I felt like I was spending the evening with Helen Keller. Sense of humor is the biggest turn on for me but lack there of can only be looked over if they compensate in other departments. Let's find out! As he pulled me up to dance, I realized how drunk I had gotten that night, and it took me a while to figure out what the fuck he was doing.
Fuck I think he's having a seizure. It took me a whole 2 minutes to figure out that these muscle spasms and sudden head movements were in fact not seizure symptoms but what he considers dance moves. I then proceeded to stop signaling at Rita to call an ambulance and focused back in on Milan. While trying to conform to his retarded chicken dance moves, I was just barely able to dodge one of his arms that came swinging at my head in the nick of time. This alone gave me a rather disturbing look into what being in bed with him would be like. I can't afford to not be able to walk upright for the next week. I have to cut my losses. BYE MILAN!
The next week was followed by almosts and not quites. I was pretty much over the idea until the second to last day of my trip. Enter: Mr. Miami. So, not a complete stranger, but I was willing to bend that rule for a good lay. We talked back and forth and when he threw my own pick up line in my face (Let's fuck!!) I knew this was going to happen. The "How bout a pizza and a fuck?" line was my personal favorite, before I had to start cutting out the carbs. Now I have to watch who I mean what comes in my mouth.
There was some text foreplay, which can only be conducted properly by few, but is a useful skill to have none the less. Then it was all decided, I had plans to hop a cab to his place, instructed to bring my lucky fedora and cigar. Done and done! My impeccable fuck buddy etiquette is considered above par and appreciated by most. There are very specific rules that must be followed in order for both parties to bang to their hearts desire without the fear of a clinger alert after the fact. (Clingers are right up there with cuddlers on my shit list). It's hardly ever about enjoying someone's company that night, it's about making sure they're asses are gone by morning.
On a side note, I plan on writing an instruction guide about it soon : "Boning Etiquette for the Clingy Bitches." We agreed upon all the details pretty easily seeing as it appears that he might just be the male version of me. Strange thought at first but truth be told, Me+ Dick= Better Me. I walk out of the apartment building for a quick drink or three with Rita before I grabbed a cab. I didn't need a drink to calm me down or anything like that. I needed one because I found myself walking down to the CVS, purchasing condoms, wearing a white shirt, shorts, heels, red lipstick, and a fedora. I dodged in as fast as I could upon spotting a cop who I suspected may try and pick me up for 'soliciting.' I'm too pretty for jail.
While walking into the condom isle 6, a pair of two spring breakers approached me. "Yo can I get a picture with you?" They asked repeatedly as if I was a tourist attraction of some sort. "I'm gonna say no" I answered as Rita burst out laughing " I only make exceptions for Asian tourists." I bought the condoms as the Jesus freak behind the counter glared at me. She may have proceeded to cross me as I headed out, but I was half way down the street to my favorite bar before before I got the whole "Jesus will save you bit" If by Jesus she meant the Hispanic cab driver, she was right on the money.
While making my way over to order the biggest glass of Sangria they had, the stares and whistles from the guys walking toward me increased. Before I could put my finger on to exactly why, Rita shouts in my direction, "Elina!!! Shove that fucking CVS bag in your purse, you can see the pack of Trojans through the plastic bag!"..."FML" After this little scene I proceeded to order 2 Sangrias right away much to the waiter's surprise. "Two right away?" he asked looking directly at my nipples "It's an anticipatory order I barked back." This better be a Porkfest I thought to myself as another group of barking guys passed by. "Condoms?!" I huffed at Rita, "Fuck, what I get my tramp stamp for?!" I let out with a smirk.
After hailing a cab and getting to Mr. Miami's place I was slightly buzzed and rather excited even though at this point I could not have looked like more of a hooker to both the cab driver and the security guard at his building. Any other normal person would have been embarrassed. I decided to make the best of things and go along with it, shoving a cigar in my mouth just as I met him. I could have sworn I heard my 60 year old cab driver say a prayer for me as he drove away. If all goes well I'll be speaking to God myself in a little while I concluded.
And it did.
The benefit of screwing the male version of myself:
1) Good, and fun conversation. Particularly about Hockey because that's the equivalent of dirty talk in my world. ( Not always acceptable in these situations, but exceptions were gladly made seeing as neither one of us are dumb as balls)
2) Both of us look exceptionally good in a fedora
3) Smoking and drinking are not only encouraged, rather, required
4) Mr. Miami was able to provide the tie I needed to polish off my outfit. Note to readers: when it's done the right way the tie DOES NOT come off
5) No awkward moments before during or after
6) Absolutely no cuddling
7) A cigarette, more enjoyable and by no means 'deep' conversation. This of course includes a debriefing of the night
8) A fun game of clothes hunting... ( learned the hard way, panties may not always be salvaged)
9) A friendly call to the cab company, no hard feelings
10) A good night's sleep in our respective beds
The night ended on this note: as the elevator doors closed the women over head announces " going down".... hahaha "that's what she said" And the next day I flew out of Miami.
That's how it's done kids: good night, good booze, good conversation, and hot sex. No strings attached, no hard feelings, and lots of material for happy tissue time. And on the bright side I finally found an appropriate home for my favorite nick name of all time. I now pronounce him Thunder Cock!
