The "A-O.K." J
I know, I just chronicled the tale of the TMNTJ a few days ago. Normally I don't go throwing J stories around all willy-nilly, but last night something happened that just depressed the hell out of me.
I bring a lovely lady back from the bar. Nothing crazy happened while I was out, just a normal night with some buds, drinking buds. I spit game pretty hard on this dame and she responded favorably. We walk to Gumby's Pizza and get some pepperoni rolls. She tried saying she was on a diet and gave up meat for lent. I was having none of that and forced a few pepp rolls down her neck. She had no choice in the matter. When we get back to my place, I realize that my roommates had drank all of my beer and were passed out on my couch. This ruined any chance of post-bar game-spitting in my living room. So we wander on over to my neighbor's place where I find a bottle of Pinnacle in the freezer. Jackpot. I replace the bottle with 13 spare dollars I have I my pocket so they don't get too pissed. I have done this before. We hang out in their living room and work on their bottle for about an hour. I show her how much I can drink. She is impressed. Smittened even.
The bottle gets polished off and we move the post-game to my bed room. Immediately things get hot and heavy. Her top pops off, my crotch gets grabbed, oh baby. As she thrashes off my pants and takes hold of my member, I noticed a slight decline in aggressiveness. Now, sometimes this can be a good thing. It could just be the calm before the inevitable fuck storm . But not this time. The broad begins to jerk me with the amount of enthusiasm Ben Stein would have giving a eulogy. And when I look down to see exactly what's going on down there, I see the most depressing sight I have ever encountered during foreplay. She is giving me the "A-O.K." J. If you can't already picture exactly what this is, she has her pointer finer connected to her thumb, and the other three fingers out, giving an "A-O.K." sign as she's jerking my wang piece. Like I have the dick of a God damn pre-teen or some shit. Now, I don't claim to be Dirk mother-fucking Diggler or anything. I'm a white, Irish, Catholic. It's both my gift and my curse. But I'm big enough for toots to take a hand-full.
This completely turned me off. I let her work the pump for a few minutes before I finally told her I had enough and that it would probably be best that she go. She was angry, confused, and suffering from a massive case of blue-vag(see Delco Dictionary). I suppose that I can now understand why she took the glass of water I had brought to bed and smashed it against my wall. Fair is fair.
The moral of this story, ladies: Gentlemen of Delaware County may not be packing the most heat, but be a good sport about it. Take a hand-full at least.
-Buddy McWeiser
I bring a lovely lady back from the bar. Nothing crazy happened while I was out, just a normal night with some buds, drinking buds. I spit game pretty hard on this dame and she responded favorably. We walk to Gumby's Pizza and get some pepperoni rolls. She tried saying she was on a diet and gave up meat for lent. I was having none of that and forced a few pepp rolls down her neck. She had no choice in the matter. When we get back to my place, I realize that my roommates had drank all of my beer and were passed out on my couch. This ruined any chance of post-bar game-spitting in my living room. So we wander on over to my neighbor's place where I find a bottle of Pinnacle in the freezer. Jackpot. I replace the bottle with 13 spare dollars I have I my pocket so they don't get too pissed. I have done this before. We hang out in their living room and work on their bottle for about an hour. I show her how much I can drink. She is impressed. Smittened even.
The bottle gets polished off and we move the post-game to my bed room. Immediately things get hot and heavy. Her top pops off, my crotch gets grabbed, oh baby. As she thrashes off my pants and takes hold of my member, I noticed a slight decline in aggressiveness. Now, sometimes this can be a good thing. It could just be the calm before the inevitable fuck storm . But not this time. The broad begins to jerk me with the amount of enthusiasm Ben Stein would have giving a eulogy. And when I look down to see exactly what's going on down there, I see the most depressing sight I have ever encountered during foreplay. She is giving me the "A-O.K." J. If you can't already picture exactly what this is, she has her pointer finer connected to her thumb, and the other three fingers out, giving an "A-O.K." sign as she's jerking my wang piece. Like I have the dick of a God damn pre-teen or some shit. Now, I don't claim to be Dirk mother-fucking Diggler or anything. I'm a white, Irish, Catholic. It's both my gift and my curse. But I'm big enough for toots to take a hand-full.
This completely turned me off. I let her work the pump for a few minutes before I finally told her I had enough and that it would probably be best that she go. She was angry, confused, and suffering from a massive case of blue-vag(see Delco Dictionary). I suppose that I can now understand why she took the glass of water I had brought to bed and smashed it against my wall. Fair is fair.
The moral of this story, ladies: Gentlemen of Delaware County may not be packing the most heat, but be a good sport about it. Take a hand-full at least.
-Buddy McWeiser