Haze (Instalment I)
So needless to say, there are some things in life that only a few deserved souls can know. I have never been one of them. And I don’t anticipate an eminent change. In the room cattycorner to mine, George Sr. is heard faintly addressing the state of the Union. Though I couldn’t quite make it out, pathetic was the obvious conclusion.
Now most normal aborigines would be out dancing, drinking, and not inhaling various clouds of smoke on a Friday night. But instead we sat holding hands in a small semi-circle with someone who should have been a beauty at our focus.
“No parties while we’re gone,” I seem to remember dimly. This couldn’t count though. It wasn’t quite the same. There were no bodies shaking, and there was no pumping music. Something that sounded like an Enya reject was filling the air and we just sat there. Staring.
For the past two hours actually, that’s all we had done. Kinda looked like a band of displaced hippies had finally found refuge from the misery. Maybe we had. All eyes were centered towards the half naked freshman on display. Centered, though not focused.
For me it was typical. It seems that regardless of how drunk you get these chicks they never agree to separate from their damn panties. Even if I tried, I couldn’t tell you how many times I had a hot, glistening number wiggling and giggling in my arms to only have her smack me and cuss me a hundredth of a second away from “all the way.” And I’ve seen runners win the gold with that much of a lead. Well all I ever get is red.
Jim sat up now and shifted a bit making his toes peak out from under the cuff of his bellbottoms. He undid his shirt earlier and the sweat was just beading sweet on his chest. Jim’s one of those guys that can brag. Tight lines. Abs rippling with each breath. An exhibitionist at heart. Part of me, of course, is disgusted. The other part just wants to let go of these clammy hands and walk over rubbing mine all over those two sweaty rocks.
Must be too fucking hot. I’d get up to turn on the air but that would ruin a good half hour’s worth of stern concentration. Especially now that someone’s mumbling something about “seeing it.” I thought I could see it too. But that was a while ago. It didn’t take long to realize, it was just light bouncing off smoke from incense that was burning my nose.
Once I had gotten past not seeing it, I shifted my gaze a little lower. Sure the breasts were nice. Underdeveloped, but still plump and round. What really got me going were those sweet rolls hanging stage center. What was it they say to get the curtain pulled?
(Keep reading.)
Now most normal aborigines would be out dancing, drinking, and not inhaling various clouds of smoke on a Friday night. But instead we sat holding hands in a small semi-circle with someone who should have been a beauty at our focus.
“No parties while we’re gone,” I seem to remember dimly. This couldn’t count though. It wasn’t quite the same. There were no bodies shaking, and there was no pumping music. Something that sounded like an Enya reject was filling the air and we just sat there. Staring.
For the past two hours actually, that’s all we had done. Kinda looked like a band of displaced hippies had finally found refuge from the misery. Maybe we had. All eyes were centered towards the half naked freshman on display. Centered, though not focused.
For me it was typical. It seems that regardless of how drunk you get these chicks they never agree to separate from their damn panties. Even if I tried, I couldn’t tell you how many times I had a hot, glistening number wiggling and giggling in my arms to only have her smack me and cuss me a hundredth of a second away from “all the way.” And I’ve seen runners win the gold with that much of a lead. Well all I ever get is red.
Jim sat up now and shifted a bit making his toes peak out from under the cuff of his bellbottoms. He undid his shirt earlier and the sweat was just beading sweet on his chest. Jim’s one of those guys that can brag. Tight lines. Abs rippling with each breath. An exhibitionist at heart. Part of me, of course, is disgusted. The other part just wants to let go of these clammy hands and walk over rubbing mine all over those two sweaty rocks.
Must be too fucking hot. I’d get up to turn on the air but that would ruin a good half hour’s worth of stern concentration. Especially now that someone’s mumbling something about “seeing it.” I thought I could see it too. But that was a while ago. It didn’t take long to realize, it was just light bouncing off smoke from incense that was burning my nose.
Once I had gotten past not seeing it, I shifted my gaze a little lower. Sure the breasts were nice. Underdeveloped, but still plump and round. What really got me going were those sweet rolls hanging stage center. What was it they say to get the curtain pulled?
(Keep reading.)
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