Second Coming

I know. I know. I still love you though. That hasn't changed one bit.

So what better way to try and jump back on that blog swing than with a tale of me being completely clueless and lost, stumbling around in the strange land known as The Ladies.

Picture it, Sicily, 1941. I had performed a minor miracle. Not only did I manage to meet a smokin' hot female (a real one) without accidentally insulting her or referring to her as some kind of cut of meat, but I somehow charmed her with my spaceman looks and involuntary Christopher Walken impression.

Oh she was quite the fetching lass. A stone cold fox, if you will. An intoxicating mix of slender beauty and coquettish charm.Oh yeah and a sweet set of tits. I mean that cleavage was speaking to me. It was saying "Hey Ryan. What's goin' on? Oh yeah? No I didn't know you sky dive and hunt Elk. At the same time? Wow that's amazing. You should put your nose in me."

At some point we wound up on a bed, making the fuck out. Clothes started to be discarded. Hands started to roam, and as I didn't notice any wincing or gagging at the sight of my lush body hair, my confidence rose along with my wang. It was even more rad than it sounds.

Now in a situation like this my hands always gravitate towards the buttocks. Asses are the best. You all know this. A brilliant man once said,

"When God made the arse, he didn't say, 'Hey, it's just your basic hinge, let's knock off early.' He said, 'Behold ye angels, I have created the arse. Throughout the ages to come, men and women shall grab hold of these, and shout my name.'"

And grab that arse I did, voraciously and with great aplomb.

During my grabbings though I felt something. On one of her excellent buttocks I felt some kind of plastic. I believe it was in a squarish shape. What on earth? Oh dear. This poor girl had bought some new clothing obviously and one of the stickers from it unknowingly attached itself to her cheek. I better tell her so she doesn't get too embarrassed.

Me - "You have a sticker on your ass."
Her - "What?"
Me - "There's a sticker on your butt."
Her - "Um, that's my birth control, genius."

I probably should have realized that no clothes really have small stickers on them really, and even if they did, it would take quite an amazing journey by the sticker to wind up planted on someones ass cheek. Whatever. There was a naked girl touching me. I can't be expected to think or use reason at a time like that.

So there it is. I'm glad I can still stretch out a 15 second story into a long and meandering blog post. I know I have one more in me for this week.