Tuesday, January 10, 2006

A Look Back

Dear Penthouse,

I could hardly believe my luck. There I was, a naive freshman at college and I was about to have mind blowing sex with two gorgeous members of the most popular sorority on campus.

It all began when I walked in to the laundry room and saw these two hot coeds having a soap suds fight. I had never been with a woman before, and even though I'd seen pictures this was as close as I'd ever come to the real thing. As I stood at the door and stared, I felt a stirring in my crotch.

After a few minutes, they noticed me. I tried to reposition my laundry basket to hide my obvious excitement but it didn't work.

"Hey, can I borrow that roll of quarters in your pocket?" said the blonde seductively as she made her way over to me.

"Those...those aren't quarters." I stuttered shyly as I looked down at the floor.

"We'll just see about that." said the other as she reached down between my legs and grabbed..

Erm...sorry...wrong blog.

I must have gotten distracted while I was reminiscing over the last year, and reflecting on how I fared with my 2005 resolutions. Ah the memories.

I took that leap and asked a stranger on a date - and learned first hand that pepper spray makes me cry like a starving infant. I got in shape - if you consider "pear" to be a shape. I made people laugh - though I wish it had been with me not at me.

Good times, my friends. Good times indeed.

Anyway, I'm still embarrassed about the beginning of this post. I'd go back and delete it, but that sounds like work. Would you mind reading this while I go recover?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Secret Agent Man

She'd helped him escape the clutches of the Dr. Dread and together they'd saved the world. Now they found themselves in sumptuous room in a luxurious resort. He stood over her as she lay on the bed, her robe open and barely concealing the nakedness beneath.

"Aren't you going to thank me properly?" she purred.

He knew exactly what she meant.

(Fade to black)

A few hours later, sweaty and exhausted he collapsed on the pillow next to her.

He reached for the pack of cigarettes she kept on the nightstand, shook one out, and lit it. As he reflected on his prowess, he took a deep lungful of smoke and launched headlong into a coughing jag. After fifteen minutes of hacking, he was finally able to to bring himself under control enough to sip from the glass of water she'd proffered.

His eyes still watering, he extinguished the cigarette in a nearby ashtray and laid back down, satisfied that he'd given her exactly what she wanted. He allowed those thoughts - and the sound of his ragged breathing - to lull him to sleep.

She, on the other hand, would have classified his performance as slightly below average. If pressed, she might even have called it horrible.

To begin with, he'd spent the first hour "warming up" as he put it. He took out his calligraphy pen and wrote and re-wrote the letters of the alphabet - taking particular care to master the difficult R's and S's before committing his words to paper.

And the paper? That was another disaster entirely. A truly thoughtful man would have chosen a heavier card stock that showed taste and refinement. Don't even get her started on his hackneyed prose. The memory of it made her shudder.

No, she thought as she dressed and prepared to leave the room - and him - forever, she'd received far better written "Thank You" notes in the past. This one wouldn't even make it into her shoebox of keepsakes.