15 November 2011

We'll always have Paris

One of my followers is claiming they met me. That it finally happened and we hit the town one night. This person lives in LA so it wouldn't be that far of a stretch. But unless my drunkn' blackouts have progressed to the point I'm making plans with people and forgetting going there and coming back (I hope I wore a clean smelling shirt and my lucky snakeskin boots) I'm pretty sure it didn't happen. I don't want to call the person on this because it's harmless and it's not worth embarrassing this individual over it, I just need a heads up to my make-believe antics.

I'll play along:

I met Z at Laguna beach, she wore black striped high heels and beautiful black eyes that saw the white of a man's soul. She smelled of cherries, ripe peaches and a previous man's broken heart, it gave me a knot in my throat. I opened the car door for her and stopped dead in my tracks when her hair passed my face. We we talked all night and afterward she insisted we skip drinks and go to a Motel 6. I made love to her til my homosexuality fell outta me.

If she's playing the gay boy angle, I can do that too:

I met Z at a Laguna Beach truck stop frequented by truckers, she wore black striped high heels, like the ones I took back because they made my calves look hefty. She smelled like a fruit salad and I had the trucker man I just swallowed stuck in my throat. I opened the car door for her and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw trucker #5. We gaggled all night and she went home when she had too many Shirley Temples. I went back for more trucker spunk and I swear when trucker #6 pounded my ass, it was deep enough to push the gay outta my mouth.


  1. I can't help it, I'm all about the romance.

  2. there is something wrong with me
    I love how both paragraphs ended


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