My grandparents are both now in their 80's, and were probably about early to mid 70's when this happened. I, my sister and my cousin were over at her house making sundaes, so we were digging through the pantry for stuff to put on them. Alyssa (the cousin) comes across a bottle of chocolate body paint. Half-empty. We're sitting there reading the back when my grandmother walks in. Alyssa had just gotten to "Heat gently in microwave" and Nanny pipes up with, "It was cold when he put it on me!" and wanders out of the kitchen again. We stare at each other, appalled and mortified. Then, and this sums up much of my sister's personality, she has to ask, "All I want to know is, how do they get it out of all the wrinkles?"
This irrevocably turned me gay, because that was the most appalling mental image of heterosexual sex ever.
I had left the apartment and I forgot my mom had the key and was coming into the city. There was a busted toilet, trash, an assortment of porn in front of the TV, smoke in the air, a tube of ky on the couch and all sorts of other fun time sexual toys. Then she managed to lock herself inside because the doorknob broke. Happy day!
I was content with thinking that my parents only had sex three times in their lives: once for me, and twice for my two sisters. Obviously, this isn't the case, but they aren't supposed to tell me otherwise. Right? So, this one night, my boyfriend was coming to visit, and I wanted to tell my parents a bit about him. I did so, and then they went on a tangent about their own sex lives... You would have to be there to get the full experience, but believe me; it was awkward to hear that my mother 'had sex like a rabbit'.
I was just finished exams and feeling kinda down because my boyfriend had to go back home for the summer. I sat down with my mom and just said "I feel depressed, I don't know what I need" to which my mom replied "Good, hard sex! Where's your boyfriend when you need him?!" My mom is the kinda mom that you just don't talk about these things with. And for her to come out and say that, almost made me cry with embarrassment.
A couple years ago during the spring, one of my buddies bought a house, but it needed a little work done on it before he could move in, so he was staying at his dad's house for a few weeks. His dad's place was quite large and sported a nice big eight-person Jacuzzi on the deck at the rear of the house.
One night my buddy and I were out with a couple of girls when one of them made a drunken comment along the lines of "its sooooo nice out tonight...I could really go for a hot tub right about now." My buddy and I looked at each other with similarly sly grins, and we were all nekkid in his dad's Jacuzzi about 30 minutes later.
Champagne and vodka-imbued libations were passed around and the scene quickly devolved into a game of sexual truth or dare, followed by blatant sexual debauchery. Given the size of the house, we just kind of assumed that my buddy's dad was asleep and oblivious to the entire episode (cue foreshadowing). Long story short, we eventually wore ourselves out, sent the girls home and I decided to crash in one of the guest bedrooms for the night.
The following morning, my buddy woke me up and we went down to the kitchen to get some coffee and laugh about the prior evening. We then went outside to enjoy our caffeine burst and clean up the empty bottles and whatnot from the previous evening. As we walked around the corner of the deck, we saw his dad (a fairly intimidating contractor-cum-Harley-riding-entrepreneur) draining the hot tub with a grumpy look on his face. We continued over anyway and wished him a good morning before he turned to us and growled, "No more group sex in the Jacuzzi, got it? You all kept me up until 4am, and all the chlorine in the world wouldn't get rid of the shit that I found swimming in this thing 20 minutes ago."
We paused for a minute, not sure what we were supposed to do/say, when his dad kinda mumbled, "Some set of titties on that blonde girl though."
Needless to say, we waited until the old man was out of town before scheduling a repeat performance.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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