Well it's the summer time again and we all know what that means: countless hours spent sweating in your underpants in front of a hot LCD monitor, waiting for the new Pam Anderson to hit the Pron servers; or maybe it could mean spending time thinking about the numerous ways that you could change your outward appearance so that the kids at school will like you come September; OR you could be like me and spend your time grinding your meat loaf on an anonymous female's behind, while the angelic coarseness of Buju Banton's voice blares from the Devil's jukebox. This ritual of public and shameless dry-humping under the cover of loud obscene music is known in this culture as partying, a custom that most us Linux users know nothing about... most of us.
Anyway, tonight was the festive celebration of my God-Sister's sweet 16. Ah yes, 16, the year that was I supposed to end it all (virginity)... aah the memories... As I was saying, my God-Sister turned 16 last week and she decided to host a little shindig to kick the year of false adulthood off right. Me being the sweet and loving relative that I am, pounced at the opportunity to attend. I figured it would be a short glimpse into the mirror of time and space where I could see my past looking back at me, and boy does my past look unhappy to see me! I'd be unhappy too, I left it there, to wallow in its own stench.
Now I'm 18, that's two years older than my GS and three years older than most of her friends (and four years in one special case). The average rapist would be in his glee - this is the perfect excuse to grind his man-dangle all over innocent underage ass, but I am not the average rapist... or any rapist for that matter- I felt like an 80's kid in a 90's kid party, and indeed I was. To say the music didn't appeal to me would be a lie, but not being engrossed in the idiocracy did leave my mind open to the reception and realization of what a jackass I am! More on that later.
So I stood there gazing at the field of green mangoes. The fellas, oh the fellas, how they reminded me so much of how I was. Upon looking at my reflection in the puddle of wasted sperm (the guys at the party) I wished that I could find my 15 year-old self and kick the shit out of him for being such a nerd. I mean sure the females weren't the best that St. Swanky had to offer, but there was ass and there was music and you just stood there... against a wall... hoping that the flaking paint would scratch your sodomized little ass. I mean come on! You probably had to have your caca-hole blistered (and liked it) in order to not want to bleed your lizard over all that gyrating ass! Shame on you fellas and shame on you 15 year-old Kevin, you little, shy pussy!!!
I bet by now you're asking "OK Kevin, now that you're 18, why didn't you show the youngsters a thing or two about how a 'big man' handles things". No my friend, not I, I have a reputation to think of. Honestly speaking, I could have broken those girls in two if I got into it too much, that's one point. Second point is that i'm not vertically dry-humping anybody wit the word "Sister" anywhere in her title and thirdly, i'm not going to have my reputation in St. Swanky ruined because I couldn't tame the weasel. I don't want to be known as "the guy who got bodily thrown out of his own relative's party because he just had to rub his magic lamp all over his God-sister's ass". No sir, not I. The girl's father was right there, lurking behind the plants (well he wasn't exactly lurking... and if he was, he's not a very good lurker... I think you'd notice a 6' 4", 220LB man hiding behind a poinsettia flower.) Either way, I wasn't risking having him lunging forth at my meager structure to grind my bones to make his fry bake. So no, no dancing for Kevin.
There was this lively bunch that showed up a little later though. Mmmm... how they remind me of me, yet another memory I'll be wishing that I could beat the living shit out of once I'm old enough. Thanks to one of the guys, I got to experience my mid-teen dream: to see Kartel on Krack Kokaine!! I mean seriously, it reached a point where I was about to get the metal spoon and shove it between his teeth. *That's what you do when somebody's having a seizure* He was dark-skinned, greasy and drinking directly from a 2-liter bottle of red Canning's. You can't get any blacker than that. A good fellow though, added some life and laughs to the festivities. That, in case you were wondering, is my usual party behaviour (sans the complection and the Canning's) I'm usually the center of attention, laughing stock and spirit of the party - me and my boy JB.
There was one thing though, the DJ had a list of a whopping 10 songs!!! WOW!! Excellent!!! I heard the same song about 40 times within the space of an hour. Lady Saw soon became Lady Sore-Throat; I could tell she was done for. That was about the only annoyance.
All in all I'd say the little outing was good. A real eye opener and a flowery trip down memory lane. I sure did wish my girlfriend was there to enjoy it with me... but she had to be a salty catfish and say no...I'll remember that when Glamour rolls around ;)
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