by Jordan M. Elliott
This tight little virgin still in high school my friends met at the coffee house in the same marketplace as the restaurant where I bussed tables and got slapped on the ass on New Year’s Eve by drunk milfs back when milfs were still called dirty old broads
The night we met I smelled like dirty dishes and smoke, and I stared at her while my stoned friends made jokes far beyond any of our abilities, and my hands were puffed up from being the only busser with the guts to wash dishes while the others bussed tables and played Marilyn Manson on the jambox or traded for lines or bat hits in the bathroom
Our first night out set up together we rode in the back seat of Luke’s clothseat Probe to the Cherokee Drive-Inn, where my first stepfather used to pick up chicks in the seventies, and where I always spent two dollars on Stones to get the room into my vibe, or at least into what I wanted my vibe to be
Luke had aimed his confident sights on her obviously more conventionally pretty best friend, and the friend rode shotgun while my date and I sat in the back and I stared her down, feigning indifference but showing interest
She plunged her mouth onto mine, and we explored our ways over that milestone to the delight of our friends, our tongues and lips carving Erie Canals into each other’s faces
We stumbled into the bar and made a couple hours’ worth of drunk underage hipspeak,
somewhere along the way I realized I would chance being with this one a while
So one night I was with her and two of her friends and one of mine, traveling north on HWY 49 toward Flora, and somebody had to pee so we stopped at the Pocahontas rest stop for her to do that, and I asked my girl to scale the Indian mound with me
We found the right drunken steps enough to reach the top, and there I started making out with her, our heaviest yet, and somehow I made my way to lying on my back and giving her instructions for her first time at the immaculate beej
She stuttered and made excuses until we made contact
After that was golden, pristine, superfraj
Then car horn honkings, honkings,
“We have to go,” she said.
One can find the twin Indian mounds of Pocahontas rest stop if one wishes to do so, but be forewarned: The unfulfilled desire that happens on the twin Indian mounds or burial grounds of the Pocahontas rest stop will remain unfulfilled beyond any living human powers. There will always be a need for that sweet darling to finish the job, and good luck because she usually dies by a saber. You may visit the mounds for support, but you may never revisit your night with the darling.
She bought me the Chumbawamba CD for Christmas, same as her friend gave my friend. There were later blowjobs and infinitely better than the first, but that first time is always the worst, and in this case, the weirdest.
by Jordan M. Elliott once masturbated under a blanket in his seat on an airplane.He also accidentally busted his father and his father's father masturbating, though the two events were separate.