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Tell Me a Story
Shorty
touching the meatIntergalactic Cool CourtRegistered User regular
touching the meatIntergalactic Cool CourtRegistered User regular
I probably met a porn star once.
This was while I was a register biscuit at a used bookstore: I was at said register when a strikingly familiar-looking lady came in and started browsing the science fiction section. I stared at her for a minute or two, wondering where I knew her from; eventually, I realized I was having a hard time recognizing her because I'd never seen her with clothes on. Obviously, the next step was to talk to her.
This presented some difficulties.
First, I couldn't be sure of who she was without asking her. And how, pray, does one ask that question? It's not like I can just walk up and say, “Excuse me, but have you ever taken a dick on film?” There's no precedent for this; normally, when you think you recognize someone, it isn't because you once saw a video of them getting nailed against a van by some blowjob wearing a pair of Newbalance sneakers and a Kanji ass tattoo.
Second, any compliment or statement is suddenly pregnant with implied filth. She knows exactly what I've seen her do; she knows I've seen her butthole, for fuck's sake. I imagine, then, that anything I could ever say to her would have this raw sexual subtext where even the most mundane and innocuous phrases suddenly become the most suggestive phrases imaginable. Observe:
“I really like your work,”...especially the way you work the undercarriage.
“You're a very pretty lady,”...when you're getting pounded.
“I'm a big fan,”...of your vagina.
Ultimately, I decided that conversation was out of the question.
So I just asked her if she needed help finding anything.
Turns out, she didn't.
That's a story. Now you tell one.
This was while I was a register biscuit at a used bookstore: I was at said register when a strikingly familiar-looking lady came in and started browsing the science fiction section. I stared at her for a minute or two, wondering where I knew her from; eventually, I realized I was having a hard time recognizing her because I'd never seen her with clothes on. Obviously, the next step was to talk to her.
This presented some difficulties.
First, I couldn't be sure of who she was without asking her. And how, pray, does one ask that question? It's not like I can just walk up and say, “Excuse me, but have you ever taken a dick on film?” There's no precedent for this; normally, when you think you recognize someone, it isn't because you once saw a video of them getting nailed against a van by some blowjob wearing a pair of Newbalance sneakers and a Kanji ass tattoo.
Second, any compliment or statement is suddenly pregnant with implied filth. She knows exactly what I've seen her do; she knows I've seen her butthole, for fuck's sake. I imagine, then, that anything I could ever say to her would have this raw sexual subtext where even the most mundane and innocuous phrases suddenly become the most suggestive phrases imaginable. Observe:
“I really like your work,”...especially the way you work the undercarriage.
“You're a very pretty lady,”...when you're getting pounded.
“I'm a big fan,”...of your vagina.
Ultimately, I decided that conversation was out of the question.
So I just asked her if she needed help finding anything.
Turns out, she didn't.
That's a story. Now you tell one.
Shorty on
+21
Posts
Yeah.
that's a pitch
now throw it
unless she was one of those classy 70s broads
Eventually most of them got bored, but one girl, Andrea, was just wearing me out. Eventually I noticed that she said something in English (turns out her foster mom is Canadian), so I take the opportunity to tell her to go chase TJ instead.
Well, it only takes her a few minutes to wander back and turn to her and tell her that I'm too tired, she should chase TJ for a while.
She grabs my jacket and pulls me down to her eye level. She grabs my cheeks and pulls my face right up to hers. She stares me right in the eye and says
"You're not tired, you're just lazy"
She was right.
She wanted nothing more than to play house the whole time. She'd take some domestic scenario (dinner time, bed time, getting ready for school), and she'd play the daughter and have me play the daddy. She even took to calling me "daddy", which was kinda weird seeing as how I was just 21 at the time. Andrea's mom was a single lady, so she'd never had a father. I guess she just wanted to pretend for an evening, see what it was like. Really, it kinda weirded me out, the lengths she went to, but I already learned earlier that I couldn't say "no" to that face.
Andrea didn't know she had been adopted. All she knew was that she had a mommy who loved her very, very much.
who was she
apparently, she's from around here
I'd probably end up saying something that sounds really rude
well now this is just ridiculous because Gianna never- I mean, uh, I certainly don't know these details off the top of my head, no
at band camp
i learned what a glockenspiel is
Yes I had this same reaction, GG
It's worth noting that before I deleted all my porn I'm pretty sure I think I had nearly every Gianna scene she ever did.
... Look shut up.
I set that trap on purpose but I was expecting Mori to spring it
how delightfully unexpected
That's a story. One time I won an award for telling stories. It was pretty cool?
"Um excuse me but she only ever did ONE anal scene thank you very much" pushes glasses up nose, wipes sweaty brow
MODS!?!?
Whoa whoa whoa
Whoa
when he said he was getting a fifty gigabyte hard drive, I said, "that is absurd. what possible use could you have for that much space?"
"There are ninety terabytes of pornography on the internet and I need space for all of it."
There came a point where I was literally downloading porn just to add it to my collection
Like it was still porn I liked, but I wasn't gonna watch it
I tried to delete a bunch but eventually I was just like 'aww, fuck this' and just deleted all of it.
you're a monster
I'm a big ol' fan of oral traditions and mythology and storytelling and all that, so I leap on this, say we're going to do it, and forget it in favor of all the other plays we're working on. The week of, my co-conspirator of the drama club and I realize we need to find judges, so we scramble everything together and host a pretty banging StorySlam. I end up co-hosting the event, because we realize there have to be hosts for this sort of thing, and I guess do a good job, as myself and my co-host are invited to host the state finals as well. It goes well, and I strike up a pretty good relationship with the woman in charge of the program, who repeatedly tries to get me to join the board of directors (I never was able to get the timing right to do so, and then I moved to Chicago).
Now I told you that story so I could tell you this one. A year later, I'm still living in the area, and as this was one of my pet projects, I came back to watch it happen. My plan was to just kind of sneak in the back door and watch, but things did not go according to plan. My successors were about as unprepared for this thing as I had been, and as a result, needed a lot of help throwing stuff together. I did so. We found judges, set up the stage, and so on, but the contestant list kind of sucked. I was asked, as a favor, to join in.
I didn't have a story prepared for the theme, Fire and Ice, so I just kind of sat there and winged it with a story about the time I fell through the ice while skating on a lake. Which won. Which put me to states for collegiate level, where I had been hosting the year before, even though I wasn't technically even in college anymore. I knew my story sucked, so I didn't bother working on it anymore on the way to states, and figured every match needs a loser.
As I'm sitting at the state competition with my friends, watching everything go down, I start judging the quality of stories and the feelings of the crowd. You see, the thing is, I had a better story that fit the theme. I'd lit myself on fire for a girl. That is a really good story. Of course, at the college qualifier, a good ninety percent of people there had heard it, so I just skipped it over in favor of the ice story, because I'd rather tell something new than something played out. At the finals though, the only people who knew the story were the three that had come with me.
The main problem with the story was that it was a bawdy one, and depending on the age and uptight New England-ness of the judges, it could potentially go over poorly. It is a story of underage drinking, reckless endangerment, and pure, unmitigated stupidity. But other people starting telling similar stories, and, at that, scored fairly well for them.
So I told it.
And then, somehow, I won.
Maybe later I'll tell it here. There's a thread about it, in a purer form, if you really want to know.
Holy shit how is this even physically possible.
I would've approved.
The end
http://www.audioentropy.com/
Now I can't be certain but it MIGHT have been filled with moriveth's old porn?
that's what I was going to ask, WAKKA WAKKA
http://www.audioentropy.com/
ALL OF THEM.
It was also right after I had made another thread so I felt I'd be on the razor's edge of it getting locked regardless of the content.
man self-loathing weeping while hiding in cars is like my thing
I don't really have anything inspiring to say about it, just that I've done literally that thing more than once more for the same reasons
I don't wanna say "don't feel bad about it" because feeling bad is kind of inextricably intertwined with the whole thing but just realize you aren't singularly or uniquely pathetic because of it
http://www.audioentropy.com/