There's not much to be said when someone's sitting on your head.
Plenty to be mumbled.
As long as I have a face you'll always have somewhere to sit!
Read that on a T-shirt in the back of a biker magazine I flipped through when of tender years. My mind boggled and imagination blew cylinders trying to create for me exactly what that might be like.
To want to have your face sat upon. That bit I pretty much dealt with by comparing it to my constant craving for sucrose.
To have your face sat upon. This bit was more tricky as I really had no idea how it might work.
As the years passed, things became clearer until that wonderful day when some athletic young gal leapt, did a back-flip and landed on my face. There was grinding of her crotch on my jack-hammering tongue and lips.
I felt like a man, like a badass, hairy, smelly and moist, manly biker chap, man, in that special way that you only can when your face has been used for a saddle.
In the morning I went down stairs to squeeze some gooseberries for two refreshing drinks for the parties involved. I unexpectedly ran into Father. I was smiling. I couldn't help it.
He: Morning young Bruce. How are you?
Me: O, absolutely fine father.
He: Really? Glad to hear it. Did you sleep well? You'll need to be well rested for your thirteenth birthday party later!
Me: O, I slept absolutely fine father.
He: Really? It sounded to your Mother and I that you had a very disturbed night.
Me: O, not at all Father.
He: Good. Two glasses of juice?
Me: O, yes. I could not find one large glass so two smaller ones had to suffice.
He: (with raised eyebrow) Really? Bruce...
Me: Yes Father?
He: ..you appear to have something in your teeth. Here, let me get it for you...
There was nothing I could do as both my hands were full and so I stood there and smiled as my Father pulled one very long and dark and unmistakably pubic hair from between my front teeth.
My smile was fixed as his brow furrowed and then his eyes opened very wide for a brief second and then he smiled. He let the hair drop into the sink and then he gave my cheek a paternal slap and turned to the door of the kitchen to leave. As he departed he stopped, turned and said:
He: Are you at all hungry Bruce, or did you eat enough last night?
I stood there smiling inanely as he left and then ran very quickly upstairs.
Me: Kerist! Gezelda, you'll never guess what just happened?!
We were young, it was fun.
Plenty to be mumbled.
As long as I have a face you'll always have somewhere to sit!
Read that on a T-shirt in the back of a biker magazine I flipped through when of tender years. My mind boggled and imagination blew cylinders trying to create for me exactly what that might be like.
To want to have your face sat upon. That bit I pretty much dealt with by comparing it to my constant craving for sucrose.
To have your face sat upon. This bit was more tricky as I really had no idea how it might work.
As the years passed, things became clearer until that wonderful day when some athletic young gal leapt, did a back-flip and landed on my face. There was grinding of her crotch on my jack-hammering tongue and lips.
I felt like a man, like a badass, hairy, smelly and moist, manly biker chap, man, in that special way that you only can when your face has been used for a saddle.
In the morning I went down stairs to squeeze some gooseberries for two refreshing drinks for the parties involved. I unexpectedly ran into Father. I was smiling. I couldn't help it.
He: Morning young Bruce. How are you?
Me: O, absolutely fine father.
He: Really? Glad to hear it. Did you sleep well? You'll need to be well rested for your thirteenth birthday party later!
Me: O, I slept absolutely fine father.
He: Really? It sounded to your Mother and I that you had a very disturbed night.
Me: O, not at all Father.
He: Good. Two glasses of juice?
Me: O, yes. I could not find one large glass so two smaller ones had to suffice.
He: (with raised eyebrow) Really? Bruce...
Me: Yes Father?
He: ..you appear to have something in your teeth. Here, let me get it for you...
There was nothing I could do as both my hands were full and so I stood there and smiled as my Father pulled one very long and dark and unmistakably pubic hair from between my front teeth.
My smile was fixed as his brow furrowed and then his eyes opened very wide for a brief second and then he smiled. He let the hair drop into the sink and then he gave my cheek a paternal slap and turned to the door of the kitchen to leave. As he departed he stopped, turned and said:
He: Are you at all hungry Bruce, or did you eat enough last night?
I stood there smiling inanely as he left and then ran very quickly upstairs.
Me: Kerist! Gezelda, you'll never guess what just happened?!
We were young, it was fun.
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