: d ng g l-b r :
In a sea of yellow faces, she was the only one with cute plastic framed glasses. So I met her, bought her (and her 9 friends) a drink and fingered her. There we stood by the bar, conversing with her friends, my left hand holding my drink, my right hand up the back of her skirt gliding gently up and down her wetness.
She was young. The kind of young that merits a messenger alias with weird punctuation and unexplored keyboard characters L*kE tH^s!
Via AIM, we met up for drinks a week later on a Wednesday night. She lived an hour south but I figured if pussy awaits, who am I to not oblige. Over dinner she shared a lengthy list of her passions, all which were rooted in the need to rebel against her parents – hidden tattoos behind her ears, dropping out of school, running away to the big city. At that point in the date, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she put on a retainer half way through dinner. She was young but my penis was willing to overlook the colored braces and the potential jail time.
We went back to her “place”, nicely situated above her parents garage. It was cozy. A single bed with a small tv on the side. Elegantly decorated with flat helium balloons and posters of Strawberry Shortcake, My Little Pony and Hello Kitty. I was at the Toys R Us hideaway. We sat on the bed and after checking her MySpace page, she proceeded to pull her 3 foot bong out of the closet. My Dingleberry, she proudly proclaimed, pointing to the monkey sticker on the tube. She pulled out a big baggie and proceeded to ready her tool for action. With my limited smoking experience, I followed her lead and watched in equal parts of awe and amusement as she opened wide, wrapped her lips around the top and sucked so hard the water bubbled like the jets from a spa. I followed and took my hits like a seasoned 420 friendly pro and after a few tokes I was ready to replace the bong with a more suitable device. We kissed and when I moved in for more, she responded with a, “I hardly know you, I don’t do that?” I was baffled. Didn’t we do “that” in the middle of a crowed bar?
So with that I got up and left, got in my car and drove home senses enhanced, lights blurring slightly, brain trying to figure out what the fuck a Dingleberry was. I laughed so hard the next day when I looked it up.
din·gle·ber·ry ( P ) Pronunciation Key (d ng g l-b r )n. Vulgar Slang
- A piece of dried feces caught in the hair around the anus.
In a sea of yellow faces, she was the only one with cute plastic framed glasses. So I met her, bought her (and her 9 friends) a drink and fingered her. There we stood by the bar, conversing with her friends, my left hand holding my drink, my right hand up the back of her skirt gliding gently up and down her wetness.
She was young. The kind of young that merits a messenger alias with weird punctuation and unexplored keyboard characters L*kE tH^s!
Via AIM, we met up for drinks a week later on a Wednesday night. She lived an hour south but I figured if pussy awaits, who am I to not oblige. Over dinner she shared a lengthy list of her passions, all which were rooted in the need to rebel against her parents – hidden tattoos behind her ears, dropping out of school, running away to the big city. At that point in the date, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she put on a retainer half way through dinner. She was young but my penis was willing to overlook the colored braces and the potential jail time.
We went back to her “place”, nicely situated above her parents garage. It was cozy. A single bed with a small tv on the side. Elegantly decorated with flat helium balloons and posters of Strawberry Shortcake, My Little Pony and Hello Kitty. I was at the Toys R Us hideaway. We sat on the bed and after checking her MySpace page, she proceeded to pull her 3 foot bong out of the closet. My Dingleberry, she proudly proclaimed, pointing to the monkey sticker on the tube. She pulled out a big baggie and proceeded to ready her tool for action. With my limited smoking experience, I followed her lead and watched in equal parts of awe and amusement as she opened wide, wrapped her lips around the top and sucked so hard the water bubbled like the jets from a spa. I followed and took my hits like a seasoned 420 friendly pro and after a few tokes I was ready to replace the bong with a more suitable device. We kissed and when I moved in for more, she responded with a, “I hardly know you, I don’t do that?” I was baffled. Didn’t we do “that” in the middle of a crowed bar?
So with that I got up and left, got in my car and drove home senses enhanced, lights blurring slightly, brain trying to figure out what the fuck a Dingleberry was. I laughed so hard the next day when I looked it up.
din·gle·ber·ry ( P ) Pronunciation Key (d ng g l-b r )n. Vulgar Slang
- A piece of dried feces caught in the hair around the anus.
posted by behindtheyellowcurtain at 1:04 AM
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