Crash, crash, Boom!

Today, I had to sit next to a man that I used to have foolhardy relations with and explain why it was that I was not going this weekend.

I wished I had worn panties under the miniskirt.

I hadn’t wanted to relive those venturesome experiences with him, it was just too hot for unnecessary fabrics.

So after he gave me a thorough tongue lashing, we played the “Remember When?” game.

I kept my legs crossed and the music pulsing through the place kept my legs rocking in time. The friction stimulating, imagination wild, I had to recite the alphabet backwards…

Z, X, Y, W…

“Remember when you were thrown out of Sullivan’s for throwing punches because the girl trying to fuck Chris thought Vonnegut was a constellation?”

V, U, T, S…

“Remember posing for our realism class and all of the men concentrated on your wetness pooling on the stool?”

R, Q, P, O, N…

“Remember when we fucked on stage back when The ‘Kids were all together?”

M, L, J… Shit, M, L, K, J, I, H

“Remember when John tore your shirt off trying to pull us apart because we were making too much of a scene during our last art show together?”

G, F, E, Goddamnitfuckwhoretwat, D…

“Remember my Bronco?”

Summabitchalmostthere C! B! A!

Yeah, I remember.

I’m still canceling the event for this weekend, but I remember.