||[Jul. 28th, 2006|02:13 pm]
Whole lotta labia.
Goddamn I love this kid.|
So my little brother, a sound engineer for a popular local musical group (that being why he was working in a hotel), sends me this mail just now. He is, just so you know, charming, funny, well behaved, and not at all a hormonally charged asshole. He just comes off that way. And he'd never hump a counter. I think. I just... I think his sense of humor is always good for a read.. so here you go.
This is lengthy, but worth a close read. Top of my head, all true (almost):
I worked tonight, at a hotel where I'd been working two weeks ago. I had left some materials behind last time, and was eager to retrieve them when I arrived there early this evening. I approached the front desk and asked the extremely beautiful young woman working behind said desk where I might be able to find those things...that...are round and...fleshy....what? Dear God. Yes, I asked her where to find my stuff, and she told me to check this storeroom in the service area of the hotel. I found the stuff, and as I walked past the front desk and out to my car I thanked the girl for her help. She smiled at me, and I approached her to say simply "You look lovely...truly beautiful." "Thanks,” she said blushing, “That just made my day!" I smiled, walked away slowly but steadily, vowed to myself to return with a simple, devious plan to obtain her phone number, and tried desperately to control the mammoth boner overtaking my nether region. She saw it, I think. Not sure. Minimal chance, since it's probably not as big as I think it is. I'm kidding, I'm hung like a horse. She saw it.
I stood by the van door after having loaded my stuff in the back (and loaded stuff in my pants...wait, you're a girl...that's probably really gross to you), and thought I might open the front and grab one quick cigarette before returning inside...a pre-victory burn, if you will. I pulled open the driver's side door quickly, ready for a few puffs when *BAM*, the door edge smacks right into my forehead. "Great," I moaned, wondering what this bump was going to look like in a few mintues, and whether it might actually be OK, especially since it a) makes for a cute and effective sympathy-play and b) diverts atttention from the mammoth boner thingy. Whatever. I looked in the mirror, and was horrified to see a nasty (but *sweet*) gash a couple of inches above my eye, spilling blood into my eyebrow and making for this really awesome "millisecond-mind-theater" in which I envisioned myself as Frankenstein's monster and women shrieking in despair. It was awesome.
Of course, I still had to deal with the current sit-rep:
-blood spilling into eye from one-inch bump-gash in forehead
-pain, and some sweat forming on forehead
-big bulge in short pants
-hot girl about to see all of this
I grabbed my spare shirt and mopped the pool of blood that had seeped into my eyebrow hair (I can't mention enough how cool that looked...I was like fucking EVIL incarnate...for like 10 seconds, anyway), and headed back to the hotel. I headed first for the bathroom, hoping to cleanse the wound a little and not show up in front of this girl looking like a completely different person (who happened to have just been hit in the head with a 2'x4'). In the bathroom I was talking to this guy while washing my head, and when he turned on the water to wash his hands it burned his skin...scalding hot, for some reason. This guy was just talking to me, telling me this story about getting a new driver's license so he could ride (not drive?) down here from NYC and see his friend do stand-up comedy, but he got the license so he could get into the club and "they didn't even card me, dude! WOW WOAH HOT HOT HOT WATER FUCKING SHIT!!!" he screamed whilst jumping and waving his arms like a retarded circus monkey. I nearly shit my pants (which would have looked really sweet with my bloody head and obvious erection).
I wished the guy's friend good luck (which was really hard to word, by the way..."Good luck to your friend...I mean you tell him...that...I said...good luck...to you…from me." Something like that...I was feeling a little woozy at this point), and finished cleaning my gash. I used-up all of the paper towels, mustered what little mojo I had left in the tank after being assaulted by my car door and the weird bathroom encounter with Mr. Hot Hands, and headed for the front desk. Dum-da-dum-dum-DUM!
She was still radiant, large-breasted, and smiling like a naughtly Catholic school girl. My glow had diminished greatly, and I was starting to feel nauseus and light-headed, not to mention the fact that I was about to cum all over myself. I stumbled toward the desk and slammed my non-blood-wiping hand down on the counter, drooling on my chin as I spat the words "Band-Aid, NEOSPORIN!!!" Then I began to hump the air like a dog in heat, spraying blood, sweat and semen everywhere as I rocked back and forth in a poetic, erotic dance of ecstasy. Ok, that didn't really happen.
I asked her kindly for a First-Aid kit, and told her that she'd distracted me so much I accidentally bumped my head on the car door. She laughed and said "Lemme see." I pulled the bathroom towels away from my wound and watched her face change from "meh...he's got potential" to "I hope this guy doesn't give me a disease." It sucked. After applying the Band-Aid and Neosporin I returned once more to ask for a backup bandage and her phone number. She smiled less brightly and told me that she has a boyfriend. I laughed and said "After all I've been through, you can't even lie to me?" "I'm sorry," she replied with a sympathetic smile. ... "You bitch," I said. "Take me now," she whispered forcefully. "But you're with someone," I protested. "Not at the moment, lover..."
Imagination is a wonderful thing. Too bad I never really got past the sympathetic smile. Anyway, good story.
Seriously.. I love that kid.