>
“Chris Turner,” Candace admitted. “He was the most popular dude in school. He was a jock. All the girls wanted him. So, one night I got drunk and let him have it.”
“Just because he was popular?” Jennifer asked.
“Yeah. Of course. Why not? I fucked guys with a lot less than popularity and looks!”
“Oh, god.”
We went back to our food and our drinks. Images of Mandy’s naked body flashed before me.
“My first time was the worst,” Jennifer said, taking a sip of her martini. “All that romantic business went out the door as soon as it went in. God, I can still smell his cologne to this day. It was that peppery musky crap. How did we get on this topic anyhow?”
“The song,” I said. “The stroke me tune. I heard it on my way down here.”
The song I was referring to was Billy Squier’s “The Stroke”—a rocking tune that’s loaded with sexual imagery. It also served as the background music when I lost my virginity.
Stroke me, stroke me/Could be a winner boy you move quite well
Over the years I’ve found that stories of people losing their virginity came in two varieties. The difference usually depends on gender. For women it was usually a so-so encounter and for men—even if it wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be (like in my case)—there was a sense of achievement. Or, at the very least, knowing that you finally did it.
“I crossed over,” a friend told me after he fell into bed with some stranger after a night full of wine coolers and cheap Mexican weed.
I’ve also heard stories of skies breaking, the sun shining sweet sex light on what was up until then an ugly dull life of household chores, high school, and sharing a bedroom with a sister that not only talked too much but farted like a man.
“I hated my life until I got laid,” one of my girlfriends told me. “I hated my parents and my sister. Especially, my sister. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut. And that bitch had rot ass! And she was totally popular, too. The cheerleader. You know that bitch I’m talking about? That bitch. If only people knew how much of a stinky twat she was. I hated her. I still do. Then I got laid! All of a sudden they were of no concern to me. My folks were suddenly invisible. When Kim talked all I saw was her stupid mouth moving. I did my chores in a daze. School was a breeze. My grades even improved. On the weekends me and Danny would hop in his dad’s car and screw. It was cool. He’s dead now. Hunting accident.”
My first time was with a girl named Mandy.
Mandy Quick.
We were in 7th grade.
I told Candace and Jennifer that it happened like a business transaction. It all happened after I accidentally bumped into Mandy at school. We looked at each other, liked what we saw, and made plans to meet at the park. At the time Dolphin shorts were popular. All the girls in the desert were squeezing their bodies into them. I remember looking at the way they hugged Mandy’s girl bits. Tight. Snug. A small mound slowly dipping down.
It was a wonderful sight.
I wanted her.
I wanted in.
But Mandy wasn’t a virgin. She lost her virginity two weeks before to some dude in high school. She was hooked and wanted some more. I was to provide her more. After a few sloppy kisses where she darted her komodo-dragon-like tongue into my mouth we decided to walk to her friend’s house for beer, pot, and a bed. I walked into a roomful of stoners. They were all high school kids wearing black rock band T-shirts. I took a couple of hits from a bong and cracked open a beer. Billy Squier was blasting through the speakers. The pot and beer hit me immediately. I was spinning like a top.
“Let’s go to the room, Reno,” she said.
I followed her down the hall, my stomach fluttering with the knowledge that I was going to get laid.
Put your left foot out, keep it all in place/Work your way right into my face/First you try to bed me you make my backbone slide
We made out some more and then Mandy pulled off her shorts revealing a full-grown pitch-black bush. This posed a small problem. See, by nature I’m not a hairy man. Just not in the follicle cards I guess. I can’t grow a full beard or a thick Pancho Villa moustache and have seen women that have hairier arms than me. So you could imagine how hairless I was in 7th grade. No need for man-scaping here. I don’t even understand that whole dude shaving shit and don’t care to.
So there’s Mandy with her giant muff and there I am with a dash of hair resembling some balding heads I’ve seen through the years. But I wanted to get laid so I mounted her and started moving my hips the way I figured it worked. The problem was that I didn’t know what it was to orgasm. It hadn’t happened by that time. No wet dreams yet. And I didn’t jack off like my friends did. Or like my cousin Johnnie who claimed to beat his dick on a daily basis.
“It’s great, Reno,” he told me once, his ugly scarred face smiling from ear to ear. “You need to try it.”
His face didn’t make it appetizing. Not at all. I don’t know why I didn’t jack off. I think it was because of Jesus. In those years I was still a Christian and was told that dude was always watching my every move and I didn’t want him to see me turning Japanese. I didn’t want to take the chance. It wouldn’t have looked good on my resume.
So I ended up banging poor Mandy for what seemed like three tragic hours. While I pumped away she provided me with a hickey the size of a Red Delicious apple. After we were done I went into the bathroom. That’s when I saw the hickey. My stomach dropped. It was sex-maroon and looked like someone slammed an end of a baseball bat in my neck. It was bad. I was fucked. Literally.
I walked home and went straight to the bathroom and covered the hickey with some of my little sister’s Flintstones Band-Aids. It was a bust. It was over. My mom called me into the kitchen.
“What’s on your neck? She asked, giving me the look that said: You pulled some shit and we’re going to get to the bottom of it now.
“Nothing.”
“Okay, well, you’re lying,” she said looking at the stain on my neck. “So we’ll make this easy. If you ever show up with that bullshit on your neck ever again you’re going to hate your life. I’ll make sure of that. You’re lucky your father is out of town. So go to your room and stay there. And whoever this dirty vampire is you tell her to suck on someone else’s damn neck. Understand? Do you? Good. Bye.”
“That story is hilarious,” Candace said laughing. “A giant 80’s muff! A Red Delicious apple!”
“When was the next time you got some?” Jennifer asked.
“Around two months later. My next door neighbor. Classic butterface. A face maybe a mother could love. Maybe. But her body was built for speed.”
“So you didn’t learn your lesson!”
“No, I did. I just told what’s-her-face no hickeys. I came that time. After that I had it bad.”
Don’t you take no chances, keep your eye on top/Do your fancy dances you can’t stop you just stroke me, stroke me
Eeewwwww, Reno.
I don’t want to know this about you.
My plan is to read it backwards in hopes that I can unlearn it.
Sorry, Irene. It was hysterical to write and foul at the same time. Weird! Cheers!
irene!
did you read it backwards yet? i’m concerned for you. i should have put a disclaimer telling you to stay away from this one because it’s horrible, vile, naughty, sick, violating, ugly, smelly, stony, etc. please forgive me. i blame jesus for this one. i needed saving that day and he wasn’t around. must have been eating lunch. sheesh.
I read it backwards, Reno, and now I cannot recollect a single word.
I don’t know what you’re talking about….
irene:
are you sure you forgot everything? really? you know, irene, the story of your pal losing his virginity to some girl whose last name was QUICK. you really forgot about my giant hickey and billy squier and the pot and the beer? how about the sister who couldn’t stop talking OR farting? wow. that reading stuff backward must work. bye, irene.
lonely is the night,
reno romero
Wait.
I’m having these unpleasant flashbacks.
Must…read…comment…backwards.
irene:
heh. you’re so funny. okay, enough torture. thanks for being a team-player and dealing with my shenanigans. next story: nice and cute, no naughtiness, no nothing but CLEAN prose. okie doke? okay. bye, irene.
yup,
reno
Well, Reno,
At least you’re not writing about sports!
irene:
wait! sex is not a sport? hmmm…
I lost my virginity to “Holiday in Cambodia” by Dead Kennedys blaring in the background on the stereo in the floor of my bedroom. There’s just something about the pre-chorus of “Pol Pot, Pol Pot, Pol Pot” that really makes you climax.
Thanks Jello!
jeffro:
hey, man. well, shit, that blows away billy squier completely. i could just see (and hear) it now: pol pot (uh), pol pot (yeah). now, THAT’S hysterical. thanks for reading and the comment. later, man.
you DO realize that Squier was IN the Dead Kennedys for a while, right?
actually, I don’t think that’ correct. His BAND MATES went on to be in the Dead Kennedys
dwoz:
hey, sir. no, i didn’t realize that billy was in that band. wait! that HIS band mates went on to be in the dead kennedys. musical chairs, right. did you know that lemmy used to play bass for patsy cline? you bet. there are tons of these stories out there. anyhow, happy sunday to you, dwoz. hope all is well out there – where ever you are.
rr
I don’t know. I think you got me beat, even with Billy Squier. I mean, 7th grade. Holy cow. I don’t even think I had hair on my balls in 7th grade. (I was young for my grade. Ha)
Jeffro:
Ha! I BARELY had any ball hair! Trust me it was bad compared to Mandy’s full size sponge. Wild days, bro. thanks again.
Hey Reno, you know what the difference is between Michael Jackson and Billy Squier is, don’t you?
MICHAEL BEATS IT, AND BILLY STROKES IT!!
Sorry bro, just had to add some juvenile fun in there. Damn, Reno, that joke has been the story for much of my life, haha!
Talk with you soon my friend.
lyons:
you know i love juvenile. hell, what was this post? all juvenile. for half a second i wondered if i should write it, but it was prompted by that lunch with those two gals. what was i supposed to do? i came out of that story looking like a incompetent rookie. shit. anyhow, it is what it is. glad you fuckers found your michigan man. lord have mercy, eh?
rr
In some undeserved way, your initiation into a sex life was a strikingly apt metaphor for Billy Squier’s initiation into the music business.
dwoz:
it was. i agree. me and billy run parallel lives. well, that’s what he told me. we used to eat tacos together in LA. this was before his career went to shit after his “rock me tonight” video. i haven’t seen or heard of him since. what an ass.
He was a Boston boy, like me. Berklee too. (but before me). I refuse to believe that the “rock me tonight” video tanked him. It was incredibly funny. Depending on how you interpret it, he was either taking a big piss on himself, expressing solidarity with effeminate gays or making fun of them.
At any rate, he was making fun of SOMEONE. I thought it was daring and unique, and it’s too bad that so many didn’t “get it.”
I never met him personally, though I was around the people he came up with. Never heard that he was an ass. Actually, never heard much either way.
dwoz:
the video did tank him. he knows it, we all know it. and it wasn’t the whole tearing the shirt off his body that did it. it was the twirling hands, the lame choreography, the goofiness of the whole scene. now, if he was making fun of someone that’s a joke that fucker wants back. even to this day 6 billion years later. i like billy and think he’s a great songwriter. “long after dark” is one of my fav albums and it’s not because mandy quick gave me some cheap action. it was because it was good. now, he wasn’t an ass. in fact, like you i don’t know either way. later, sir.
7th Grade?!
Too young, Moose.
Yuck.
Funny, too.
But…yuck!
breesy:
yes, it was too young. way. but what was i supposed to do? she was wearing dolphin shorts. that’s all i have to say. that’s all that needs to be said. and it was yucky. writing about it did make me laugh at times but for the most part i squirmed through the whole thing. i taught 7th graders and i would sit there from time to time and go: “no.”
but considering how my life turned out it was fitting. even thematic. but that’s another story all together. anyhow, do take care out there, breesy, and thanks for reading. okie doke.
yup,
moose
Hah, Reno. Very very funny, and sad too.
But as for the Dolphins — I used to wear them, loved them, the best running shorts ever. But nobody hit on me when I was wearing them. Of course I was a mid-thirties guy by then, not a seventh-grade hottie.
I think there’s an unbreakable bond between two people who lose their virginity with each other. My first was her first. We’ve been in a friendly (but non-sexual) relationship for many years but she doesn’t share that belief. She wouldn’t even know I thought that except once I sent her a story in which the narrator, obviously me, asserted it and she chose not to comment.
And on to terminology — in my high school, we used the phrase “glass balls” for a male virgin. I can’t remember if we had a phrase for the girls. Guys would say, “You still got glass balls?”
glass balls! ha! that is fantastic. haha.
HNIC:
i thought you were gonna say that in the vicious stare of HNIC all balls turn to glass. right?
don:
i think you may be right on that one (the bond between folk who lost their V together). i’ve heard such stories. unfortunately, mine didn’t work that may. mandy had already been to the rodeo…
glass balls! i have never heard that but it’s great. yeah, i had glass balls going into that room and came out with quasi-busted balls and a giant bloody hickey. it was bad, sir. way.
thanks for reading, don. august is almost here.
1st and 10,
reno
Moose, you’re never gonna stop with the HNIC, are you?
OK, I’ll bite. What is HNIC in this context? Somehow I doubt it’s “Hockey Night In Canada.”
Ok Don, I’ll level with you. It’s Head Nigga In Charge.
Growing up, my mom worked 12 night shifts in the hospital so she did a lot of note writing. Telling us where to find money for pizza, reminding us to do our chores, and telling us not to kill each other. You know, basic mom stuff. We always knew she was in a playful mood when she would sign the note, HNIC.
Now that I’m all grown up, I find myself signing my hubby’s honey-do lists, HNIC. Reno recently found this out and has been fucking with me ever since. boys!
that should read “12 hour night shifts”
NHIC:
where’s the pizza money again? and you want me to do WHAT? shit. you know where your notes can go, Breesy…
Breesy:
No, I’m not going to let it go. Why? That’s good material. But in all honesty if I use it too much I’m gonna wear out a good thing. And you NEVER want to wear out a good thing, right, Breesy? No, you don’t. So, as of this writing I’m going to refrain from HNIC for now. But don’t think for one N.O.L.A minute that I’m going to forget and hence not going to use it again. Fine with you, Granny Goose? Good. Ciao.
Hey Reno, we found our “Michigan man” all right, and he is shaped like Michigan and “strokes” it all day long. Yep, I said it. U of M athletics…all a bunch of jerkoffs! More juvenile. I love it! Ever heard the phrase, “going on a date with Miss Michigan.”? Stroke’s the word, Reno.
lyons:
you’re a dirty michigan dog if there ever was one. keeping stroking it, buster. beat it like it owes you money…
Dude, your seventh grade experience was a lot different than mine. Nice.
mr. cox:
mine was sick and traumatic. which, i guess, makes it funny. it was just sad. but believe it or not i’ve heard worse. perhaps one day you can tell us all the lovely creature beneath your young wings on that very day. hope all is well.
I am ashamed to say it, but: I lost my virginity the summer of my sophomore year in high school (1998) and Creed’s “My Own Prison” was playing. **vomit**
To this day, I cannot listen to Creed, or Alter Bridge, for one second without feeling queezy.
Also, I didn’t even get any real action (2nd base) until an 8th grade party — gotta love “seven minutes in heaven.” I can still remember it and her — ahh, Amanda T.
Jorge:
Don’t be ashamed. That’s actually kinda funny. I remember that band (the singer being a pompous Christian ass and then watching his life to go shit pronto) and am glad to know they provided you the music for your first “session.” I can think of a few bands out there that stir up my stomach when I hear them. Most of them have to do with mangled relationships, etc. For instance, I love the Cure (yeah, I’m showing my age big-time), but it’s hard to listen to those fuckers because I knew a woman that loved them more. They became HER band. Needless to say but we didn’t make the grade and when I hear their music her face and all her shenanigans take front and center. Grrr. Anyhow you get the idea. Well, Jorge, here’s to Amanda T! Cheers, sir, and thanks so much for reading.
i lost my virginity in the middle of watching “caddyshack”. for serious. it was tres romantique.
not surprisingly, the bar hasn’t been set too much higher yet. but i’m patient.
pixy:
caddyshack! that’s fandamntastic! what bar? pfft to the bar. i think virgin stories are for the most part brutal. lotta weird shit happening in that precarious moment. thanks for reading, pixy.
Ahh Reno, thank GAWD you gave up Jesus! All those girls. What is it with the hickeys anyway????
trish:
you know i haven’t a damn clue what’s up with the fucking hickeys. i don’t get it and i think i may have received ONE after that. prolly in the 9th grade. can’t say for sure. jesus? pfft. not in this life. bye, toots.
chicken,
reno romero
I know! Hickeys are gross and for the most part, not fun to get. Unfortunately, my milky skin shows them easily. Especially on my chest when my partner was trying to be careful. Ugh, high school…
Breesy:
Hickeys are gross, sick, ugly, etc. Trust me, I’m no fan. I don’t like to be tagged. But then again you know I have commitment issues. Or do ALL men suffer from this?
how would I know you have commitment issues?
I didn’t know that.
well, maybe I do.
I said before that I don’t think you’ll ever settle down. not now.
Life is too sweet for single Reno.
Brees:
Settle down? I am settled down, pretty face. But settled as with a woman? No. I don’t have the time nor the desire. But that’s partially because I’m slightly broke and don’t climb out from my rock that much. Ahh. But as soon as those things change I’ll put my ass back on the market and see what the gods send my way. One never knows. This time next year I could be getting married for a second time with a rocking mariachi band and tamales to boot. I’ll invite you if this should go down. Whatcha say?
My head in almost exploding with the question, “where to begin?!”
Butterface!
If you show up with that bullshit on your neck again you will hate your life!
Man-scaping! (btw, I hear you on that count…why why why, why would a dude shave his privates, other than to approximate the sensation for his partner of humping a sheet of #3 sandpaper?!)
I could rave on, but it would likely deteriorate, and fast, into just plain lewd high-fives and fist-pumping at which point you’d no choice but to post a comment of your own in response, starting with, “ok, ok, take down a notch, Arsenio Hall!”
amanda:
i don’t get the whole man-scaping thing. but then again i’m not a hairy ape either. i’ve seen some fucking hairy mothertruckers out there. hair EVERYWHERE. nasty. but not me. just is.
you don’t have to get lewd. let me be lewd. you stay the clean canadien that you are. leave that dirty business to nasty boys like me and their stories of girl bush, dolphin shorts, and orgasms that never happened.
thanks for reading.
burgled,
reno romero
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHFFol-8REI
I am embarrassed.
But I was embarrassed for most of the relationship, so… I guess the shoe fits.
simon:
hello there handsome. wait! are you telling reno that some lady gave up the nappy dugout to that jam? naughty, naughty. well, hey, at least you “crossed over,” eh? you dirty dog you.
yup,
rr
The nappy dugout.
I have never heard that term in my entire life before.
And I am going to use it every day for the rest of my life.
(and that is exactly what I’m telling Reno).
yup.
ss
simon:
yes, the nappy dugout. but like most things, good sir, it’s not original. i have to thank ice cube for delivering that brilliant observation. i’m sure that fucker stole it from someone though. so in essence, it’s yours. use it everyday, every chance you get. cheers!
The sense of achievement… Yeah, sometimes that’s all you walk away with. And somehow that’s enough for us guys.
mr. wills:
yeah, sometimes it is a sense of achievement. and that IS enough for us. are we shallow? lord have mercy. hope all is well out there, sir. btw: your stories are constantly roaming around my melon. for instance i saw a special on some traveler trekking korea and i’m thinking: shit game…
I echo Richard: your 7th grade experience was much better than mine!
I lost my virginity with another virgin. We were drunk and had both been dumped recently, and were pretty much just grudge-fucking our former partners. Wasn’t spectacular, but it wasn’t bad, either, and we stayed on friendly relations afterwards…though not so friendly we made a second go of it.
Strangely enough, several years later I ran into her in a bar in New Orleans, 2000 miles from where I’d last seen her. And not a tourist bar, either. Small fucking world.
matt:
hey, man. i didn’t lose my virginity with someone after being dumped but i have engaged in one of those situations where we both just got through a relationship and had nothing better to do than bump uglies. those are always fun…i think.
i once had a one-night stand with this one gal and three years later in vegas (we slept with each other in CA) i walk into an apartment rental office and she’s behind the desk. we looked at each other and just smiled one of those motherfucker-smiles.
hot damn.
gotta love this life.
thanks, matt. take care out there.
eat the rich,
reno
Look at you getting
all these people going
when this is really
just a big
football metaphor.
You can’t fool
me, Reno.
Go Oilers.
11:
i know, right. you, my friend, are one keen soul man. i can’t fool you but i’ve known this years ago when you called me “sensitive” or something crazy like that. bastard…
anyhow, my good friend, i hope the green hills are treating you well. all is great here in the CA desert. life is good. here’s to hope, sun, flowers, and the oilers.
bum phillips,
reno romero
Wait—-this is about SEX?!
Judy:
Yes. Horrible, hickey, humiliating, sex. But Billy Squier saved the day and still does. Of course, that’s if you do the The Stroke.
Hope you’re rockin’ and rollin’ out there, Judy.
Chocolate and Funyuns,
Reno Romero
I thought it was funny, reno j. Especially your mom kicking your arse.
Any pretty first-grade teachers out there nowadays?
Veggie pizza and Reese cup cheesecake oh yes!
Judy
judy:
my mom was pissed to say the least. now, for the record, my mom never laid a hand on me. but there was no reason to because she gave me “the look.” And when that look was administered you didn’t want to pull your shit any further than you already have. My mom is a sweet, giving, chick and love her gobs, but she draws the line and when she draws it blood could flow. she gave me that look that day. now, she just laughs and shakes her head when i tell her all the lurid tales of being in a band, hanging around drunk writers, bored women, etc. what a life, eh? thanks for reading, judy.
pickles and biscuits,
reno romero
I like your mom, Reno J. She rocks like your grandmother did.
Whoever can give The Look is definitely the Dictator of the Home. Whoever *gets* the look has no hope. You’re lucky you’ve mellowed somewhat…..or simply hide your escapades better. I bet you and your mom have great times.
mac n cheese with chicken and broccoli,
Judy
Judy:
Me and my mum are the best of friends. But she doesn’t take any shit. This I love about her. And yeah, when she gave you the look you had no hope. All I knew was that I would SLOWLY walk away and kind something “nice” to do because whatever I was doing before was on her last damn nerve. I’m very fortunate to have that woman in my corner. Bye, Judy.
Lamb and Lollipops,
Reno Romero
Nicely done, weaving together Billy Squire with the subject matter. Stephen Davis wrote that “The Stroke” is the best Zeppelin song not written by Led Zeppelin. I’m not too sure about that, but I see his point.
Also, Billy Squire = massive Patriots fan
I’m doing to deftly evade my own personal experience and simply thank you for having the courage to share yours. Pretty much right down the middle, I’d say. Although seventh grade sounds pretty young to me- you’re a quick learner, brah!
Rock on, Reno, and let’s keep our fingers crossed for no lockout.
joe:
say, my man. yeah, losing your cherry in 7th grade is probably not the way to go. i’d at least like to think so. but it went down. it was a wrap. like i wrote to someone i’m a school teacher and taught 7th grade and i would look at these bony little kids and think back to that day….
it was always disturbing even though when i share the story people get a kick out of it. i don’t mind being the end of a joke and in this story i’m the joke through and through. oh, well. a day in the life of.
if the story is true the “the stroke” is not about sex but rather about the music business wanting its artists to write a hit. if you read the lyrics in this context it makes perfect sense. and if that’s the case then billy is a clever writer. a song about sex? yup. a song about the music business? yup twice. that’s cool.
the lockout…i hope that doesn’t happen. i mean it would suck big ones. i’m hoping these people can see the big picture (uh, for us it’s watching football and for them it’s about cash). we’ll see. the last time they got together (as of this writing – i believe they get together this week some time) they didn’t get shit done. so we’ll see. fingers triple crossed.
okay, joe, thank you kindly for your time. it’s two fer tuesday today. that means double billy squier. and nirvana.
negative creep,
reno romero
Reno! I really enjoyed this. I love loss of virginity stories. Is that weird? I’ve written about mine too.
I can’t believe you were in 7th grade. You got busy early, my friend. I was 14, which I suppose is pretty young too. The guy was much older than me, and was playing either Bread or the Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack as our background music during the act. Billy Squier is soooooooo much cooler. Lucky.
Manscaping is gross. I don’t care if a fellow has light body hair, like yourself, or plenty of it, but oh my god, there is nothing worse than boy-stubble scratching at you in the middle of the deed. I dated a guy in Los Angeles who shaved his chest. It was highly distracting. Unsettling, even.
I wish you had a picture of the giant hickey Mandy gave you. (:
Am I the only person who can’t really remember my first time? I was a ball of nerves and completely in love. I wasn’t high or drunk but I’m telling you, I can’t remember. I remember my second time like it was yesterday.
I don’t even know if there was music playing…
Someone give me some memory exercises!! Quick!
Brees:
C’mon you don’t really remember your first time? Hell, maybe you’re still a virgin? Have you considered this?
I’m serious!
I don’t lie!
It’s all a blur…
shit!
Brees:
Really? A blur? Maybe you were tanked? But don’t remember? Ok, you DO remember the guy’s name, right? Right? Talk to me, Brees. Don’t be fibbin’ to Daddy…
dammit, Rene! What did I tell you about that Daddy shit?! Doesn’t fly with me. Don’t treat me like one of those little girls that buzz around you fluttering their lashes.
Now, like I said, I was sober. I remember the talk with him right before and he was very sweet about the whole thing. I just don’t remember anything after that….
I need to find my journal from that time period. I’m sure it’s in there. It has to be.
Brees:
Ok, Ok. No Daddy. I told you that it sounds obnoxious, NOL. Sheesh. Cut, uh, Rene, a break. Do tell, though. What was his name? C’mon…wait! Perhaps, this is sumpin’ that CANNOT be aired on the TNB pages, can’t be in the public light. NOW, I understand. Find those journals pronto. Look under: The First Time I Had Nookie. Tell me what crops up. Ciao, Brees. Speaking of journals…
I love how you seem taken back when I call you Rene but Moose is fine and dandy. lol
PS- “fine and dandy” came out like Forrest Gump.
Now I’m giggling and Albert is looking at me like I’m crazy.
Brees:
You can call me Rene. I don’t mind one bit. Haven’t we gone through this before, NOL? Don’t you ‘member that conversation? Geez, Brees. How soon you forget. No, wonder you can’t remember your first time.
Always,
Rene (Moose)
you are crazy. albert knows what’s up. prolly has for some years now.
tawni:
yeah, 7th grade…
way too young. but i think it’s one of those situations where once the, uh, ball gets rolling there’s no turning back. i strapped myself in the seat and went for the ride. it seems women “losing it” to an older dude is pretty common. mandy lost hers to a high school dude, but it wouldn’t surprise me if the dude was 30. no shit. bread or jesus christ superstar? now that’s some good stuff. i was hoping that i’d hear someone lose it to motorhead. or better yet nirvana.
losing it to barry white is not a stretch. wait! could you imagine how many fuckers were conceived to barry doing his thing? “They say love…”
man-scaping. yeah, i don’t get it. but then i do. i mean i’ve seen some dudes that had hair on top of hair. still, i can’t see me with razor in hand, some shaving cream, and trimming back my ape hair. just sounds nasty.
‘…scratching at you in the middle of the deed.’
ha! double ha! i’ll just leave it at that. well, tawni, here’s to crossing over, seeing the other side. hope you and your family are well.
always,
reno romero
Hey Reno,
I thought you’d get a kick out of this:
ksw wrote that the female flasher drove a land rover bush master!
Pretty funny, huh?
omg! ha! that’s too funny. bush master…
“let’s go to the room Reno ” may now replace “ball riding caveman” as today’s catchphrase =|
Marybear:
Hello, there, Mary. Wow been a while since I’ve seen you bear. Maybe back to the Myspace days. Sheesh. Anyhow, you’re right. ‘Ball riding caveman” has a certain charm to it. It rings. If I ever find myself in a situation where I have to use it I’ll keep you posted on the outcome. Thanks for reading, Marybear. Have a great weekend.
Reno Romero
“So there’s Mandy with her giant muff…” HA HA HAAAAGH (inhale) HA HA etc.
Did you know The Vapors’ “Turning Japanese” is actually about a citizenship application?
Steve:
Hey, sir. I hope this note finds you doing well. No, I didn’t know that’s what the Vapors’ tune was about. We just used to call jacking-off “turning Japanese.” Where we got it from? Who knows. Like I wrote above The Stroke is supposedly about the music business – the record companies wanting their artists to write a “hit.” Wild. When I first heard the song I thought it was about sex. Guess, I was wrong. Anyhow, Steve, thanks a lot for taking out the time to read my stuff. Take care.
HA! Great post.
Have a great weekend. Beers to ya!
sheree:
thank you kindly for reading, sheree. YOU have a great weekend. beers x2.
bottom’s up,
reno