I finally got my skinny-ass out this weekend and had a good time. Friday night I was supposed to go out to the bar and watch the P-Stones with TJer, but I had more pressing matters to attend to. Namely, I had to build a rig for the new PS2 vibrator. I call it my sex chair. Damn it makes playing GT4 easier... as well as adding fuel to the dork fire. "Call the fire department! This one's outta control!"
Saturday, I managed to wake up in time to head over to Ypsi for a night out at Divine with the Bro-shat and some others. I got to shake my groove thing a little bit, but the rest of the time I was spittin game with a super hottie... and by spittin game, I mean trying to talk to a really hot chick... and by trying to talk I mean mumbling and bumbling around words like "nice" and "hair". "Hewwo. My name is Dugwus and you hab niiiiice hair." I'm such a fuckin pimp it's rediculous. I think the only reason I actually got her phone number later that evening is because she feels sorry for me being mentally handicapped and figured that I have no idea how to use a phone anyway.
The ladies we were with actually got the super-hottie and her friend to come back to the bro-shats hizzie post Divine to drink and talk some more. I used this opportunity to corner her and scare her into giving me her number. Actually, it wasn't the cornering that did it. I think it was my dancing skills that scared her out of her digits. Scotty (some hot guy with a huge wang) decided that it'd be a good idea to put on a thong and strut his stuff around in front of the ladies, then J-Bone followed suit, so I had to as well. I made J-Nel give me the panties she was wearing. Some nice blue lace do-hickeys made for a woman 5'5" 100lbs... and sans junk in the junkyard. So I got the panties on, but just barely.
The knob out the top and the beans out either side, I ran out to living room where the ladies had just finished laughing at J-Bone's antics. Some sort of techno was blaring so I just let the music take me. Dancing in ladies panties was a new experience for me. For some reason, each hip thrust felt longer and deeper. I got goosebumps on my free-swingin' balls until someone decided to try to flick the kids. That was my cue to head on backstage and put my boy clothes back on.
Whether or not I actually ever talk to this chick again, at least I can tell people that I got a super-hot flight attendant to look at my balls.
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