you really had to be there, but...
- Thread starter DVS
- Start date
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
Well, here's another story for you. I hope you have a strong stomach. Don't read this, while eating, if you don't.
I have a horrible memory from 1979. I remember the year because of what I'm about to tell you. And, it was one of those very cold and snowy winters.
I lived in this rental house. I actually worked with the father of the landlord, so that was a pretty good relationship. It was a small two-bedroom house, no basement. It was on a concrete slab.
It was actually one of many homes built after the 1950 flood in our area. Quick housing was needed and that's what it was. Over 90% of the houses were exactly the same. They built these houses in a sort of community type setting, with winding streets. If you didn't know the area, you really could get lost, because there weren't many east-west or north-south streets and all of the houses looked so much alike. Every corner looked the same as the last. It was a weird feeling...kind of like vertigo.
Anyway, I lived in this house for a little over a year. There was a very large maple tree in the front yard. That sucker was HUGE! And, there wasn't much of a front yard...maybe about 20 feet from my door to the street. That tree could shade the whole house and the front yard, too. Didn’t I say it was HUGE?
It was Christmas weekend. It was actually Christmas Eve. The weather had been extremely cold and we had about 8 inches of snow on the ground. I had heat and I had running water. What I didn't have was a working drain. It's funny how things are. At that point in my life, I had nearly everything I wanted, but I would have given most any of it, for a toilet that I could flush. No, an outhouse wouldn't have worked so well, in that cold. I'm a city boy.
I complained to the landlord that I needed a plumber to fix the sewer drain. I was entitled to it. I have human needs and also human bodily functions like everybody else. And, because it was Christmas weekend, I was off work for the holiday. And, I had nowhere to go. The snow and the cold were so bad that nobody was doing much traveling.
The landlord found a plumber that would show up on Christmas Eve. Well, I think the plumber actually sent his son. He was young...18, or so. He came in with his motorized snake thing and started it down the bathroom drain. He said he had to remove the toilet to do that. Of course, I said OK.
I went into the living room and started watching TV. The noise was bad and the smell was starting to get to me, too. Sewer gases are nasty. I heard the snake stop kind of suddenly a few times and this kid always had a few choice words to say, when that happened. He came out and told me he was getting the snake caught in something down the line and each time he had to back it out and try again.
He wasn’t happy, because he said he didn’t have the cutting blade that bit through tree roots and he sure could have used it. So, he just continued to slowly bite into the roots with the bit he had, slowly inching his way through.
I was trying to watch the TV, while listening to this. I’d hear the snake run for a while, then it’d stop. Then, I’d hear him cuss. It was almost like an odd symphony. Snake...silence...cuss. Snake...silence...cuss. I hope he got paid well for being there, because he wasn’t enjoying himself, nor was he making much progress.
Finally, one last time I heard snake...silence...cuss. But that time, the cussing continued longer. He came out of the bathroom, and stomped out of the house. In mid-stride, he mumbled that said the snake had snagged on some roots and the cable had snapped. He said he would have to dig a hole in the front yard to get the snake out of the pipe.
I was OK with that. I was just the renter. He actually should have been telling my landlord all of this. He was paying the bill. And, I wondered if that cutting bit he said he didn’t have might have worked better. Something in the back of my mind told me the bill would be higher, because of a lack of ability in the plumber. But, none of that was really my problem. I just wanted my drain unclogged.
After he stomped out of the house, I got brave and looked into the bathroom. What I saw in there was difficult to describe. The stool was off to the side, and sticking out of the hole in my floor was this snake cable...the end was all mangled and twisted. But the worst of it? My walls were all splattered with something I can only think must have been human waste. What else would be in that hole? From the looks of the scene, when the cable broke, it must have spun around the opposite way, to relieve the tension, and in that process, it had splattered my nice clean walls (and probably the plumber) with this dark yucky scuzz! Ewwww!
I just turned around and walked out of the bathroom. I didn’t even want to look at it any more. This was back in the 70s. Today, a scene like that would be a reason to call the Hazmat people. I just wanted to forget the image that I had just seen, for fear of it being burned into my brain.
Not much later, this plumber (for a lack of a better word) was out in my front yard, with a shovel. He was attempting to dig a hole. Actually, he was attempting to start a hole. The weather was so cold that the ground was frozen solid. But, he didn’t give up. Well, at least not until he broke the handle of the shovel. At that point, I was feeling sorry for the kid. He was obviously not very experienced, and he was paying for that lack of experience.
To give this pitiful horror story a swift ending, he did finally get the hole started. When he broke the shovel on Christmas Eve he left. He said he had to get another one. But, he didn’t come back that day. Out of frustration, no doubt. I spent Christmas Eve with no toilet, a broken snake cable sticking out of the hole in my bathroom floor, and a smell throughout the house that would curl your toes. I was lucky, though. There was a 24-hour truck stop, within driving distance from the house.
The kid came back on Christmas Day, of all days. He had a pick and another shovel. He did get the hole started and beneath the surface, the earth wasn’t frozen. He got his snake cable out and my drain unclogged. But, he worked alone, and it took him most of the day. Man, I’ll bet that was one expensive plumbing bill!
Here’s where I say you really had to be there, because it was a Christmas I’ll never forget. But Looking back, I think my Christmas was bad...his was worse! His memories have got to be as vivid as mine are, if not more so.
I drove past that house, about a month ago. That tree is still in the front yard. It’s still as big as it always was. Knowing how tree roots like to grow, I’m wondering if the family that lives there now has had any experiences like the one I had that Christmas in 1979.
I have a horrible memory from 1979. I remember the year because of what I'm about to tell you. And, it was one of those very cold and snowy winters.
I lived in this rental house. I actually worked with the father of the landlord, so that was a pretty good relationship. It was a small two-bedroom house, no basement. It was on a concrete slab.
It was actually one of many homes built after the 1950 flood in our area. Quick housing was needed and that's what it was. Over 90% of the houses were exactly the same. They built these houses in a sort of community type setting, with winding streets. If you didn't know the area, you really could get lost, because there weren't many east-west or north-south streets and all of the houses looked so much alike. Every corner looked the same as the last. It was a weird feeling...kind of like vertigo.
Anyway, I lived in this house for a little over a year. There was a very large maple tree in the front yard. That sucker was HUGE! And, there wasn't much of a front yard...maybe about 20 feet from my door to the street. That tree could shade the whole house and the front yard, too. Didn’t I say it was HUGE?
It was Christmas weekend. It was actually Christmas Eve. The weather had been extremely cold and we had about 8 inches of snow on the ground. I had heat and I had running water. What I didn't have was a working drain. It's funny how things are. At that point in my life, I had nearly everything I wanted, but I would have given most any of it, for a toilet that I could flush. No, an outhouse wouldn't have worked so well, in that cold. I'm a city boy.
I complained to the landlord that I needed a plumber to fix the sewer drain. I was entitled to it. I have human needs and also human bodily functions like everybody else. And, because it was Christmas weekend, I was off work for the holiday. And, I had nowhere to go. The snow and the cold were so bad that nobody was doing much traveling.
The landlord found a plumber that would show up on Christmas Eve. Well, I think the plumber actually sent his son. He was young...18, or so. He came in with his motorized snake thing and started it down the bathroom drain. He said he had to remove the toilet to do that. Of course, I said OK.
I went into the living room and started watching TV. The noise was bad and the smell was starting to get to me, too. Sewer gases are nasty. I heard the snake stop kind of suddenly a few times and this kid always had a few choice words to say, when that happened. He came out and told me he was getting the snake caught in something down the line and each time he had to back it out and try again.
He wasn’t happy, because he said he didn’t have the cutting blade that bit through tree roots and he sure could have used it. So, he just continued to slowly bite into the roots with the bit he had, slowly inching his way through.
I was trying to watch the TV, while listening to this. I’d hear the snake run for a while, then it’d stop. Then, I’d hear him cuss. It was almost like an odd symphony. Snake...silence...cuss. Snake...silence...cuss. I hope he got paid well for being there, because he wasn’t enjoying himself, nor was he making much progress.
Finally, one last time I heard snake...silence...cuss. But that time, the cussing continued longer. He came out of the bathroom, and stomped out of the house. In mid-stride, he mumbled that said the snake had snagged on some roots and the cable had snapped. He said he would have to dig a hole in the front yard to get the snake out of the pipe.
I was OK with that. I was just the renter. He actually should have been telling my landlord all of this. He was paying the bill. And, I wondered if that cutting bit he said he didn’t have might have worked better. Something in the back of my mind told me the bill would be higher, because of a lack of ability in the plumber. But, none of that was really my problem. I just wanted my drain unclogged.
After he stomped out of the house, I got brave and looked into the bathroom. What I saw in there was difficult to describe. The stool was off to the side, and sticking out of the hole in my floor was this snake cable...the end was all mangled and twisted. But the worst of it? My walls were all splattered with something I can only think must have been human waste. What else would be in that hole? From the looks of the scene, when the cable broke, it must have spun around the opposite way, to relieve the tension, and in that process, it had splattered my nice clean walls (and probably the plumber) with this dark yucky scuzz! Ewwww!
I just turned around and walked out of the bathroom. I didn’t even want to look at it any more. This was back in the 70s. Today, a scene like that would be a reason to call the Hazmat people. I just wanted to forget the image that I had just seen, for fear of it being burned into my brain.
Not much later, this plumber (for a lack of a better word) was out in my front yard, with a shovel. He was attempting to dig a hole. Actually, he was attempting to start a hole. The weather was so cold that the ground was frozen solid. But, he didn’t give up. Well, at least not until he broke the handle of the shovel. At that point, I was feeling sorry for the kid. He was obviously not very experienced, and he was paying for that lack of experience.
To give this pitiful horror story a swift ending, he did finally get the hole started. When he broke the shovel on Christmas Eve he left. He said he had to get another one. But, he didn’t come back that day. Out of frustration, no doubt. I spent Christmas Eve with no toilet, a broken snake cable sticking out of the hole in my bathroom floor, and a smell throughout the house that would curl your toes. I was lucky, though. There was a 24-hour truck stop, within driving distance from the house.
The kid came back on Christmas Day, of all days. He had a pick and another shovel. He did get the hole started and beneath the surface, the earth wasn’t frozen. He got his snake cable out and my drain unclogged. But, he worked alone, and it took him most of the day. Man, I’ll bet that was one expensive plumbing bill!
Here’s where I say you really had to be there, because it was a Christmas I’ll never forget. But Looking back, I think my Christmas was bad...his was worse! His memories have got to be as vivid as mine are, if not more so.
I drove past that house, about a month ago. That tree is still in the front yard. It’s still as big as it always was. Knowing how tree roots like to grow, I’m wondering if the family that lives there now has had any experiences like the one I had that Christmas in 1979.
doveofserenity
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2005
- Posts
- 940
Kind of got entranced reading all these stories, and have a cute one of my own.
Back in high school, mid 80s; there was a male teacher who always made a point at the beginning of a semester with him as a teacher; to make a certain comment.
That comment was: You can all earn good grades with me; either by studying or; if your female; sitting up front in a short skirt and no panties.
Yeah, pissed a lot of us rednecks off back then.
Picture a guy that was about 6'2", weighing about 350 lbs. That was the teacher.
Now picture him in a little red Volkswagon Bug. Thats what he drove to school.
One afternoon, his car wouldnt start when it was time for him to go home. So he called someone and had them come pick him up, leaving the "bug" sit there; unlocked.
Well, a bunch of us had been hanging out at the local pitstop across the street from the school. We watched the whole thing with his car. At that point, some of us started planning.
Later that night, a group of us that always hung out together drove back to the school with a couple of the guys pickup trucks. In the back of one were some long pieces of heavy duty wood planking from the barn of one of the people of the group.
The school sat out in the middle of no where, nothing around for miles; and it was a one story building. (Just to set the picture).
We had one guy pull up to the "bug" and pop loose the pin that controlled the gears, and had that truck start pushing the "bug" around back of the school.
While that truck was doing its thing, the other one was around back and we were setting up these long planks of wood and nailing them together. So that we could form a makeshift ramp to the roof.
Thank heavens for old fashioned heavy duty metal framing and concrete blocks on buildings those days.
The first truck got around with the "bug" just as we had gotten the ramp set in place, and continued to push the "bug" up onto the roof of the school, and right to the front of it.
A couple of us girls had went earlier in the evening to our local "Lions Den" and gotten a female blow up doll.
We put her on top of the car in an old cheerleader outfit, no panties; and tied her to the trunk hood(which is up front on the "bugs").
With a sign placed on the windshield that said, "Hey Bubba; heres your A+ student of the year." That was the nickname we used to call the guy.
We had played it smart and wore gloves, but made sure to clean up after ourselves; tore the ramp down, loaded it, and hot tailed it out of there for the night.
Next morning, we all showed up to school as we normally did. Making sure to play it like any other school day.
We got there just as Bubba was looking up at his car sitting on the roof; and the principal coming out of the building yelling at him; "What the hell is this A+ student shit about?"
The look on that mans face as he had to explain all the bs to the principal, plus see his glare as he paid for a company to bring a crane, and come lift his car off the roof was something you really had to be there to see.
But in the end, he never made that remark again!
Back in high school, mid 80s
; there was a male teacher who always made a point at the beginning of a semester with him as a teacher; to make a certain comment.That comment was: You can all earn good grades with me; either by studying or; if your female; sitting up front in a short skirt and no panties.
Yeah, pissed a lot of us rednecks off back then.
Picture a guy that was about 6'2", weighing about 350 lbs. That was the teacher.
Now picture him in a little red Volkswagon Bug. Thats what he drove to school.
One afternoon, his car wouldnt start when it was time for him to go home. So he called someone and had them come pick him up, leaving the "bug" sit there; unlocked.
Well, a bunch of us had been hanging out at the local pitstop across the street from the school. We watched the whole thing with his car. At that point, some of us started planning.
Later that night, a group of us that always hung out together drove back to the school with a couple of the guys pickup trucks. In the back of one were some long pieces of heavy duty wood planking from the barn of one of the people of the group.
The school sat out in the middle of no where, nothing around for miles; and it was a one story building. (Just to set the picture).
We had one guy pull up to the "bug" and pop loose the pin that controlled the gears, and had that truck start pushing the "bug" around back of the school.
While that truck was doing its thing, the other one was around back and we were setting up these long planks of wood and nailing them together. So that we could form a makeshift ramp to the roof.
Thank heavens for old fashioned heavy duty metal framing and concrete blocks on buildings those days.
The first truck got around with the "bug" just as we had gotten the ramp set in place, and continued to push the "bug" up onto the roof of the school, and right to the front of it.
A couple of us girls had went earlier in the evening to our local "Lions Den" and gotten a female blow up doll.
We put her on top of the car in an old cheerleader outfit, no panties; and tied her to the trunk hood(which is up front on the "bugs").
With a sign placed on the windshield that said, "Hey Bubba; heres your A+ student of the year." That was the nickname we used to call the guy.
We had played it smart and wore gloves, but made sure to clean up after ourselves; tore the ramp down, loaded it, and hot tailed it out of there for the night.
Next morning, we all showed up to school as we normally did. Making sure to play it like any other school day.
We got there just as Bubba was looking up at his car sitting on the roof; and the principal coming out of the building yelling at him; "What the hell is this A+ student shit about?"
The look on that mans face as he had to explain all the bs to the principal, plus see his glare as he paid for a company to bring a crane, and come lift his car off the roof was something you really had to be there to see.
But in the end, he never made that remark again!
This story definitely falls under the category of you had to be there. Its a silly little story, but every time I think about it, it still gives me a chuckle, even after all these years.
This takes place in the Summer of 1981...I was about 18, living in The Bronx, and had just begun dating the guy I would eventually marry. In fact, this was only maybe our third or fourth date...We were going roller skating, which, back in the 80's, was the cool thing to do. We didn't want to go to the crappy (and sometimes dangerous) roller rink in The Bronx, so we decided to take the two-bus trip to New Rochelle, and skate there.
Anyway, we got on the first bus, and got transfers so that we wouldn't have to pay for the second bus. The transfers were basically just small, rectangular strips of paper. My boyfriend held onto both of them. A few stops later, a nun got on the bus. I immediately recognized her...She had been my seventh grade teacher. She recognized me, too, and my boyfriend slid over one seat so that the nun could sit next to me. She did, and we struck up a conversation. As we were talking, I could see my boyfriend taking the transfers, forming them into the shape of a cross, and raising them up slowly above the nun's head. She was turned toward me, and couldn't see what he was doing. So, there I am, talking to a nun, while a small cross keeps rising up above her head, then goes down, then slowly rises up again....And it was all I could do to keep from dissolving into a fit of giggles. Luckily, the nun got off the bus after a few stops. THEN I just couldn't stop laughing, while my boyfriend just sat there innocently.
The follow up to this is..after this incident, if we ever came across a nun, my boyfriend would ask "Do you know her?" We are now divorced, but we're still friends, and sometimes we do things together, with our son, and to this day, he'll still ask that question if we see a nun! Like I said...You had to be there.
This takes place in the Summer of 1981...I was about 18, living in The Bronx, and had just begun dating the guy I would eventually marry. In fact, this was only maybe our third or fourth date...We were going roller skating, which, back in the 80's, was the cool thing to do. We didn't want to go to the crappy (and sometimes dangerous) roller rink in The Bronx, so we decided to take the two-bus trip to New Rochelle, and skate there.
Anyway, we got on the first bus, and got transfers so that we wouldn't have to pay for the second bus. The transfers were basically just small, rectangular strips of paper. My boyfriend held onto both of them. A few stops later, a nun got on the bus. I immediately recognized her...She had been my seventh grade teacher. She recognized me, too, and my boyfriend slid over one seat so that the nun could sit next to me. She did, and we struck up a conversation. As we were talking, I could see my boyfriend taking the transfers, forming them into the shape of a cross, and raising them up slowly above the nun's head. She was turned toward me, and couldn't see what he was doing. So, there I am, talking to a nun, while a small cross keeps rising up above her head, then goes down, then slowly rises up again....And it was all I could do to keep from dissolving into a fit of giggles. Luckily, the nun got off the bus after a few stops. THEN I just couldn't stop laughing, while my boyfriend just sat there innocently.
The follow up to this is..after this incident, if we ever came across a nun, my boyfriend would ask "Do you know her?" We are now divorced, but we're still friends, and sometimes we do things together, with our son, and to this day, he'll still ask that question if we see a nun! Like I said...You had to be there.
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
I just read these last two stories, again. They were both perfect stories for this thread. The bug on the roof was a great revenge story and the cross that kept appearing from behind the nun's head...I can just picture this.
Both were situations I would have enjoyed seeing in real life. We people are mostly happy and creative in our little jokes. And as long as nobody is really hurt, I think a little fun makes for a better world.
I've got more stories coming, so I thought I'd bump this old thread up. And of course, if someone else has a story from their past to share, please feel free. All I ask is the story be true. Of course, if it happens to be funny, well that's even better.
Both were situations I would have enjoyed seeing in real life. We people are mostly happy and creative in our little jokes. And as long as nobody is really hurt, I think a little fun makes for a better world.
I've got more stories coming, so I thought I'd bump this old thread up. And of course, if someone else has a story from their past to share, please feel free. All I ask is the story be true. Of course, if it happens to be funny, well that's even better.
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
In my part of the country, Brown Recluse spiders are quite common and have no problem getting into the house. They love cool dark areas. Although they do travel on a web, they don't really make one to catch their food. So, it's just you and them. They know you're there, but you don't always know they are.
I have an old detached garage at the back of my property and the Recluses have pretty much taken that place over. You don't go into that garage unless it's daylight and you can see what's in front of you. Needless to say, there are some big spiders out there.
I've got a friend who loves spiders. And in the summer time, Orb spiders will always spin their web at the back of my house, by the outdoor light. They aren't stupid. They know the light attracts moths so you can always find several Orb spider webs there.
My sidewalk back there has house on one side and a trellis of vines on the other. There are many times when the Orbs will spin their web across the sidewalk. So, we keep a stick by the back door that we call the spider stick and the first person out of the house after dark is the designated guy to take the spider stick and wave it in front of him, as he walks down the sidewalk. As manly as we all are (and I have some manly friends) none of us wants to walk face first into a spider web. You KNOW the spider is somewhere in that web...waiting.
Orbs aren't dangerous, but they do look nasty...nothing but a big body with legs. And when it comes down to it, a spider is a spider when it's dark and you don't know where he is. But, I'm getting away from my story about Recluses.
This friend of mine is really into spiders. He loves wolf spiders and we've always kind of played with the Orbs at the back of my house, in the summer. But, when I told him about my old garage and the large Recluse spiders, he was entranced. Most Recluses don't get very big, so he wanted to see a big one.
The next day, I caught one and put him in alcohol, to preserve him. Once he was dead I took him out and put him in this nice little container with some white gauze to display him. All of his joints stayed flexible and he was a very good specimen.
I showed him to my friend and he was amazed. Of course he knew he was dead, but he had to see him closer. He opened the plastic case and examined him as any expert type of manly man would and then he picked him up by one of his front legs.
Because it had been preserved in alcohol, the spider's legs were still flexible. So, when he picked it up, the body of the spider curled down toward his fingers. You've never seen a man scream and jump like such a sniveling baby in your life.
In the middle of his shrieking at the top of his lungs, he jerked his hand back and that dead spider went clear across the room. He thought sure that spider was going to get him...even after I had assured him it was quite dead. He laughed so hard, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He said he knew it was dead, but when that body curled around toward his hand, he just reacted. He KNEW that thing was going to get him!
Even though we men can seem quite tough at times, and we can also act the part quite well, there are always going to be times when we're just a scared a little kid inside. And to get the full affect of the situation, you really had to be there, as well as know my friend. He takes pride in being a real man, where spiders are concerned. So, when he laughed and reacted as he did, it showed that curious little kid inside was still there...and that he wasn't always so tough.
I have an old detached garage at the back of my property and the Recluses have pretty much taken that place over. You don't go into that garage unless it's daylight and you can see what's in front of you. Needless to say, there are some big spiders out there.
I've got a friend who loves spiders. And in the summer time, Orb spiders will always spin their web at the back of my house, by the outdoor light. They aren't stupid. They know the light attracts moths so you can always find several Orb spider webs there.
My sidewalk back there has house on one side and a trellis of vines on the other. There are many times when the Orbs will spin their web across the sidewalk. So, we keep a stick by the back door that we call the spider stick and the first person out of the house after dark is the designated guy to take the spider stick and wave it in front of him, as he walks down the sidewalk. As manly as we all are (and I have some manly friends) none of us wants to walk face first into a spider web. You KNOW the spider is somewhere in that web...waiting.
Orbs aren't dangerous, but they do look nasty...nothing but a big body with legs. And when it comes down to it, a spider is a spider when it's dark and you don't know where he is. But, I'm getting away from my story about Recluses.
This friend of mine is really into spiders. He loves wolf spiders and we've always kind of played with the Orbs at the back of my house, in the summer. But, when I told him about my old garage and the large Recluse spiders, he was entranced. Most Recluses don't get very big, so he wanted to see a big one.
The next day, I caught one and put him in alcohol, to preserve him. Once he was dead I took him out and put him in this nice little container with some white gauze to display him. All of his joints stayed flexible and he was a very good specimen.
I showed him to my friend and he was amazed. Of course he knew he was dead, but he had to see him closer. He opened the plastic case and examined him as any expert type of manly man would and then he picked him up by one of his front legs.
Because it had been preserved in alcohol, the spider's legs were still flexible. So, when he picked it up, the body of the spider curled down toward his fingers. You've never seen a man scream and jump like such a sniveling baby in your life.
In the middle of his shrieking at the top of his lungs, he jerked his hand back and that dead spider went clear across the room. He thought sure that spider was going to get him...even after I had assured him it was quite dead. He laughed so hard, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He said he knew it was dead, but when that body curled around toward his hand, he just reacted. He KNEW that thing was going to get him!
Even though we men can seem quite tough at times, and we can also act the part quite well, there are always going to be times when we're just a scared a little kid inside. And to get the full affect of the situation, you really had to be there, as well as know my friend. He takes pride in being a real man, where spiders are concerned. So, when he laughed and reacted as he did, it showed that curious little kid inside was still there...and that he wasn't always so tough.
Shankara20
Well, that is lovely
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DVS
A ghost from your dreams
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- Posts
- 11,416
You aren't fooling me. I know where you live. Be sure you check your bed, tonight. If you roll over on them, it just pisses 'em off.What! You mean to tell me a Brown Recluse in not a Zen monk!
And be sure to check your slippers, in the morning.
And don't forget that bathrobe you like to wear, when going out to get the morning paper.
Zen monk, indeed!
Shankara20
Well, that is lovely
- Joined
- Sep 20, 2005
- Posts
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DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
A lot has happened in my life since I last posted to this thread. But, I thought I'd give another shot at writing some more of the type of story that fits here. And, maybe now that there are some new people here, this might also bring some new readers to these stories.
Just for the record, every story here is the complete truth. Nothing is faked and I haven't tried to glorify any parts to make them better. I think this is what makes these stories so interesting. I hope you do, too.
Like most of these stories, this happened way back in the 1970s. I was slightly more than a kid then and the times were very different than they are today.
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Back in the summer of 1972 I had a job working for the state. I worked at the local state park, just south of my home town. I did just about everything there was to do there from cutting wood and setting fence posts to mowing grass. Let me tell you, there was a lot of grass to mow in the summer months. It was one of those jobs where once you finished mowing one section, another section had grown high enough to mow again. They call that job security, in the trades.
Mowing was my main job in the summer months. I would mow for nearly 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. I didn’t mind it, though. I rode a riding mower around fence posts and other obstacles another guy on a tractor couldn’t get to. Unfortunately, that was before portable headphone players were popular, or I would have enjoyed the job that much more.
The park was only about 10 miles from town and I would come back into town for lunch every day. And, I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it seemed like every day there was a local police officer sitting at the edge of town. He was never there when I went to work, or when I came home in the evening. He was just there at lunchtime.
This went on for a while. I’m not sure exactly how long, but I could almost always count on that police car being there. It was so regular I think I would have noticed if one day he wasn’t there. I just assumed he was doing his job, maybe watching for speeders or something, even though speed traps weren’t that common back then.
If you’ve ever lived in a small town, you know about driving the strip or the loop or whatever you happened to call it where you lived. There wasn’t a lot to do, so people would just get in their cars and drive in a big circle from one end of town to another, making sure to take the main drag both ways. Everybody did it. The movie “American Graffiti” was very similar to how it really was. You’d get all of your friends in the car with you and have the radio blasting your favorite station. Everybody had the same station playing, because there was only one. And back then it was only AM radio and they played something called the “top 40” songs. And being a small town, we only had one stop light. The rest of the intersections just had stop signs.
On a Saturday night, the town was really hopping. Well, at least as much as a small town could. There was a popular burger joint on one end of town and everybody making the rounds would sometimes stop in there. It was the only place open after 5 PM, when other merchants would close for the day. Not just burgers and drinks, there was also a juke box and several pin ball machines. I remember the pin ball machines were 5 cents each and if you put the legs of the machine on your shoes, you had a better chance of winning. It made the machine slope less and that slowed the ball down. One machine was also difficult to tilt. It was the most popular with the pin ball playing crowd.
One Saturday in particular, I was driving around and I had several of my friends in the car with me. I think there were 5 of us, all in our early to mid 20s. We had just left the local burger joint and had stopped at the first stop sign. Just as we were pulling out from that stop sign, we noticed the car behind us was a police car. He started following us rather closely and it was getting obvious to us that he was going to pull us over. Sure enough, he turned on his red lights and we pulled over into a nearby parking lot.
I think here would be a good time to explain our small town police force. I don’t remember exactly how many officers were on the force, but most of them were pretty old guys with big bellies. There were some nights when you could count on finding one of them in an out of the way place, snoozing. There was also a time when twins the age of 18 were hired on, but because they weren’t 21, they couldn’t carry guns.
All of these guys had their own personality. One older guy thought he was a real bad ass. Another older guy was the one who would go find a spot to sleep. Both of them were your basic red neck types of the day. The twins were so young and green, people made fun of them.
Unfortunately for us, the guy who thought he was a real bad ass was the guy who stopped us. He got out of the car and walked up to my side of the car. He asked us what we were doing. We all thought that was kind of a stupid question, because we were doing the same thing we did the night before, and probably the night before that. And just about anybody else on the street that night was doing the same thing. We were riding around, listening to music.
In the most intimidating tone of voice he could muster, he demanded to see my driver’s license. Trying to be as much of a smart ass as he was being, I asked him why he needed to see it. He knew who I was. He said, “Give me the damn license”, so I thought I’d make him happy and give it to him.
He took the license and was looking at it, just like any other police officer would do and I was just about to ask him why he had stopped us when he asked me, “Where did you get this?” Of course, I was a little confused by that question, and didn’t really know how to answer him.
“I got it at the usual place, like everybody else.” I really didn’t know what to say. I almost thought it was a trick question.
He seemed to think I was trying to be even more of a bad ass. He looked at my license then looked at me and then said, “What’s your name?”
I was getting even more confused with the line of questions he had, and that one was really confusing. “My name is right there on the license.” I could have said something else, but I was just trying to keep the conversation civil.
It was quite obvious that he didn’t like my answers, and tossed my license into my lap. Then he leaned into the car window and told us that there was a curfew and we had to get off the streets. He said to either go to the burger joint or go home, but stay off of the streets. I remember one of the other guys in the car saying he couldn’t make us stay off the street, but he fired back that he could do anything he wanted to.
We didn’t really care that much, because it was only about 8 PM and the burger joint didn’t close until much later on a Saturday night. So, we said we would go to the burger joint. Like I’ve said before, there were pin ball machines and most everybody who was out and about came into the place while we were there. I don’t remember if we wondered why nobody else was forced off of the streets or not. Maybe we should have. But, we were just as happy in the burger joint as we would have been riding around in the car.
Time went by and the burger joint closed for the night. So, because we couldn’t stay there any more, we decided to call it a night and go home. On the way home, it wasn’t long before that same police car was behind us, again, and it wasn’t very long at all before he turned on his red lights, again.
Deja vu, we pulled over again. He walked up to the car and right off the bat he said, “I told you there was a curfew and you were to stay off of the streets”. I politely told him the burger place closed, so we couldn’t stay there. I said we were going home. He seemed like he was still pissed from the last time he’d stopped us.
Again he told me to give him my license and just like before, he asked me where I got it. I told him something similar to “you already asked me that”. That’s when he seemed to really get mad. He kept my license and told me to follow him to the police station. I asked him why, and he said we would talk about that when we got there.
So, we followed him to the police station. We all were wondering what was going on but we couldn’t figure it out. We’d done nothing and we knew it. But, you don’t mess with small town cops, when they are acting like that guy was. He had a gun, as well as that big belly.
We got to the police station and we all went inside. It was a small town, and small towns have small police stations. Back then I think it had 3 rooms and none of them were very big. We filed into the room we were told to go into and found several more uniformed people in there. I don’t remember who they all were, but I remember at least one was a state trooper.
The big bellied cop handed my license to a second big bellied cop and the conversation started. This second guy was asking questions, but they were the same questions. Just like the first guy, he asked me where I got my license. All of us kind of laughed, but a little nervously, because we still didn’t know why they were so concerned about my license. I was about to give him an answer, similar to the one I had given the first guy, but before I could say anything, he asked me who I was.
After all of this, the guys with me were starting to get restless and one of them said, “don’t you know who he is? He’s doc’s boy.” My dad was the only Optometrist in the town and like most doctors, his nick name was doc. The medical doctors in town had no kids, so I was the only “doc’s boy” in town. I agreed with my friends, even suggesting they call my dad to verify who I was. My license was the same as everybody else’s and I got it at the same place. There wasn’t anything strange about it. It had my picture on it, my name and address and it was sealed in plastic lamination, just like everybody else’s.
After about 10 or 15 more minutes of strange and stupid questions, the second guy handed me my license and said we could all leave. Nobody ever said anything about what they were trying to find out, and at that point, I was just happy to leave and let it go. But, in small towns, information gets around very quickly, so we found out why they were asking who I was and not trusting my license. I had long blonde hair back then, because I was a musician. All musicians had long hair. And I drove a black car.
As the story goes, they were looking for some guy by the name of Huffman. This Huffman also drove a black car and had long blonde hair. I guess the records back then weren’t as easily checked as they are today. Small towns had small town records. Nobody ever apologized for stopping us, or trying to intimidate us. That wasn’t in the small town cop personality. Remember? They like to play the bad ass, when they can.
I didn’t know anybody by the name of Huffman, nor did any of my friends. We didn’t even know if he was supposed to live in our small town. But, I’d guess he didn’t, because of the police car that was always sitting at the edge of town when I came home for lunch. My guess is Huffman was a local drug dealer and police thought he was making a drug run every time he (I) came back into town for lunch. I could be completely wrong with my scenario, but because the police didn’t tell me the actual story, I did the best I could.
I think you really had to be there in that police station to understand the confusing conversation. The police were being very cryptic, to say the least. That’s common, because police don’t divulge any information they don’t want you to know, so they get the answers they want to their questions. The problem with their investigation was they were asking the right questions, but to the wrong guy. If you grew up in a small town, you might even understand. Oh, and to top this story off, the next time I came home for lunch, the police car wasn’t there.
Just for the record, every story here is the complete truth. Nothing is faked and I haven't tried to glorify any parts to make them better. I think this is what makes these stories so interesting. I hope you do, too.
Like most of these stories, this happened way back in the 1970s. I was slightly more than a kid then and the times were very different than they are today.
----
Back in the summer of 1972 I had a job working for the state. I worked at the local state park, just south of my home town. I did just about everything there was to do there from cutting wood and setting fence posts to mowing grass. Let me tell you, there was a lot of grass to mow in the summer months. It was one of those jobs where once you finished mowing one section, another section had grown high enough to mow again. They call that job security, in the trades.
Mowing was my main job in the summer months. I would mow for nearly 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. I didn’t mind it, though. I rode a riding mower around fence posts and other obstacles another guy on a tractor couldn’t get to. Unfortunately, that was before portable headphone players were popular, or I would have enjoyed the job that much more.
The park was only about 10 miles from town and I would come back into town for lunch every day. And, I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it seemed like every day there was a local police officer sitting at the edge of town. He was never there when I went to work, or when I came home in the evening. He was just there at lunchtime.
This went on for a while. I’m not sure exactly how long, but I could almost always count on that police car being there. It was so regular I think I would have noticed if one day he wasn’t there. I just assumed he was doing his job, maybe watching for speeders or something, even though speed traps weren’t that common back then.
If you’ve ever lived in a small town, you know about driving the strip or the loop or whatever you happened to call it where you lived. There wasn’t a lot to do, so people would just get in their cars and drive in a big circle from one end of town to another, making sure to take the main drag both ways. Everybody did it. The movie “American Graffiti” was very similar to how it really was. You’d get all of your friends in the car with you and have the radio blasting your favorite station. Everybody had the same station playing, because there was only one. And back then it was only AM radio and they played something called the “top 40” songs. And being a small town, we only had one stop light. The rest of the intersections just had stop signs.
On a Saturday night, the town was really hopping. Well, at least as much as a small town could. There was a popular burger joint on one end of town and everybody making the rounds would sometimes stop in there. It was the only place open after 5 PM, when other merchants would close for the day. Not just burgers and drinks, there was also a juke box and several pin ball machines. I remember the pin ball machines were 5 cents each and if you put the legs of the machine on your shoes, you had a better chance of winning. It made the machine slope less and that slowed the ball down. One machine was also difficult to tilt. It was the most popular with the pin ball playing crowd.
One Saturday in particular, I was driving around and I had several of my friends in the car with me. I think there were 5 of us, all in our early to mid 20s. We had just left the local burger joint and had stopped at the first stop sign. Just as we were pulling out from that stop sign, we noticed the car behind us was a police car. He started following us rather closely and it was getting obvious to us that he was going to pull us over. Sure enough, he turned on his red lights and we pulled over into a nearby parking lot.
I think here would be a good time to explain our small town police force. I don’t remember exactly how many officers were on the force, but most of them were pretty old guys with big bellies. There were some nights when you could count on finding one of them in an out of the way place, snoozing. There was also a time when twins the age of 18 were hired on, but because they weren’t 21, they couldn’t carry guns.
All of these guys had their own personality. One older guy thought he was a real bad ass. Another older guy was the one who would go find a spot to sleep. Both of them were your basic red neck types of the day. The twins were so young and green, people made fun of them.
Unfortunately for us, the guy who thought he was a real bad ass was the guy who stopped us. He got out of the car and walked up to my side of the car. He asked us what we were doing. We all thought that was kind of a stupid question, because we were doing the same thing we did the night before, and probably the night before that. And just about anybody else on the street that night was doing the same thing. We were riding around, listening to music.
In the most intimidating tone of voice he could muster, he demanded to see my driver’s license. Trying to be as much of a smart ass as he was being, I asked him why he needed to see it. He knew who I was. He said, “Give me the damn license”, so I thought I’d make him happy and give it to him.
He took the license and was looking at it, just like any other police officer would do and I was just about to ask him why he had stopped us when he asked me, “Where did you get this?” Of course, I was a little confused by that question, and didn’t really know how to answer him.
“I got it at the usual place, like everybody else.” I really didn’t know what to say. I almost thought it was a trick question.
He seemed to think I was trying to be even more of a bad ass. He looked at my license then looked at me and then said, “What’s your name?”
I was getting even more confused with the line of questions he had, and that one was really confusing. “My name is right there on the license.” I could have said something else, but I was just trying to keep the conversation civil.
It was quite obvious that he didn’t like my answers, and tossed my license into my lap. Then he leaned into the car window and told us that there was a curfew and we had to get off the streets. He said to either go to the burger joint or go home, but stay off of the streets. I remember one of the other guys in the car saying he couldn’t make us stay off the street, but he fired back that he could do anything he wanted to.
We didn’t really care that much, because it was only about 8 PM and the burger joint didn’t close until much later on a Saturday night. So, we said we would go to the burger joint. Like I’ve said before, there were pin ball machines and most everybody who was out and about came into the place while we were there. I don’t remember if we wondered why nobody else was forced off of the streets or not. Maybe we should have. But, we were just as happy in the burger joint as we would have been riding around in the car.
Time went by and the burger joint closed for the night. So, because we couldn’t stay there any more, we decided to call it a night and go home. On the way home, it wasn’t long before that same police car was behind us, again, and it wasn’t very long at all before he turned on his red lights, again.
Deja vu, we pulled over again. He walked up to the car and right off the bat he said, “I told you there was a curfew and you were to stay off of the streets”. I politely told him the burger place closed, so we couldn’t stay there. I said we were going home. He seemed like he was still pissed from the last time he’d stopped us.
Again he told me to give him my license and just like before, he asked me where I got it. I told him something similar to “you already asked me that”. That’s when he seemed to really get mad. He kept my license and told me to follow him to the police station. I asked him why, and he said we would talk about that when we got there.
So, we followed him to the police station. We all were wondering what was going on but we couldn’t figure it out. We’d done nothing and we knew it. But, you don’t mess with small town cops, when they are acting like that guy was. He had a gun, as well as that big belly.
We got to the police station and we all went inside. It was a small town, and small towns have small police stations. Back then I think it had 3 rooms and none of them were very big. We filed into the room we were told to go into and found several more uniformed people in there. I don’t remember who they all were, but I remember at least one was a state trooper.
The big bellied cop handed my license to a second big bellied cop and the conversation started. This second guy was asking questions, but they were the same questions. Just like the first guy, he asked me where I got my license. All of us kind of laughed, but a little nervously, because we still didn’t know why they were so concerned about my license. I was about to give him an answer, similar to the one I had given the first guy, but before I could say anything, he asked me who I was.
After all of this, the guys with me were starting to get restless and one of them said, “don’t you know who he is? He’s doc’s boy.” My dad was the only Optometrist in the town and like most doctors, his nick name was doc. The medical doctors in town had no kids, so I was the only “doc’s boy” in town. I agreed with my friends, even suggesting they call my dad to verify who I was. My license was the same as everybody else’s and I got it at the same place. There wasn’t anything strange about it. It had my picture on it, my name and address and it was sealed in plastic lamination, just like everybody else’s.
After about 10 or 15 more minutes of strange and stupid questions, the second guy handed me my license and said we could all leave. Nobody ever said anything about what they were trying to find out, and at that point, I was just happy to leave and let it go. But, in small towns, information gets around very quickly, so we found out why they were asking who I was and not trusting my license. I had long blonde hair back then, because I was a musician. All musicians had long hair. And I drove a black car.
As the story goes, they were looking for some guy by the name of Huffman. This Huffman also drove a black car and had long blonde hair. I guess the records back then weren’t as easily checked as they are today. Small towns had small town records. Nobody ever apologized for stopping us, or trying to intimidate us. That wasn’t in the small town cop personality. Remember? They like to play the bad ass, when they can.
I didn’t know anybody by the name of Huffman, nor did any of my friends. We didn’t even know if he was supposed to live in our small town. But, I’d guess he didn’t, because of the police car that was always sitting at the edge of town when I came home for lunch. My guess is Huffman was a local drug dealer and police thought he was making a drug run every time he (I) came back into town for lunch. I could be completely wrong with my scenario, but because the police didn’t tell me the actual story, I did the best I could.
I think you really had to be there in that police station to understand the confusing conversation. The police were being very cryptic, to say the least. That’s common, because police don’t divulge any information they don’t want you to know, so they get the answers they want to their questions. The problem with their investigation was they were asking the right questions, but to the wrong guy. If you grew up in a small town, you might even understand. Oh, and to top this story off, the next time I came home for lunch, the police car wasn’t there.
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
Have you ever looked back on something you did in the past and kicked yourself for the decision you made at the time? I mean, I’m far from a naive or shy man, and when it comes to sex, I’m also not naive. Even with the possibility I might be seen as tooting my own horn here, I’ve been in more than one threesome with two women, and in several of these sexual trios I wasn’t the instigator. So, after reading this story, I hope you’ll understand how I think back on this experience from my past with the wish I could go back and give it another try.
This was back in 1977, and I lived in Atlanta, Georgia. Actually, it was really Decatur, which is a suburb. I was a working musician. No, I wasn’t making it rich, and I had to also work as a sandwich maker in a little vegetarian pub in the “Little Five Points” area of town. It was a happening place. I guess it could have been the clientele, thinking vegetarians tend to be decisive and adventurous, because they’ve made the choice to no longer eat meat. I’m very carnivorous, but I also like vegetables. Working at this little hole in the wall, I found out that certain veggie combinations with a little bean spouts on top can be very tasty. And vegetarian spaghetti doesn’t lack flavor, even though there are no meatballs.
The lead singer of the band I was in also worked at this same pub and so we got into a pattern of going out to bars after work. This story is about one of those nights and because I can’t go back and correct my choice, I’d really rather it hadn’t happened at all. But it did, so maybe my coming clean about it will be a little cathartic for me. And maybe I might actually gain a little pity from some of you, too.
One Friday night after work, we (the lead singer’s name was Tommy) went out to a few bars. He was an Atlanta native, so he knew of a lot more places where we might get lucky. It had been pretty dry in that area, ever since I’d moved down there, and I was beginning to wonder about my chances, a northerner living in the south.
We went to one place. I wish I could remember the name. There wasn’t a band, but there was some good rock music playing from somewhere. From what I can remember, it was kind of a rock style bar. Remember, this is in the middle of the 70s. A lot of people were still in a fog from the 60s. And I think the owner of this bar was wishing he could go back. Smoking pot was very much out in the open there. I wasn’t bothered by this at all, but because it was still very much illegal, it did make me wonder how this bar owner was able to allow such an atmosphere without getting arrested or the bar closed down.
We found us a table and each ordered a beer. There was a room with pool and snooker tables, so we decided to play some pool. It’s always nice to watch sexy women leaning over a pool table to make a shot. They lean over, hold that pose for the duration while they eye up their shot. Some wear short skirts, and some wear very short shorts. I’m sure they know what they do to men like me. And being a man like me, that whole picture always gives me some interesting ideas.
Tommy and I got a table and we were taking turns trying to show off our average pool playing skills. After being there for a while, and after a couple of beers each, something very interesting happened. I forget how it really started, and I also don’t remember where they came from, but we were approached by two of the prettiest blonds with nearly perfect bodies. I kid you not, these babes were twins and I was a bit startled that they had approached us. I know Tommy was thinking the very same thing. Personally, I was looking around for a group of people laughing. I was sure somebody had set us up and was enjoying how the both of us were drooling.
But, I didn’t let any of this show on my face. Well, at least I didn’t think it did. We both tried to play it very cool, as if beautiful women always approach us in bars. I can’t say it any better. These ladies could have been the centerfolds of any of the top magazines such as Playboy, or even a classier publication, if there is one.
The offer they had for us wasn’t to play a game of pool, to dance, nor was it to buy them a beer. They wanted us to go home with them to play a different type of game. Now I ask you. Would any hot blooded male say no to a situation like this? I didn’t think so. And we didn’t say no, either. They even suggested that we follow them in our own car, which told me they just wanted sex, and then we’d leave. Many men are this way, but it was refreshing to find two lovely ladies who knew want they wanted and weren’t afraid to go for it.
On the way to their place is usually the time when the two guys will wrangle for the woman they prefer, but, because they were twins and gorgeous, that didn’t seem to be even remotely necessary. I don’t remember if we said much at all on the ride there. I’m sure my mouth was probably so dry that I couldn’t have said anything.
When we got to their place, it wasn’t large, but it was very nice and also very 70s in its décor. They had a lava light, posters on the walls and some of the rooms had colored bulbs in the lamps, to set a certain mood, I’m sure. We all sat on the couch and engaged in some small talk, while one of them rolled a joint. When she finished that, she fired it up and passed it to her sister. She then went right back to rolling another one. If you didn’t know, pot is very much an aphrodisiac. And as far as I’m concerned, my thoughts start to get pretty kinky.
It’s possible for the pot to be overpowering and that can be bad. You end up so high that you're staring at the wall, instead of staring at the pretty women. And sex is no longer on your mind, because you’re engrossed with the way the pattern of the wallpaper seems to dance with the music that’s playing. From then on, you’re lucky if you remember your name, or if you care about it, one way or the other.
That didn’t happen. The pot was very good, but it wasn’t one of those “trippy” highs that make you act like those stupid stoners we all make fun of. Remember the character Sean Penn played in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”? Yeah, that kind of stupid stoner dude.
After we started the second joint, the ladies both stood up and we followed them into one of the bedrooms. Once we all got into the room, there was just one bed. So, Tommy and I both were waiting for the ladies to decide which one of us they preferred to be with, and then one couple would go into the other bedroom.
I’m sorry to say here’s where the story takes a big twist. After an awkward time of us all standing there sharing the joint, the ladies finally explained the situation they were hoping for. They said there was only one bedroom and they slept together. Now, like I said early on in this story, I’m not naïve nor am I normally shy about jumping into any sexual situation with a lovely lady. And when there are two lovely ladies, I’m even more willing to jump in, take the commanding role and get down to business. And I wasn’t that involved in Tommy’s sexual experience, but I don’t think he was that naïve, either. After all, he knew where to go to find women.
So, there we were. The two ladies were looking very lovely and willing. But all I could think of was one thing and from the look on Tommy’s face, he was thinking the same thing. I have no issues at all against being the only male with two (or more) women. And I think Tommy was feeling the same. But, I’ve never cared for being in the same bed with another naked male body. In fact, my sexual performance would be impossible.
And this wasn’t a king or queen size bed. It was just a full size bed. Four naked bodies in a full size bed would mean the male bodies would probably touch from time to time. OK, maybe I’m a prude, but I’m not gay and I’m not bisexual. I have nothing against that kind of lifestyle, but I really prefer the only hairy body in the bed to be mine. And of course, the way Tommy and I were sharing glances, we were both feeling sick about this obvious hang up we shared. I mean really…how many times do you get a chance with beautiful twin ladies who just want to share their bodies with you, no strings, no muss and no fuss? Seriously, this was straight out of a fiction novel. Unfortunately, it was turning out to be more of a horror story.
To finish up this sad story, we apologized ad nauseam for what we expressed as our failing, bowed out of our special sexual encounter with these pretty ladies and made our exit. The whole time, I couldn’t believe what I was doing. I was really trying to convince myself that another male in the bed wouldn’t be that big of a deal. But, because I was high, my emotions were also high and that nasty little phobia about another hairy body in bed with me was yelling "NO" very loudly.
That ride home was pretty depressing. I guess you had to be there. All either of us could say was “FUCK” or “DAMN” or “SON OF A BITCH” among other colorful phrases, in an attempt to express our sadness and almost disgust at ourselves for being heterosexual males with such a senseless hang up. And it was even more senseless because it had caused us to lose what I’m very sure would have been a very nice experience with those two very lovely blond twins. Tommy and I never spoke of that night again. I eventually moved away from Atlanta, but if I were to ever see Tommy again, I know I could recreate that sick feeling in his stomach as well as in mine, just by bringing up the night when the twins wanted to play.
This was back in 1977, and I lived in Atlanta, Georgia. Actually, it was really Decatur, which is a suburb. I was a working musician. No, I wasn’t making it rich, and I had to also work as a sandwich maker in a little vegetarian pub in the “Little Five Points” area of town. It was a happening place. I guess it could have been the clientele, thinking vegetarians tend to be decisive and adventurous, because they’ve made the choice to no longer eat meat. I’m very carnivorous, but I also like vegetables. Working at this little hole in the wall, I found out that certain veggie combinations with a little bean spouts on top can be very tasty. And vegetarian spaghetti doesn’t lack flavor, even though there are no meatballs.
The lead singer of the band I was in also worked at this same pub and so we got into a pattern of going out to bars after work. This story is about one of those nights and because I can’t go back and correct my choice, I’d really rather it hadn’t happened at all. But it did, so maybe my coming clean about it will be a little cathartic for me. And maybe I might actually gain a little pity from some of you, too.
One Friday night after work, we (the lead singer’s name was Tommy) went out to a few bars. He was an Atlanta native, so he knew of a lot more places where we might get lucky. It had been pretty dry in that area, ever since I’d moved down there, and I was beginning to wonder about my chances, a northerner living in the south.
We went to one place. I wish I could remember the name. There wasn’t a band, but there was some good rock music playing from somewhere. From what I can remember, it was kind of a rock style bar. Remember, this is in the middle of the 70s. A lot of people were still in a fog from the 60s. And I think the owner of this bar was wishing he could go back. Smoking pot was very much out in the open there. I wasn’t bothered by this at all, but because it was still very much illegal, it did make me wonder how this bar owner was able to allow such an atmosphere without getting arrested or the bar closed down.
We found us a table and each ordered a beer. There was a room with pool and snooker tables, so we decided to play some pool. It’s always nice to watch sexy women leaning over a pool table to make a shot. They lean over, hold that pose for the duration while they eye up their shot. Some wear short skirts, and some wear very short shorts. I’m sure they know what they do to men like me. And being a man like me, that whole picture always gives me some interesting ideas.
Tommy and I got a table and we were taking turns trying to show off our average pool playing skills. After being there for a while, and after a couple of beers each, something very interesting happened. I forget how it really started, and I also don’t remember where they came from, but we were approached by two of the prettiest blonds with nearly perfect bodies. I kid you not, these babes were twins and I was a bit startled that they had approached us. I know Tommy was thinking the very same thing. Personally, I was looking around for a group of people laughing. I was sure somebody had set us up and was enjoying how the both of us were drooling.
But, I didn’t let any of this show on my face. Well, at least I didn’t think it did. We both tried to play it very cool, as if beautiful women always approach us in bars. I can’t say it any better. These ladies could have been the centerfolds of any of the top magazines such as Playboy, or even a classier publication, if there is one.
The offer they had for us wasn’t to play a game of pool, to dance, nor was it to buy them a beer. They wanted us to go home with them to play a different type of game. Now I ask you. Would any hot blooded male say no to a situation like this? I didn’t think so. And we didn’t say no, either. They even suggested that we follow them in our own car, which told me they just wanted sex, and then we’d leave. Many men are this way, but it was refreshing to find two lovely ladies who knew want they wanted and weren’t afraid to go for it.
On the way to their place is usually the time when the two guys will wrangle for the woman they prefer, but, because they were twins and gorgeous, that didn’t seem to be even remotely necessary. I don’t remember if we said much at all on the ride there. I’m sure my mouth was probably so dry that I couldn’t have said anything.
When we got to their place, it wasn’t large, but it was very nice and also very 70s in its décor. They had a lava light, posters on the walls and some of the rooms had colored bulbs in the lamps, to set a certain mood, I’m sure. We all sat on the couch and engaged in some small talk, while one of them rolled a joint. When she finished that, she fired it up and passed it to her sister. She then went right back to rolling another one. If you didn’t know, pot is very much an aphrodisiac. And as far as I’m concerned, my thoughts start to get pretty kinky.
It’s possible for the pot to be overpowering and that can be bad. You end up so high that you're staring at the wall, instead of staring at the pretty women. And sex is no longer on your mind, because you’re engrossed with the way the pattern of the wallpaper seems to dance with the music that’s playing. From then on, you’re lucky if you remember your name, or if you care about it, one way or the other.
That didn’t happen. The pot was very good, but it wasn’t one of those “trippy” highs that make you act like those stupid stoners we all make fun of. Remember the character Sean Penn played in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”? Yeah, that kind of stupid stoner dude.
After we started the second joint, the ladies both stood up and we followed them into one of the bedrooms. Once we all got into the room, there was just one bed. So, Tommy and I both were waiting for the ladies to decide which one of us they preferred to be with, and then one couple would go into the other bedroom.
I’m sorry to say here’s where the story takes a big twist. After an awkward time of us all standing there sharing the joint, the ladies finally explained the situation they were hoping for. They said there was only one bedroom and they slept together. Now, like I said early on in this story, I’m not naïve nor am I normally shy about jumping into any sexual situation with a lovely lady. And when there are two lovely ladies, I’m even more willing to jump in, take the commanding role and get down to business. And I wasn’t that involved in Tommy’s sexual experience, but I don’t think he was that naïve, either. After all, he knew where to go to find women.
So, there we were. The two ladies were looking very lovely and willing. But all I could think of was one thing and from the look on Tommy’s face, he was thinking the same thing. I have no issues at all against being the only male with two (or more) women. And I think Tommy was feeling the same. But, I’ve never cared for being in the same bed with another naked male body. In fact, my sexual performance would be impossible.
And this wasn’t a king or queen size bed. It was just a full size bed. Four naked bodies in a full size bed would mean the male bodies would probably touch from time to time. OK, maybe I’m a prude, but I’m not gay and I’m not bisexual. I have nothing against that kind of lifestyle, but I really prefer the only hairy body in the bed to be mine. And of course, the way Tommy and I were sharing glances, we were both feeling sick about this obvious hang up we shared. I mean really…how many times do you get a chance with beautiful twin ladies who just want to share their bodies with you, no strings, no muss and no fuss? Seriously, this was straight out of a fiction novel. Unfortunately, it was turning out to be more of a horror story.
To finish up this sad story, we apologized ad nauseam for what we expressed as our failing, bowed out of our special sexual encounter with these pretty ladies and made our exit. The whole time, I couldn’t believe what I was doing. I was really trying to convince myself that another male in the bed wouldn’t be that big of a deal. But, because I was high, my emotions were also high and that nasty little phobia about another hairy body in bed with me was yelling "NO" very loudly.
That ride home was pretty depressing. I guess you had to be there. All either of us could say was “FUCK” or “DAMN” or “SON OF A BITCH” among other colorful phrases, in an attempt to express our sadness and almost disgust at ourselves for being heterosexual males with such a senseless hang up. And it was even more senseless because it had caused us to lose what I’m very sure would have been a very nice experience with those two very lovely blond twins. Tommy and I never spoke of that night again. I eventually moved away from Atlanta, but if I were to ever see Tommy again, I know I could recreate that sick feeling in his stomach as well as in mine, just by bringing up the night when the twins wanted to play.
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Endless_Night
Literotica Guru
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I just shared your latest story with my SO. He though it was perfectly understandable you wanted to be the only hairy body in the bed.
Of course our bed always has 2 hairy bodies. But I guess a mini dachshund isn't quite the same thing.
Of course our bed always has 2 hairy bodies.
But I guess a mini dachshund isn't quite the same thing.
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
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Some people complain about hair stuck in their teeth. Me, my complaint about hair is more complex. Dental floss can help with hair in your teeth. I really don't think there is a cure for the fear of another hairy male being in the same bed.I just shared your latest story with my SO. He though it was perfectly understandable you wanted to be the only hairy body in the bed.
Of course our bed always has 2 hairy bodies.
Cumference
I brought my plunger!
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A short one:
Lady C and I had been fooling around in bed, but not really gotten anywhere.
For some reason we just couldn't really get started.
I had been fiddling a little with her, she had sucked a bit on me, I had a nice erection.... and at last she decided to roll a cocoa-flavoured condom on me, and finish me orally.
The condom was tight, cocoa really is not the smell I like in bed and the effort was pleasant but fruitless.
We gave up, and resorted to cuddling and chatting. But the erection and condom was still there, and at some time I grasped the reservoir and pulled.
When flaccid it will slide off, but when filled up good, it acts like a Chinese finger trap and stays on, and I could stretch it half a meter.
When strummed, it gave a tone, and the pitch would change with the stretch.
At that point Lady C gave me the "I'm married to a cute but crazy nerd"-look.
That spurred me on, and I started to play the only penis washtub bass know to exist in Scandinavia at that time, while hollering "Oh, Susannah".
Lady C pleaded me to stop, and being a gentle husband, I did as I was asked, and let go of the stretched condom......
She nearly fell out of bed laughing, and once I'd checked that nothing serious had happened, I joined the mirth.
Lady C and I had been fooling around in bed, but not really gotten anywhere.
For some reason we just couldn't really get started.
I had been fiddling a little with her, she had sucked a bit on me, I had a nice erection.... and at last she decided to roll a cocoa-flavoured condom on me, and finish me orally.
The condom was tight, cocoa really is not the smell I like in bed and the effort was pleasant but fruitless.
We gave up, and resorted to cuddling and chatting. But the erection and condom was still there, and at some time I grasped the reservoir and pulled.
When flaccid it will slide off, but when filled up good, it acts like a Chinese finger trap and stays on, and I could stretch it half a meter.
When strummed, it gave a tone, and the pitch would change with the stretch.
At that point Lady C gave me the "I'm married to a cute but crazy nerd"-look.
That spurred me on, and I started to play the only penis washtub bass know to exist in Scandinavia at that time, while hollering "Oh, Susannah".
Lady C pleaded me to stop, and being a gentle husband, I did as I was asked, and let go of the stretched condom......
She nearly fell out of bed laughing, and once I'd checked that nothing serious had happened, I joined the mirth.
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
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I appreciate your saying that. I also appreciate your visits to this thread. I'm have many more stories to come.
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
LOL, so you noticed the dental floss? I wondered if you'd visit the thread and read that.
Keep them coming
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
You know, this is really one of those you had to be there type of stories for sure. But I just can't get past one strong reaction. Ouch!A short one:
Lady C and I had been fooling around in bed, but not really gotten anywhere.
For some reason we just couldn't really get started.
I had been fiddling a little with her, she had sucked a bit on me, I had a nice erection.... and at last she decided to roll a cocoa-flavoured condom on me, and finish me orally.
The condom was tight, cocoa really is not the smell I like in bed and the effort was pleasant but fruitless.
We gave up, and resorted to cuddling and chatting. But the erection and condom was still there, and at some time I grasped the reservoir and pulled.
When flaccid it will slide off, but when filled up good, it acts like a Chinese finger trap and stays on, and I could stretch it half a meter.
When strummed, it gave a tone, and the pitch would change with the stretch.
At that point Lady C gave me the "I'm married to a cute but crazy nerd"-look.
That spurred me on, and I started to play the only penis washtub bass know to exist in Scandinavia at that time, while hollering "Oh, Susannah".
Lady C pleaded me to stop, and being a gentle husband, I did as I was asked, and let go of the stretched condom......
She nearly fell out of bed laughing, and once I'd checked that nothing serious had happened, I joined the mirth.
