The Big Bad Box Of Wasted Memories

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I mentioned yesterday that my mother had forwarded a box to me that basically was full of things I thought didn’t exist any more. I was very surprised, to say the very least, to find the above picture of Shannon and Beth posing for me back in the summer of 1985. The picture was taken the summer prior to the start of my junior year of high school, I was sixteen and knew some very magic combinations, I knew how to have fun exceedingly well. Before I get into what happened that summer want to discuss dead memories and what triggers their revival. For me personally, if I had not went through the contents of the box I may have not even have ever thought of the two girls pictured. But now that I have thought of them, and others, I think it is story time. By the way, the 1978 Ford below is my truck from high school, fully restored 5 years ago, and still one of the trucks I drive in present time. One day, it will be my son’s truck, he helped restore it, and thinks he would like to have it for his first car. OK, story time is starting now. Be forewarned that some of the subject matter may describe illegal, illicit, or explicit accounts in some kind of detail which as an adult, as a parent, I would not approve of if this were one of my children talking.

Going to high school I was not the jock, the nerd, the loner, the rich kid, the smart kid, I was the kid that didn’t stand out, not worried about fashion trends or status, I flew under the radar and it served me very well. That being said, I did play football, basketball, and baseball on the high school teams, but in my opinion, had the skills in the range of average. Imagine, a sophomore, 6’3″ @ around 150# soaking wet. I was long, skinny, and lanky. But, as a first baseman I had some serious reach. As an offensive receiver I had the reach and the sprint speed. In the position of center, I was the only white kid who was regularly dunking the ball to score. I didn’t try real hard at sports, I didn’t like running, and when you hit a skeleton playing football it is painful to the skeleton. And I sure in the hell wasn’t getting any girls because of it either, not even a pity fuck every once in a while. So, I had my own game I played and was very successful at, I figured out how to get all the pussy I could ever want, and I became the dirty little secret nobody talked about. It earned me respect in the circles of guys who were keeping score for all the girls they could score with.

Now, I went to a rather large 5A school, in a redneck town that hosted rival 5A schools, in fact, our graduating class was 414 people just from our school alone. I showed up the first day of my sophomore year driving my 1978 Ford and found that it was an absolute magnet for the girls. They are wanted to be seen in it, and luckily for me, the price for admission was rarely declined. The price? Nakedness. Its one thing to get them naked, but I was greedy, I wanted more from my naked friends, and there was an answer for that as well. I knew that a big truck + a naked girl + alcohol = hot sex for me. It was a grand mathematical equation which never, not even once, failed me. I had a college friend who supplied me with options in the form of whiskey, bourbon, and spirits. Most girls these days had been drinking lite beer or never drank much of anything before so a little tequila would go a long way. Here’s the catch, I would just let them drink what I had, I never asked or demanded sex in return, but everyone knows that tequila makes her clothes fall off. So what to do, she’s drunk, horny, and naked? The answer is now she wants to fuck, she wants to have dirty angry sex that leaves bleeding claw marks on your body. All I did is provided the dick to be rode hard and put away wet.

So, let’s get back to this day at the river with Shannon and Beth shall we. I knew a place on the river that was supposedly accessible only by either foot or by horseback, or in my case a 4×4. So, yea, it was a bit secluded. But, clearly visible to others on the river, just they never figured out how to get out to the sand bars. So, friends and I could party, listen to loud music, drink, grill, eat, and get naked while others missed out. But, on this day on the river, it was just the three of us. To tell the truth I don’t expect the day would end well. Both girls had the reputation for being teases and they did it well separately and even better together. Its fine though, even then I enjoyed watching the half naked girls dancing around, funny how some things just never change. Come to find out, one of them had thrown down the gauntlet because she wanted to be queen of the high school girl teases. As the afternoon progressed, the level of tequila was dropping in the bottles, and the dancing became a hell of allot dirtier. As dusk settled in they were both completely naked, dancing like they were auditioning to be strippers, and then they stepped it up a notch. As I sat in my lawn chair, Shannon slinks over to give me my very first lap dance in life, it will become the lap dance standard which I judge all future lap dances in my life, and I’ve had a few. The grinding of the lap dance was having a wonderful reaction in my shorts and it didn’t take long for this to be noticed, so she would grind harder, digging her nails into my thighs so she could push harder on my lap. Then, all if a sudden she jumps up, walks over to Beth, giving here a tag team high five, which I found meant it was her turn. Now I know where they got the reputation for being a tease team. Not to be showed up, Beth did it harder, slower, and more intense. What are they trying to do, kill me?

I would like to say what happened next has scarred me for life, but that would be bullshit and we all know it. The tag team events continued, ranging from blow jobs, hand jobs, titty fucks, and then the coup d’eta happened which, at 16, absolutely blew me away. They both squatted down between my legs and began making out, a full course of heavy petting, pinching, fingering of each other, and in their spare time had both of their mouths on my dick simultaneously just having their way with me anyway they wanted. At this point I am still just a spectator to the live event unfolding before my eyes that were still in disbelief. Then, then it all escalated, now I was pushed to ground on the blankets, stripped, and they took turns riding me like a mechanical bull. At some time in the later events I recall watching as I blew what can be estimated to be my biggest load of cum across both of their faces. Once they made sure I was tapped out empty, they proceeded to lick the cum from each others face. When everyone caught their breath we went for a moonlight swim, both of them still very playful to say the least. Soon enough the tide had rolled in and we became very much stranded. Toss a few more logs on the fire, crank up the music, and the party continued. I woke up to the sun shining in my face with Shannon and Beth curled up next to me. All I can’t think is how exhausted I am, with a huge shit eating grin of course.

On the first day of my junior year in high school, I crossed the threshold as a legend amongst the people I knew who were stuck on the river bank that night. As far as Shannon and Beth? They returned to school as well, seniors this year, attending, as always, our rival high school. As I walked down memory lane while writing this post I had a sensory overload, I could smell the open fire, the river, and a faint remembrance of how their lite perfumes mixed on their sweaty bodies. I went to a joint high school reunion a few years ago and saw them both, I had heard the gossiping, both on their 3rd husbands, both with housefuls of kids, each with one in college. They both looked very different at that time, as we all do for sure, I didn’t think they recognized me until one of them said “hey, your that guy that had that really cool truck in high school”. Yep, I’m that guy. My wife asked about them and I told her I would tell her about it one day, that day was actually last night. And now, here I sit, reviewing what I have written, and have decided its time to close this story about my youth, for there are many more days for many more stories. Thanks for stopping by and having a read, I always appreciate visitors to my blog and always look forward to your return.

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The Extreme Mistaken Identity

brokeI spend a fair share of time buying and selling miscellaneous things on Craigslist and on eBay. Much of the stuff I hunt for is what I call local meaning I can get there within 3 hours or so. I have buying and selling like this for years and tend to travel a bit to pick different items up. Rarely, if ever, do I have problems with anybody because the people I buy and sell with are doing the same thing I’m doing which is buying stuff to fix/repair and then resell more often than not. I try not to get myself into deals that are too far away because then that just becomes more expensive in the end.

This trip would lead me to Lake Charles Louisiana to pickup a 40s Ford pickup (pictured below, picture provided from Craigslist ad) which I thought would be a good truck to finish off my 4×4 bastardization truck using my restored 70s Bronco chassis (pictured at bottom). Anyway, I had spoken with an older gentleman (spoke with a heavy Cajun accent) twice about the truck and a price of $1100.00 cash was agreed on by both of us. He told me that his nephew would contact me with the address and a good time to meet. Yesterday, Thursday, ended up being the day. I pushed for Saturday or Sunday but the nephew was hell-bent it had to be when he said. So be it, right.

The trip from my house to Lake Charles is about 2 hours so I figured it wouldn’t be too bad of a trip during the week to make. I loaded up my truck and trailer and set off to Louisiana. I wasn’t familiar with the address I was given but I did know the area of town I was going. When I arrived at my destination (as said to be correct by my GPS and the GPS in my cellphone) I was presented with the house (pictured above). Thinking there was a mistake I reset my GPS. Apparently I was at the address I was given. Thinking there was a mistake I took a picture of it and sent it to my wife to let her know I was sent on a wild goose chase. She wasn’t happy with me to say the least and explained to me I needed to figure out what in the hell was going on.

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After 20 or so attempts I was able to get ahold of the nephew who explained to me that I sounded like a white cop on the phone. He further explained that they didn’t do business with white cops. I was given the address to the abandoned house so I could be checked out by friends of his. When I asked if there was a problem with me being white he told me no as long as I had the cash and wasn’t a white cop. He told me he was sending his friends over to the house to check me out in person and if I checked out then they would escort me to his uncle’s house to pick up the truck. He informed me two of his friends would be there shortly and I was to give them the cash. Once they had the cash I would get a call that it was okay to follow his friends. I was warned I better be legit because this was the wrong place to be a white cop.

Once I hung up with him I decided to just leave. In my head I ran down the scenario and it ends up with me being robbed and killed, leaving me to rot in the abandon house. Even though I did have my twins (Desert Eagle .50AE x2) accompanying me on this little excursion I was not prepared to be in an ambush gunfight with an unknown number of people. I headed out shortly before sunset to return home. I will never know who showed up for the meet and greet last night. Tell you the truth I really don’t care. I haven’t heard from the man with the heavy Cajun accent or the nephew and I don’t suspect I will either. Sad, if you ask me, that this all played out the way it did. Perhaps my wife was right, the deal just was just too good to be true. Apparently so.

I have had some time to analyze this whole thing. Since I was troubled with heavy concern that allot of assumptions were made, inaccurately I might add, about me. Okay, they assumed one thing that was right, I am white. I won’t do them the same disservice by assuming I know what race my new friends are because I never met any of them in person. Accents, slang, and how someone talks are not tell signs of one’s race. Being I was bothered still by the events, I contacted the local sheriff’s department for that parish in Lake Charles where I was given a very hardy “yeah, yeah, yeah, we’ll look into it when we get an officer freed up”. Who cares, right? No harm no foul, right? Sure, I guess so.

Now that this bullshit is over all I can think is how sweet that old beast would have looked when I go done with her. So, my hunt will continue and sooner or later I will get the body I was always looking for. I think what pisses me off the most is that I never would have guessed that junk sellers would be scamming people or trying to roll people for that cash. Makes re-think how I will do business in the future for sure. What a stupid reason to get killed. But, my optimist side has thought that perhaps I drove away from a fantastic deal and there was nothing to be worried about. My realist side says I made the right choice.

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