23
Mar
12

tales of fail: things grandmother’s eyes have seen

Yup, that time again… There isn’t really any way to ease in to these. Perhaps you should just reside yourself to the fact that you’re about to kill a small, innocent part of your soul and you’re going to laugh through its last pitiful death throes without even noticing until it is too late.

I have had numerous platonic relationships with members of the opposite sex. I take it as a good sign that I am not completely dysfunctional when it comes to relationships with woman, which is not a feat to be scoffed at looking at my track record. This is one of them…

A fateful night that started in the kitchen of my soon to be fuck buddy’s parents place, in the company of her grandmother visiting for the weekend while her parents were away… It was pleasant and jovial start and we assured the sweet old dear numerous times that we were no more than two people who simply enjoyed each others company. This of course was true at the time. I don’t lie, and I certainly don’t lie to other people’s grandmothers. It’s part of my charm that manages to struggle to the surface on occasion, and this just so happened to be one of those occasions. Granny thought me a lovely lad, a bit of an odd dress sense, but perfectly lovely.

The plan for the evening was that I would be shown around my mate’s neck of the woods. I mean her neighbourhood, not her other “neck of the woods”. That part was entirely unplanned and I think surprised everyone. We headed out into the night with granny’s blessing to go be young. Which to us meant go get retarded drunk. The alcohol and conversation flowed that night. Every possible facet of life and what it all meant was discussed as we bar hopped around her little town. I probably discovered something profound and meaningful in all that talk, but it was obliterated by the amount of tequila I poured down my throat. I believe the count was up to 15 tequila shots, when we eventually crash landed back at her place both shit faced and ready to suck face. This incidentally, planted the seed for a strategy I would employ for years involving getting blind drunk, talking incessantly, and then pulling out my penis. If you ever plan on using this method I can vouch that it has about a 100% chance of your penis being played with, but only about a 30% chance that it won’t be by you. Some are thoroughly charmed by your straightforwardness and some are inclined to strike out and scream for help. C’est la vie.

pop art, comic book, woman slapping man, pervet getting smacked

happens more than I like to admit

We were just in middle of passionate love-making… To the casual observer it looked like two drunk people making a good go of fucking on the couch. When the inevitable happened, a lesson that I never really learnt in the years preceding or since that night, that when I have had that much liquor, my dick won’t cooperate with anyone. My dear friend and current object of lust was trying her damnedest to get a rise out of the offending appendage when unbeknownst to us, our skin on skin slapping must have alerted her grandmother to something not quite right happening in the house. She knew the sound even if she couldn’t quite place from where and when. She sat up right, hopped out of bed with the agility of a much younger woman, wrapped herself in her old lady night-gown and made her way through the dark house like a fucking ninja to investigate the origin of the strange but familiar sounds. What she found was two pale naked bodies lit only by moonlight engaged in what can only be described as a blow job. She stood for a moment, shocked, unable to believe the scene in front of her. I, being the only one able to look around the room was equally stunned and speechless. It seemed like an eternity that our gazes locked, watching horror creep over each other’s faces. Both our cheeks going crimson, hers from anger, mine from being sucked off, until there was nothing to be done but to break the silence. There wasn’t exactly silence if I’m completely honest. I’m certain there was a slurp or two in those few milliseconds.

grandma, gun

visions of my future

Granny broke her granddaughters concentration and the silence by shouting, “So this is what just friends do?!”. She didn’t wait for an answer, thankfully. She blurted something about getting dressed and going to bed while making a hasty retreat down the corridor back to her room. Our dear friend, mortified at being caught with cock in mouth, covered her face and understandably took a minute to curl up and die a little inside. While she did that I located my scattered clothes and pulled them on ready to make my exit. I was a gentleman though and waited when she went to check that Granny hadn’t died of a heart attack. I fought my initial instincts then to get the fuck out the house and run before Gran came back with a weapon of some sort. When our, now dressed, mate returned she insisted on account of my drunk state that I still spend the night, albeit, on the couch, fully clothed and far away from her. After some whispered debate, I finally relented when I realised that the situation was far more embarrassing for grandmother and granddaughter than it was for me. I was also assured nothing violent would happen to me while I slept so I reluctantly agreed. We made coffee and sat on the aforementioned couch, and laughed at how the night had ended. To me, a rather good indication that we were to stay good mates.

That morning, I awoke with a pounding head, tongue like sand and cock that felt thoroughly used. I was greeted by the sounds of Granny and one of her friends having Sunday tea while I was passed out, just feet away. I pretended to be asleep for as long as possible but eventually I had to relieve my bladder. I can’t say I’ve ever had such an awkward morning before or since. Then I haven’t been caught completely naked with a future generation’s head in my lap since then either. Strangely, Granny agreed not to tell anyone about what the three of us had shared that night and it seemed like it ended there. That is until a few years later, when our mate’s mother, who I managed to make multiple good impressions on and was on great terms with, hinted that she had been clued in on what had happened on her lounge suit all those years ago. In my shock and embarrassment, I’m afraid I probably didn’t offer up a very good apology at the time… So, Mrs “Mate’s Mom”, if you ever read this, I really am sorry I got my balls out and all over your living room… and I’m sorry you just read the details of what happened that night now.

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