Road Head, Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love My Fellow Highway Travelers

I probably need to apologize to whoever wrote Dr. Zhivago for that title, but I can't remember his name right now, so screw him. I'm sure one of my more literate readers will fil in the blanks later on.

WARNING: This post contains adult subjects and may not be suitable for all audiences. In other words, it's about a blow-job.

During my last two years in college I dated one girl exclusively. Right after college we broke up, causing me much consternation over all the girls, (all both of them), that I had turned down while with this girl, thereby missing opportunities to have sex with new, strange women. Even if one of them was really tall and had a pronounced Adam's apple. Let that be a lesson to all you youngsters out there. It's better to regret something you have done than regret something you haven't done. So even as your standing at the urinal experiencing burning pain while peeing, hey, there's always penicillin, and later on you can post about it on your blog instead of saying, "gee, I wish I had let that stripper blow me"

Speaking of blow-jobs...

This girl, while wasting two years of prime girl chasing years that I'll never get back, could be a lot of fun. And occasionally spontaneous. Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, both spontaneous and fun at the same time. Like the time we were driving from my place, (OK, I was living in my parents basement at the time, but I was still in college. And I had stopped playing D&D by then), to Hartford and she leans over from the passnger seat and starts undoing my fly. She's never done this before. Well, not while driving. And neither had I. While driving. A couple of seconds later and she's going down on me while we drive through the main street leading out of town. Naturally, my driving abilities are affected, and not in an enhanced kind of way. I'm a little slow realizing that traffic lights have turned green for instance. One guy behind us is getting kind of pissed as I drive slower, faster, left, right, left, left, left, RIGHT!, slow, fast, for a couple of miles. We finally reach the point in the road where there are two lanes and he can fly past me. As he does I look over and see him start to bring his finger up in the universal gesture of love and respect that we all know from the road. Then he sees my girl's head bobbing up and down and instantly, (even faster than I got better service at the clothing store in the last post), he gets a huge smile, flips his hand over with a big ol' thumbs up, hits the horn twice and drives off waving out the window, happy as a pig in shit for his fellow man.

While that horn blowing did lead to the end of the car activities, it did leave me with an indelible impression. And blue balls. Which are definitely not a myth.