Alright folks, first of all; sorry for such a long absence. I finally scored a job as a graphic designer out here in Vegas, and I’ve been logging anywhere between 10 to 12 hours a day. I’m exhausted, but I figured that I’d get on here and regale you with yet another tale involving myself, and the lovely Ms. Sparkles. She made her first appearance in the virginity story a while back. This story is super long, so it makes up for lost time.
This particular story recounts where it all began. The world has quite a peculiar way of setting up situations. For instance, I met Sparkles at a county fair, fifty miles from home, and almost two years before the fateful day when she made me a man. There was nothing fantastic about that night. As a matter of fact, she was a friend of my best friend, and just so happened to be at the fair the same day that we were. Funny, I don’t remember saying a single word to her. I’m sure I said hello, but I’m willing to be that was the extent of it.
Fast forward two years, and we started talking, on the internet of all places. If I had to guess it was MySpace, because like many failing musicians I set up an account hoping that by some divine act of God, I would gain recognition. I did. However, it was a different form of recognition; from the ladies. Now, let me just clarify, I wasn’t swimming in the ol’ tang pool by any means. I’m almost twenty two years old, and I’ve only actually gotten laid by three women. I’m quite alright with that, as a matter of fact I find people that sleep with everyone they meet to be rather disgusting. This is clearly a combination of jealousy and sarcasm, but I digress.
Getting back to the matter at hand, we started talking. After a while of exchanging flirtatious texts back and forth, we decided that she should come out and visit. This frightened me for numerous reasons. Number one, I talk a pretty big game, and can sweep any woman off her feet over text messages. I’m a writer, it’s kind of what I do. I am not, however, very great at improvisation. I’m not nearly as smooth in person as I am via text. Number two, at that point in my life I had not been laid, by anyone. My boy parts might as well have been rotting away on a shelf like an old toy. Number Three, I was what’s commonly known as socially awkward. To this day, it still takes me at least a month of knowing someone before I can really break out of my shell. Number Four, and this was just the icing on the cake; I still lived with my parents.
Now, after hearing all of those reasons, I’ll admit; I wouldn’t even want to lay myself. So, the fact that any girl found me interesting enough to drive twenty miles to see me blew my mind (and later, my wiener.) However, she did come out, and I remember just sitting outside with her on the tail gate of my dads truck. Every once in a while she would inch her way closer to me, and put her hand on my thigh while we talked.
Can we just take a moment to thank the heavens for that alone? Women these days feel that a man needs to make the first move, and it’s absolute bullshit. If you wan’t it so damn badly, then reach on over and take it. When has a man ever said, “No, get your hands off my dong!” Well…me, but we’ll get to that later. Anyway, getting back to the story…
It was cold. So we decided to just sit in her car and listen to music. She not only listened, but seemed intrigued with what I was saying. After a while, my balls thawed out, and I decided to be a man. I looked at her, and in my head, I’m pretty sure I said something along the lines of “Target acquired” but who knows. I leaned over, and kissed her. Boom. Within minutes, things are getting hot and heavy. She takes initiative and invites an old pal of mine, Dong Johnson, to the party. Let me tell you, HE WAS EXCITED TO MAKE AN APPEARANCE.
She doesn’t blow me. Why would she? It’s the first time we’ve ever spent any time together, and she’s got a little thing called class. I did, however, get an unbelievably fantastic handy. It was great, listening to music, making sweet love to someone else’s hand for a change, things were looking up. After another hour or so I told her that I had to get some sleep. I had work at 7 the next morning, and it was already past midnight. I got out of the car, walked over to her, and kissed her goodnight and headed to the front door.
Like many of these stories, things didn’t end there.
As I’m walking up the porch to my front door, I hear her engine turn over. Multiple times. If I had to guess, I’d say at least 4,000. I stop dead in my tracks, and turn around thinking one single word, “Fuck.” I knew that if my parents for some reason decided to wake up and hear a car turning over outside, they’d not only look, but investigate. If either of them found out that there was a woman making conjugal visits to their sex depraved son, shit would hit the fan.
She get’s out of the car, and smiles at me. I walk back, and say this cannot be good. Thinking back, I knew that listening to music for endless hours in an idle car, would most likely drain the better. However, at the time I wasn’t thinking clearly due to the fact that a woman was giving me attention in the most pleasurable of ways.
Luckily for me, she called a friend in the area, and asked for a jump. He was an acquaintance of mine, and I really didn’t want him finding out that she and I we’re…getting to know each other. So I did what any man would do, when faced with a situation where you have the opportunity to stand up and show your true colors. I grabbed her hand, looked her dead in the eyes, and said, “Well, see ya.” Then went inside, and slept like a baby.
Over our short time together, Sparkles would open me up to a whole world of sexual experiences that I never thought I’d have the pleasure of enjoying. The kind of stuff you usually only see in porn. Ridiculous bj’s, facials in the park after dark, swallowing every single time, erotic yet strange ball stuff, she even bit my dick once, which I didn’t care for, but we’ll get to that another time. She is to this day, the only woman that never played games. What you see is what you get, and I’m not lying when I say it was perfect. She was the sweetest girl that I’ve ever met, and I hope wherever she is, she’s doing well.
Until next time, friends.
-Scott Walker
The tragic thing about not taking notes on events such as this, is that I can’t seem to place the exact period when this happened. I remember about 95% of all the paranormal things that happen to me, but I remember them without a date to back them up. I can easily remember the 1st one that happened when I was about five years old, and I can remember the most recent one that’s taken place just a few weeks prior to this post. However, everything that’s happened in between is just a random clusterfuck of events. Looking back, it would’ve been better if I had kept a journal on these types of experiences, but…that just seems like it’d be a whole lot of work. This story took place late 2010, if my memory serves me right.
It was a strange time for me, my parents were going through their ups and downs, and my mother was currently staying with her mom in Boise, Idaho. I stayed with my dad in our house in Southern California. One night, after my dad had gone to sleep, I decided to bring the guitar into the living room and work on a few songs that I had been writing at the time. For some reason, I always seemed to do my best writing at night.
I started to feel a bit tired after about twenty minutes on the couch, and decided to go wake myself up to the best of my ability. I went into the bathroom, and splashed my face with cold water, and as usual, ended up staring at myself in the mirror for a solid five minutes (I clearly have issues.) When I finally got back out to the living room, I went to reach for my pen, when I noticed that there was a tiny black feather positioned perfectly underneath it.
This baffled me for one of two reasons. First of all, I distinctly remember placing my pen down on my notebook without seeing a feather. And secondly, I got the most peculiar sense of paranoia when I caught a glimpse of it. I pulled it out, and held it up to the light. When I say this thing was tiny, I mean this thing was FUCKING TINY. It couldn’t have been longer than two inches, and at the widest, it was maybe three centimeters. Hands down, the smallest feather that I have ever seen.
I just kind of laughed it off, but decided that I would take a picture with my blackberry and send it to my mother. I knew she’d get a kick out of it, because she was as religious as they come, and would probably go on and on about how it was an angel. My mom decided to call me, and just like I had figured she would, ended up telling me that it was an angel.
I distinctively remember telling her that I didn’t think angels had black wings. Thought that would’ve fallen more or less under the demon category, which, was definitely not something I wanted to look into. After about ten minutes of random phone conversation with her, I eventually told her that I was tired and was going to get some sleep.
As soon as I hung up the phone, I went into the kitchen to fill up my water bottle. The strangest thing happened to me as I walked through the entryway. It felt as if I had just walked through a force field of some kind. I know it sounds strange, but the best way that I can describe it, is it felt as if I walked through an invisible 2-inch thick coat of jelly. I’m not talking about Smuckers, or anything along those sorts, I’m just referring to texture alone, that’s what it felt like.
Immediately after passing through it, I remember getting goosebumps all over my body, and they stayed for a solid minute. As I was filling up my water, my eyes did not look away from that entryway. I went to hang up the phone to charge, and as I passed the microwave I got this strange feeling of fear. The type of fear that freezes you dead in your tracks. I dont know how, but I knew that if I looked over at the entryway one more time, I would catch a glimpse of whatever it was that left that black feather for me.
I must’ve stood there staring at the ground for a solid five minutes, before mustering up the courage to look up. I glanced cautiously into the reflection of the microwave, and to my dismay, saw the silhouette of a man. He filled the entire entryway, so I’m guessing he was an upwards of nine to ten feet tall. I then jolted my head in his direction, and nothing was there.
I stared at the entrance of the kitchen, and said something along the lines of, “Okay, well..this was great and all, but I think I’m going to go get some sleep.” I then took a deep breath, and ran through the entryway again. You know, that run you did as a kid when you were scared of the dark, so you had to turn off the light as fast as you could, then run like the little pansy you were to hide under your sheets? Yeah, that one. That was me, at 20 years old, running out of my kitchen. Flipping off every light switch as I ran to my bedroom.
I remember looking back into the darkness, just as I was rounding the hallway to my room. I don’t know why I did this. I think it mainly has to do with me being a fucking idiot, or maybe curiosity. I remember seeing the silhouette still standing there in the entryway of the kitchen. I couldn’t see a face, eyes, or any features whatsoever, but got the creepy feeling that it was looking at me. Luckily, I made it to my room, closed and locked the door, and went on with my night in peace. Well, as peaceful as you can be after experiencing something of that magnitude.
That was the last time I would have an encounter with black feathers until November of 2011. That, however, is a story for another night. I still don’t know what it was. Research indicates that it could have been any number of things. A warring/guardian angel, a death omen, it could have even been a demon. Quite frankly, either one of those things would have scared me shitless. Jesus himself could show up, and I’d probably cry my eyes out, because I, ladies and gentlemen, am what’s commonly referred to as a pussy. If any of you have similar stories, or questions about mine, feel free to send me an email. Just click on the contact button to the right. As always, thanks for reading, and be sure to tell your friends!
Until Next Time,
Scott Walker
Alright, it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything. I do apologize, but this job hunt has been taking up a great deal of my time. With that being said, I’ve decided I will regale you fine readers with a short story blended together seamlessly by four very different ingredients; myself, Eva, brownie mix, and a telephone.
I’m going to begin this story by listing just a few of the red flags that were brought to my attention during my pursuit of Eva. We’ll go ahead and tally these up as cons:
- She was 18 years old
- She had 2 children
- She was currently in a relationship
- Her boyfriend was in a gang, and had previously killed 3 people
- I was on the list as number 4
- My life was threatened numerous times
- That sleazebag had given her HPV
- She assumed that because I wouldn’t sleep with her, I didn’t like her
- Her family was beyond crazy
Just to name a few. However, it wouldn’t be fair unless I also weighed in the pros that I encountered. So, here are the pros:
- She was fucking hot
Alright! Now that we’ve painted that picture, I think maybe it’s time to get back to my original story. Rest assured, this is just one of many stories featuring Eva. I’ll be sure to post more in future updates.
Anyway, back to our story. Eva would call me usually twice a day, at least. One day, in particular, she called me around noon. I was in the middle of baking brownies, as I promised that I’d whip her up a batch. Upon hearing that, she seemed to be overjoyed. Granted, I didn’t take this too deep into consideration because, I too, am quite the fan of delicious baked goods.
We were talking for no more than fifteen minutes, when I started to notice that she would pause from conversation for a solid ten seconds every few minutes. I thought it a bit strange so eventually I brought it up to her. This is the conversation to the best of my memory:
Me: “If you’re busy, I can let you go.”
Eva: “What? No. It’s fine, keep going..”
Me: “It sounds like you’re running.”
Eva: “I’m not, I’m just laying down.”
Me: “Why are you breathing so heav…”
Eva: “…what?”
Me: “…Are you..?”
Eva: “Am I what?”
Me: “…fingering yourself?”
Eva: “…no”
Me: “No, you totally are.”
Eva: “Okay. Sorry, but you really turn me on.”
Me: “How?”
Eva: “I don’t know, just all the sweet things you do for me..”
Me: “Are you saying that the thought of me baking these brownies turns you on?”
Eva: “I guess. I don’t know. I just really want to be with you…you know?”
Me: “Definitely..”
Eva: “You probably think I’m fucking weird.”
Me: “Oh, no. I’m flattered. My baking is orgasmic. It’s good to know.”
That conversation went on for another twenty minutes or so. She later came over to pick up her brownies. However, upon finding out that my mother was asleep, she quickly insisted that we take the party into my room. As usual, my mother woke up within a good thirty seconds of Eva and my alone time. Well played, Ma.
I should clarify, I never did sleep with Eva. Every fiber of my being wanted to, but truth is, I knew what she had, and unfortunately my mother raised me a bit better than that. That’s actually why her and I never dated. She assumed that because I wouldn’t fuck her, that I clearly wasn’t interested in her. Chick’s a twist. I guess if there is one thing I want you all to learn from this experience of mine, it is this; those brownies were fucking delicious…
Until next time,
-Scott Walker
Like most unemployed writers, I have a lot of free time on my hands. This next post isn’t so much of an experience that I’ve had, more so it’s a rant compiled from numerous experiences I’ve had over the years. I don’t think I’m alone with my stance on this either. Unfortunately, I’m afraid that not nearly enough people are willing to voice their opinions on the subject, so the end result is, of course, pushing it aside to deal with later. I’m not that guy.
Over the past couple years I have noticed a great deal of terrifying things that have kept me up at night. At the top of this list is, of course, the rise of yet another Canadian disappointment, Justin Bieber, however that is an entirely different story. What I’d really like to focus on today is the current bond between children and their parents in today’s society. Whether you choose to realize it or not, it would appear that the majority of parents these days are wasting their time trying to be their kids best friend, rather than focusing on raising a child that wont later be deemed a menace to society.
What newlywed couples eight months shy of finding a newborn baby kickin’ it at their doorstep fail to realize, is children do not need a best friend, those SOB’s come and go all throughout the whole process of growing up. What kids need is a set of mature parents worthy of a family portrait in a sears catalog, parents that will be loving, protective and understanding, but also know where to draw the line when it comes to certain aspects of life. I think (now I may be wrong in assuming this, but it’s okay, because I can write anything I choose without consequence, so suck it) that mommy’s and daddy’s across the nation are stuck in this awkward middle ground, where they don’t want to be labeled as “the bad parent” by both their children and society alike, but at the same time they don’t know how to just say no to their children’s ridiculous demands.
This needs to stop, because for one, I’m sick of feeling like a piece of shit every time I feel the urge to punch a small child square in the tooth for being disrespectful. Secondly, I’m sick of walking outside to find children fresh from their mothers vag, using a better phone than my broke ass will ever be able to afford. (Side Note: Once again, this is an entirely different article, but what the hell is up with that? Kids don’t NEED phones, have you read their tweets? Me either, but I’m sure they’re just littered with useless bullshit regarding the latest episode of Wizards of Waverly Place. I can only imagine how bad the text messages between these little bastards are. It’s Unnecessary.)
Lastly, it can only get WORSE from here. Every generation that continues to skip past the disciplinary chapter in their Parenting for Dummies handbook is only going to be responsible for the outcome of further generations! It’s common sense. So don’t you think it’s time we stop catering to every whiney whim that finds it’s way whistling through Juniors missing front teeth, and go back to slapping him in the back of the head for thinking such useless thoughts? I do.
The Rundown: Parents, here’s the thing. Stop being afraid of your kids, they’re supposed to hate you, they’re kids, it’s what they do best. It’s time to start acting like the grown ups we’re supposed to be, and take responsibility for the generations ahead of us. Your kids are going to look up to you regardless, so instead of wasting breath trying to become their best friend, try sacking up and saying “No!” once in a while. It’ll raise morale, give you a bit of a confidence boost, and hell, might even wet a few pairs of panties with the missus along the way!
The experience I’m about to share with you is still, to this day, one of the creepiest encounters that I’ve ever had during the dark hours of the night. Almost, if not equally, as creepy as the girl under my bed. Stay tuned for that one though, I’m gonna be saving that one for a later date. This experience begins like any other..
I wake up, and immediately grab my phone. I’m thrilled to find that it’s only 2:30 in the morning. This means that I’ve still got a solid five hours before I actually need to be awake. I lay my head down on my pillow, and shut my eyes.
”Help me..”
And just like that I’m wide awake. I sit up, and look around the room hoping that the voice I had just heard was my mind playing tricks on me as I would slowly drift off to sleep. Of course, as in most situations, what I’d hoped is rarely the case. What I would give to be right, just one time.
”Please, help me..”
I hear it again. This time, sitting straight up in my bed, I know that this is definitely coming from somewhere in my room. I look behind me, and notice that my pillow seems just a bit more lopsided than usual. If I would’ve known that the image of what I was about to see would stick with me the rest of my life, I might’ve reconsidered what I did next.
I grab the pillow, and slowly turn it towards me. I lean over and raise the flap of my pillowcase so I can sneak a peek inside. A torso. I found myself staring at the torso of a man. His legs and arms seemed to have been either blown off, or amputated. Still how he got inside my pillowcase was beyond me. I didn’t really care to find out either, if I can be brutally honest.
Out of nowhere, the mans head rises up from the back of the pillowcase (previously unseen by me) he looks me dead in the eyes and says, “Please.. HELP ME!” I freak out, close the pillowcase, and toss it off my bed. I sit there in silence, heart pounding, for what must of been a couple of minutes, just staring at the pillowcase I had just thrown to the ground.
There was no further movement from it, and I figured that if he didn’t have arms or legs, there’s no way that he could get back up on the bed. I grabbed one of my other pillows very cautiously. Glanced inside, and was ecstatic to find that it was just an ordinary pillow. Matter of fact, I don’t think that I’ve ever been so relieved to see a $2 pillow before in my life. I decided to go back to sleep, and deal with it in the morning.
Now, I have no idea what or why that happened that night. All I know is that the image of that man is forever burned into my mind. It was one of the most realistic experiences that I’ve ever had. I know that there are still plenty of skeptics, that would say I’m rambling on about a dream I had. To them I say, I wish it was a dream. However, since I don’t have proof of said experience, it looks like you’re just going to have to take my word for it.
The following is a chronicling of the worst 24 hours of my life. Each individual aspect of this story isn’t so terrible on its own, but as many of you know; when small problems start to stack up, the end result is never going to be a pretty one. This day started like any other, at work. Now, being a fast food restaurant, work was usually where the majority of my days noteworthy annoyances would stem from. Today was different.
Work was surprisingly nice. It wasn’t until after I clocked out, that my day would begin to take a turn for the worst. It was payday, and that alone is usually a cause for celebration. However, on this particular payday I would not be leaving the bank a happier man. In fact, quite the opposite. The teller informs me that my account had been over drafted twice, which would leave me with about $60 less just to cover to fees alone.
I get in the car, and sit there in silence as I think about what I’m going to do. I remember that I still owe my dad $50, which ensures that I won’t have enough money to buy groceries this week. I keep my chin up, and tell myself I could stand to lose a few pounds anyway. The glass is still half full. I decide to go drop off the money that I owe my dad, while it’s still fresh in my mind.
I arrive at my parents house to find that my sister is there visiting as well. I decide to skip the usual banter and head straight to my dads room to drop off the money. My sister comes in and decides to ask what my problem is. Now, although I’m upset, I try to maintain a steady demeanor. I tell her that it’s just been a tough day, and that it looks like I don’t have money for groceries due to some unpleasant circumstances I’ve found myself in. No big deal. I walk passed her, she’s still asking my questions about my current situation. I tell her not to worry about it. It get’s to the point where we are suddenly yelling back and forth at each other over just about nothing.
In the heat of the argument, I decide it’s best that I leave. I try to go to the table to grab my phone. My sister grabs my hand and screams, “What’s the matter with you?” I scream some unpleasant reply and tell her to let go of me. She doesn’t. I say, “I don’t need this shit.” and decide that my phone can wait. I take my keys and leave. On the drive back to my house, I’m literally shaking, just trying to calm myself down. I reach my place, and again, sit in the car for a minute or two trying to pull myself together.
I enter my house to see my roommates kicking it on the couch, watching TV. Now, I’m sure we all know the feeling where you tell yourself you’re fine, and say that you’re not going to get all emotional. Then, without warning you begin to breakdown in front of everyone you know. Well, that happened. I decided to save face and head straight to my room. As I walk through the door, I throw my messenger bag down on my bed. I wish I was making the following up, it is that unbelievable. The bag itself, hit the bed with such force, that it literally bounced about a foot high, and slammed right into my wall. My walls, by the way, were apparently paper thin. As soon as the bag made impact, it left about a five inch hole where my wall used to be.
Fucking perfect. That was it, that was the straw that broke this camels back. I break down. Tears. Weird noises. The usual stuff that guys try to hide, but can never seem to pull it off. My roommates come into my room to see what’s going on. All I can say is, “I can’t do it anymore, guys..” I’m sitting there at the foot of my bed. A hollow shell of what used to be a happy man, balling my eyes out. My buddy sit’s down, and puts his arm around my shoulder letting me know that things will be alright. I needed that. They tried to cheer me up, and promised that we’d fix the wall.
At that moment, I knew that if I could find a way to see my girl, things would be better. They had to be. She made the very world around her more vibrant just by her presence alone. I text her, and tell her about my God awful day, and ask if it’d be alright if I went to see her for a bit. She lived about twenty minutes away by car, but at the time I didn’t care. She, of course, said she absolutely wanted to see me. I knew that things were going to look up. The glass is still half full!
I get up, straighten myself out, thank my roommates for their support, and head back out to the car. I get inside, blasting feel good music that would lift my spirits for the drive. I get about three streets down, and out of nowhere my steering wheel locks up. I pull over to the side of the road, and just assume it’s a fluke of some sort. I turn the engine off, and let it sit for a moment before trying to start it again. Nope. The fucking piece of shit died, right then and there.
At this point, I can do nothing but laugh. And laugh, is exactly what I do for a solid five minutes before I call my roommates to pick me up. The glass is no longer half full. As a matter of fact, it is now a full glass, a full glass filled to the brim with shit. So much shit, that it is pouring out onto my recently cleaned counter top, and there’s not a damn thing that I can do about it..
Okay, so this is the first story that I decided to post delving into my experiences with the supernatural. I do suffer from a sleep disorder that is referred to as Hypnopompic Hallucinations. The general assumption is that people who suffer from this condition have a tendency to project their dreams into reality upon waking up. So essentially, you see what it is you were dreaming about for a brief moment of time, until you snap out of it. Like I’ve stated earlier though, this is just speculation. Others believe that these can actually be classified as visions, which would indicate more of a spiritual involvement. Whatever you believe is your own personal choice, and I’m not here to discredit either of these options. This story, to me, seems less likely to be a hallucination, just because of the events that took place during.
I’m not entirely sure on the year. I want to say that it was 2006 or 2007; because I remember my bed being in the middle of the room due the fact that we were currently painting it. Really wish I would’ve kept a time and date for these experiences, but as usual, hindsight is always twenty/twenty.
I was awoken in a hurry by the sound of my mother opening the bedroom door. I assumed she had come in to tell me that I overslept, so I immediately grabbed my phone to check the time. To my surprise, it was only 5:15 in the morning. I looked up at my mother, who had a smile on her face from ear to ear. She said something. I was still trying to wake up, and didn’t catch what it was. By the tone of her voice though, she seemed very excited by it. She began to close the door, but I stopped her in time to ask for her to repeat what it was she said. She opened the door again, and repeated it; still smiling from ear to ear. Unfortunately, I didn’t catch a single word of it. I figured I’d just leave it be until I woke up later that morning.
My mother closed the door to my room, but not all the way. She left it open by at least a few inches; something that usually upset me, but it was so early in the morning that I didn’t even bother saying anything. I just went back to sleep. I woke up a couple hours later, and the first thing I did was check the time on my cell phone. 7:45, nice, I can work with that.
I got out of bed and began walking to my parents bedroom. My mom was still lying in bed, reading a book. I sat down on the bed and asked her what it was she was trying to tell me earlier that morning. She shot me a confused glance, as if she had absolutely no idea what I was referring to. I looked at her, after a few seconds of silence and reminded her, “You came in my room earlier, it was like 5 or something. I was pretty tired so I didn’t really catch what it was you were saying.” Again, she looked at me, and after a few seconds, replied, “I didn’t go in your room this morning..”
I was a little freaked out by the whole experience. I stood up and headed back to my room. As I was leaving my mom laughed, and said “Sounds like my angel got the wrong room.” As if God could make all of creation, but not give angels the proper room in a four bedroom house. I guess maybe she assumed that her angel just mistyped the destination in Google Maps. I don’t know, moms are strange. The first thought that came to my mind was that it must have been my moms doppelganger. Either way you look at it, it still ends up creepy.
Now for those of you that are assuming if was just one of my many hallucinations, I want to add one key detail that make that theory hard for me to believe. I close my door completely every night before I go to sleep. The only reason anyone would open it would be to let the cat in. However, this particular night, the cat was already on my bed. Remember when I said that my mom left the door open a few inches? Well, that is exactly what I woke up to later that morning. So, I don’t know, I guess it’s just something to think about.
Ducks. If there is one memory in particular I have to losing my virginity, I would definitely have to say it is ducks. We’ll get to that in good time though, for now allow me to provide you with a bit of a back story. Growing up, I was raised in the belief that there is a woman out there worthy of my virginity. A woman so perfect, that the very world itself seems to lose some of it’s brilliance when she’s not around; this was not that girl. As much as I respect my mother, and her beliefs, there are certain things that, as a man, I feel the need to do. This was one of those things. For the sake of confidentiality, I’ll refer to the lovely lady in this story as Sparkles.
I had just turned nineteen years old, and like most grown men still living with their parents, I needed to find a place where I could get laid without interruption, parental embarrassment, or if my mom were to catch me, a place that would not forever be known as the place where both my virginity and I, bid this world ado. A sexual sanctuary, if you will. This day in particular I was not looking for anything too fancy, I didn’t anticipate that by the end of that night I’d be looking down upon the ol’ C and B’s in my bathroom mirror whispering, “We did it boys.” However, some things in life are best experienced in a brief lapse of spontaneity, and this just happened to be one of them.
The original plan was to do what Sparkles and I would always do, whenever she’d drive down to see me; talk about music, make out, and if I was lucky the night would end with some sort of J. This had gone on for months, why would I assume things would change? This night was different though, it would appear that the gentle breeze of spring air brought with it much more than just a minor case of the chills. Sparkles and I decided that we’d go to our normal haven, a quaint area on the slant of a foothill overlooking the lake. Sounds relaxing, right? Well, this is where our story takes an interesting turn for the worst.
Not too many people have interesting virginity stories. We’ve heard it all before; “Parents were out of town,” “she crawled through my bedroom window,” “she gave me a handy in the car, and I felt obligated.” You know, the usual. What I am about to share with you is the rather interesting experience I had as I plowed my way into manhood. Now, although I am not particularly proud of this story, it sure as hell gave me a wonderful tale to tell around the campfire. So, with all that being said, let’s get back to the good stuff, shall we?
Sparkles and I were getting hot and heavy, as usual. She began going down on me, but today, today felt different. You know, with the air and whatnot that I was referring to earlier. “Let’s just fuck.” Never has a sentence so carelessly slipped out of my mouth, and been so well received. She stopped for a moment, and looked up at me. She asked me if I was sure that I wanted to go through with this, and within a second of me saying yes, Sparkles climbed on top of me. Like a fish out of water, I lay there, carelessly flopping around while she worked her magic. I was new to this, she knew that. She had a five year old son, so she was by no means an amateur in the ring. I, on the other hand, was just doing my best to last more than twenty seconds.
I thought that if I were to focus on things other than the party that was currently occupying the space on my boy parts, I might have a shot at lasting longer. I remember at one point I had completely zoned out on what was happening, and could only hear what was going on around us. I distinctively heard ducks, but this was a park, that’s nothing out of the ordinary, right? Wrong. These ducks, upon paying close attention, were actually quacking in time with my thrusts. I remember testing this by going faster, but sure enough the quaking sped up. I would go slower, and like clockwork the quacking would slow. This made me self conscious for some bizarre reason. I thought to myself, “Okay, so now I’m not only trying to impress Sparkles, but I’ve got to worry about what the ducks will think of my technique too?” A strange thought, I know, but when you’re in the middle of a heated moment, the last thing you want to worry about is ducks.
Now, with a quack accompanying each and every thrust that I dished out, I had to try not to laugh on account of two things; one, Sparkles would obviously assume I’m laughing at her, and two, the thought, “This is probably what it sounds like when cartoon characters have sex.” randomly popped into my head. That’s a lot to take in while still trying to not only maintain composure, but also keep from sliding down the slanted patch of land we were on into the lake. This lasted for about ten minutes. Now, when I was about ready to wrap things up, I had gone to place my foot down on what I thought was a solid piece of land. I, of course, was mistaken, and just as soon as I came, I began sliding down the hill. It was like slow motion, and all I could think was, “I don’t want my junk anywhere near this nasty, dead fish infested lake.” However, as I drew closer to the water this sinking feeling in my gut told me that this was inevitable.
As Sparkles and I walked away from the park that day, I felt the same as any other day. If anything, I felt a bit colder, on account of the water dripping from my clothing. I’d like to say that this story had a happy ending, and that Sparkles and I went on to have many more interesting adventures. The truth is, that was the last time that our paths would cross, and I wouldn’t see her again. Was it worth it? I’d like to think so.
