A Night to Remember

SAM SHARPE

So, I’m at this party, standing by the bar getting myself another drink, when this pretty young chippy comes up to me and asks me if I’m friends with ________. I say yes, she says “cool” and we end up talking the night away. I find out that her name is Shelly, I learn that she’s just finished school, that she’s going out of town next weekend and that when she laughs her perfect breasts perk up ever so slightly.

As the evening wears on and the liquor continues to run, the flirtation becomes less and less subtle. Shelly informs me that her roommate is out of town for the weekend and asks me if I want to join her at her place for a nightcap.

Never one to turn down a pretty young lady, I accept her invitation, say my goodbyes to my designated driver and we make our way to her apartment. Once inside, we dispense with formality and make a beeline for her bedroom. It was dark and nondescript. At that time of the night, with the amount of alcohol I’d consumed, the only thing I noticed was that she had a single bed.

I skillfully removed her bra (even in my drunken stupor I managed the old one hand bra removal) and was ready to get down to business when she informed me “we could only go so far because my Aunt Flow is visiting for the weekend”. Normally I would have been pissed off that this broad (yes I called her broad, that’s what we men do when faced with this kind of predicament) pulled the old bait and switch, but I was so drunk that I figured it was probably a good thing that she was throwing up a stop sign and I could probably use a good nap.

I resigned myself to a dry night, threw myself unto her mattress and tried to sleep. After what seemed like no more than 15 minutes, I was awakened by her as she started to fiddle with my boxers and subsequently put my dude in her mouth. (As an aside, I’ve got to say that the only thing that would  be better than waking up to find your dick in a hot girl’s mouth, is waking up to find your dick in that same hot girl’s mouth and noticing that her equally hot friend is drooling on the sidelines waiting to get a taste). Initially I was annoyed because I really wanted to sleep and I knew all her slurping wasn’t going anywhere, but within a few moments I realized that I was dealing with a pro.

Now, when I say a pro, I’m not talking about a hooker/prostitute. What I mean is this girl knew how to handle her business. I don’t know what she was doing and where she learned it, but let’s just say although I had only known this chippy for a matter of hours her talents had me contemplating marriage. She wasn’t just giving me a blow job for the ages; she was blessing my dude with the blow job for the ages. Never one to finish hastily, I was worried that her jaw was going to get sore. When I started to sit up and ask if she was okay she fanned me off and pushed me back down. That was when both my junk and I realized we were in heaven.

Always a gentleman, as I reached the point of no return, I let her know that I was about to come knocking on her door and all she did was give me a quick “mmm hmm” with my piece still in her mouth. Seconds later, it was all over, and she even swallowed. So, this is why men get married to chippy’s they’ve just met in some Vegas casino.

As I lay there on her cramped mattress and watched her scurry off to the bathroom, I started to take in my surroundings. There was now a steady stream of sunlight coming through the window and I immediately realized that I’d been there a lot longer than I thought. I looked around the room and for the first time noticed that her walls were decorated with photos of Justin Timberlake, Rihanna and a poster of some oddly dressed woman that Shelly later informed me was Lady Gaga.

It was while I was taking in my surroundings that Shelly came back into the room. While looking at her I realized two things:

1. I hadn’t stopped to ask her how old she was.
2. I was so focused on her magnificent rack that I’d never stopped to ask her any further questions when she told me that she’d just finished school.

So, in the post blow job and hangover induced haze that I found myself in, I finally asked her the question that I should have asked the night before. “So Shelly, how old did you say you were?”

With a playful giggle, Shelly replied “Eighteen.”

Eighteen?!?!?! EIGHT-EEEN! Needless to say friends, eighteen is in my rear view mirror. I can barely remember eighteen. So I did what any self-respecting gentleman would do in my situation. I hastily put my pants back on and got out of her apartment before she could ask me something outlandish like “Do you want to go and hang out at the mall?”

As I stumbled and bumbled my way down the street on my way to the subway, I couldn’t decide how I should feel. On one hand, I had just received a blow job from a girl more than a decade younger than I. On the other hand, I had just received the best blow job I’ve ever had and that is nothing to sneeze at.

Once at home in the comfort of my apartment, I looked at the slip of paper she had given me the night before. It had her name, phone number and email address. I noticed how girl like, how child like her handwriting was. And I couldn’t figure out what was worse; the fact that I’d spent the night with a teenager or the fact that I contemplated not getting rid of her number.

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