The Tale of the Ginger Cringer!

I was drinking alone at home one night, I was around twenty one at the time, so I was probably watching a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon, when I received a text from a guy I used to pal around with. He was at a bar with our friends, they had met some chicks and wanted to come by for after bars. Please try to ignore the fact that I chose to drink by myself and watch Buffy instead of going out to drink in public with other humans. Anyway, I reluctantly say yes, find some pants, put on some pants, and get done tidying up just as my friends come barging through the door. They have one and only one girl with them, and it’s some chick I went to high school with. I’ll call her Shmulie Shmorstmeyer, in order to protect her identity and because she spoke with a terrible lisp and that is pretty much how she pronounced her name. It’s mostly the lisp thing though. I’m totally going to reveal her name later on. She was a ginger. Being a ginger should be enough to showcase how truly unattractive a person is, but in this case “ginger” isn’t an ugly enough word. As soon as she stumbled through the door our eyes locked, which was my first mistake. I saw in her eyes that she was going to try and trick me into having sex with her, and she saw in mine that I was drunk enough for it to maybe work. She also should’ve noticed a glint of abject terror.

The party dwindled down to just me, her, and my friend, who I’ll call Shmed Shmiles to protect his identity, not because he talked like he had three different sets of braces. He talked like an adult, but he peed like an infant. Shmed was passed out ON my couch, but IN his own puddle of urine, which is why Shmulie wanted to “schleep” in my bed. Which was fine with me, Shmed peed everywhere and he was my friend. I’ve slept near his pee before, and I could do it again. I gave her detailed directions to my room, and I went to the dry love seat. She’s in there less than ten seconds and can’t stop saying shit like “I can’t schleep”, “It ish sho cold” and “Come shnuggle me”. How she had lived twenty one years and not learned to avoid esses in her speech is beyond my level of comprehension. I compromised, and decided to watch a movie in my room until she fell asleep. I put Cheaper by the Dozen in the DVD player, and sat upright at the end of my bed. FYI, I had never gotten around to putting any sort of sheets on my bed, so my room had a similar ambiance of that one room in which they film all of the Russian amateur teen porno. She still insisted on seducing me by slipping her slimy tongue in and out of  my ear hole.  If this is how unsettling all otic penetration feels, I’m gonna stop making shinshi shinshi jokes right now.  I don’t know why it was slimy, but I still have a vivid physical memory of its sliminess. I don’t know what finally did me in. It could’ve been her persistence, it could’ve been the Sailor Jerry, but it was probably the scene where Bonnie Hunt teasingly shakes her rump as she walks toward their family home. I was hard as a rock.

So far my boner had been able to ignore the way she looks, talks and tongues, but it’s only one penis. The straw that broke the camel’s toe was when she moaned, mid thrust, “my boyfriend ish gonna be sho pished”. I was mostly bothered by the fact that she could’ve said mad or angry, but she didn’t. I am no homewrecker, but at this point I’d already been in her for a relatively long period of time, so I decided to remain docked in her vaginal harbor because I’m about done anyway. However, I’m still a gentleman, so I dial back the thrusting in order to inquire further about the boyfriend. Apparently he was “shtashioned in Afghanishthan”. WTF. My penis immediately deflated and wriggled its way out, then whatever small amount of semen that wormed its way to the tip oozed out on to my bare mattress like the last bit of Gogurt at the bottom of a seemingly empty tube of Gogurt. I tell her I need to go vomit, because at the time it sounded better than telling her I was going to leave my apartment and go to the fraternity house in order to avoid sleeping in my shame and semen soaked mattress. Though, to be fair I did vomit on the way to the fraternity house. Are shame and semen the root words for shamen? Probably not. The next morning Shmed called wondering why a ginger chick who looks and sounds like a frog is demanding a ride to work. I told him to go back to shleep, he laughed and then gladly obliged my request.

I never saw that chick again, until a few years ago when a friend sent me this article because his wife was asked to be a character witness in Shmulie’s FELONY INVOLUNTARY MANSLAUGHTER AND ENDANGERING THE WELFARE OF A CHILD CASE. Fortunately, it wasn’t my child. Unfortunately, it was a child. It was an unthinkably horrible thing for someone to allegedly do, but I’d be lying if I said I can’t relate to her situation. All Shmulie allegedly wanted to do was shove something in a girl’s mouth so she’d shut up, luckily for me Shmulie had a wider throat than her daughter did.

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2 responses

  1. Your a piece of shit! How dare you even speak of the little girl who lost her life!

    1. No. YOU’RE a piece of shit! How dare you even speak of the man who spoke of the little girl who lost her life!

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