It started out with us talking about it, talking about meeting up somewhere, maybe the old boy scout shack at the county fair grounds. Everybody was to bring a date. But I don’t remember bringing a date. I just sort of showed up expecting one, expecting it and there it was…
I looked around the room. There were sleeping bags everywhere and the guys I came with just of hopped into one. Inside of each sleeping bag was a woman. Like a kinder-egg, like a Christmas present. You didn’t know what you were getting until you got in. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it all, actually I felt nervous, afraid, I didn’t know what to do… should I just get in and wait for it to happen or should I get in and just start kissing? I got in. and she was there and she was very excepting. My hands first in her hair, than against her breasts, charting the unknown, then with my lips I kissed her, but it was hard to see, because we were completely inside. And then my hands in between her crotch, her hands on my cock… her head going down making a slug trail of salvia over my stomach… until I felt like I was attached to the inside of her mouth.
Who are you? Are you Wma Thurman? Are you Salma Hyak?
Who are you? Are you an old girlfriend? Are you a new girlfriend?
Then my father comes in the room with my mother and Andy Provchy following. Me, with myself forgetting myself, ready to ejaculate- both of us in this sleeping bag protected from the world. And my father and mother begin saying “Ok everyone, get out. I don’t know if you know what happened, but they just crashed into the white house, the white house is gone.” And by “they”, they mean the terrorists. All these years later and we are still crashing into things… and I am over come by a sense of helplessness. one million years of these guys crashing into things and we can’t do a thing about it. We can’t find them. We can’t arrest them. We can’t stop them… We are helpless. And with this thought I decide not to get out of my sleeping bag, because there is nothing I can do about it. I just want to continue on with this girl. I want to fuck. I want to cum. I want to feel good and Forget about history.
And then they all leave. My father and my mother and Andy provchy. We don’t know where they are going or what they expect from us, maybe they think we will follow them, but we will never follow them. Maybe they think we will meet up some place and watch the news and think to ourselves, “holy shit”. But I am not going to meet up with anyone. I am going to continue feeling good… I am trying to remain positive here. I don’t want anyone to rain on my parade.
But the girl I am with, it all troubles her a little too much and I am trying to talk her back into the bag, even though I still don’t know her name but we don’t know who crashed into the white house do we? and we are getting all excited about that. There is so much, too much out there to get excited about. there is not enough time for us to find out, not enough time for us to sit around and try to feel shitty about everything… so let’s feel good, lets laugh, lets screw, bring your warm body back to me…
But she wont. She is out of the bed milling around, looking for her jacket. She wants leave. She wants to smoke a cigarette and hurry up to feel bad about something… she doesn’t feel good unless she is feeling bad about something.
Some of the other people I am with are still alive, it is hard to make out in the darkness but some of them are still in their sleeping bags fondling themselves or each other… so the way I figure is, I only have to find a sleeping bag with a girl still in it, a sleeping bag with somebody who has been left or somebody who is waiting… and there is one, right there next to me… it is the girl that doesn’t fuck, the girl that maybe fucks but doesn’t fuck me… and i get down into the bag with her and slid up next to her and say…
These are trying times we live in…
And then I laugh, and she laughs, and I grab her tit
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