So there was this one time that John and I decided to skip out early on church services and make out in a local barn.
And John was all like,
“We’re totally gonna get caught…”
And I was all, like,
And he did.
And then we had sex.
And it was awesome.
Shit. I forgot where this story was going…
I know there was more to it than just mind-blowing orgasms…
Give me a sex…I MEAN SEC…give me a sec….
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Oh yeah! My dress. Okay. I got it! I got it.
John propped me up on this horse stall so that we could get some leverage while we were friggin’, and my dress totally got snagged on this crooked rusty nail some dumbass farmer didn’t hammer in all the way.
We didn’t even know it was snagged though, until it was too late!
The problem was that John was friggin’ me so loud that we didn’t hear my dress ripping quietly in the background…and once we were done (and John climaxed) we looked down finally saw the extent of the damage.
Gurl. My dress was TORE UP. It looked like a f*cking badger had chewed its way through the hem.
F*cking SHREDDED, MAN! SHREDDED!
I didn’t mind the dress being damaged so much though (John could always sugar daddy me a new one) but the whole debacle really screwed up our sense of timing.
It was totes embarrassing because we missed our window and had to leave the barn in just enough time to run into all the exiting parishioners next door. To make matters worse, we ran RIGHT INTO the devil herself, Lizzy-f*cking-Proctor, as we were escaping. And, of course, John froze up LIKE A MORON so I had to make up some RANDOM ASS excuse about how a rat bit my dress off or some shit like that.
Craziest part of all? That poor bitch actually bought it! HA!
The rule of this story, bitches?
NEVER underestimate the power of denial.
