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Sweet childhood memories
Sep. 1st, 2004 11:15 amI hated my eldest sister's first serious boyfriend.
Even though I was only six I could recognize a jackass when I saw one. Mostly I have little mental flashes of him tinted in a faded seventies gold: red curly hair, a blue shirt with western detailing, and complimenting my parents in a way that seemed disingenuous.
I only specifically recall one instance of solid interaction between us. I was standing barefoot in the avocado shag of my parents split-level ranch looking at him suspiciously.
"You want to see something?" He grinned at me holding a shiny bic lighter.
I shrugged.
When he started to yank down his jeans I took three steps backward. "Wait!" he assured me, "It is funny - you will love it!"
He proceeded to spark the lighter into life and hold it in the proximity of his bare freckled ass. He then let loose an trumpeting typhoon of flatulence and a great burst of flame issued forth into the living room air.
Household currents and bodily methane are not something easily controlled and when a second unexpected farty burst came from him, the flame angrily changed direction and burned his anus.
The smell of burned ass hair hung in the room accusingly.
He struggled wildly in pain with his fly while I stared wide-eyed holding a popcicle.
He was right - It was funny.
Even though I was only six I could recognize a jackass when I saw one. Mostly I have little mental flashes of him tinted in a faded seventies gold: red curly hair, a blue shirt with western detailing, and complimenting my parents in a way that seemed disingenuous.
I only specifically recall one instance of solid interaction between us. I was standing barefoot in the avocado shag of my parents split-level ranch looking at him suspiciously.
"You want to see something?" He grinned at me holding a shiny bic lighter.
I shrugged.
When he started to yank down his jeans I took three steps backward. "Wait!" he assured me, "It is funny - you will love it!"
He proceeded to spark the lighter into life and hold it in the proximity of his bare freckled ass. He then let loose an trumpeting typhoon of flatulence and a great burst of flame issued forth into the living room air.
Household currents and bodily methane are not something easily controlled and when a second unexpected farty burst came from him, the flame angrily changed direction and burned his anus.
The smell of burned ass hair hung in the room accusingly.
He struggled wildly in pain with his fly while I stared wide-eyed holding a popcicle.
He was right - It was funny.
