new here
Posted: Fri Jan 15, 2010 12:56 pm
Look, I need some (free) legal advice and heard this was the place to go. Here's the backstory...
At Sears, where I work, there's this fat, grotesque pile of shebeast named Trina who I've been checking out for the past couple months. I call it checking out, I think the courts technically call it "stalking." But whatever. This chick is straight up fucking NASTY. She's fat, ugly, poor, dirty, pregnant, smokes, boozes, 4 kids, whorish, stretch marks, tats, mudshark, fat, slutty, cracked out, hideous, shits kids, fat, and disgustingly fat. On days she looks REALLY good, she kinda looks like a walking vomit-filled balloon. Thing is, this hideous waste of lard gets my shaft rock hard, and when I think about her, I have to beat it furiously like a college dorm kid who's only got a 2 minute window of time before his roommate gets home from class.
Several months back I purchased this used church van to cruise my neighborhood and scope out fat milfs with huge tits while I fondle my ridiculously hairy balls and pound cheap whiskey like a dehydrated Somalian slugging back a bottle of Dasani.
A couple of weeks ago I decided to roll up to work in the van on my day off, and parked in the back of the building where people go to take smoke breaks, including Trina. The parking lot is usually pretty full so I thought it was fairly discreet. I had a good view of the break area, which is just a rotting bench and a dying strip of lawn covered in cigarette butts. Mostly from Trina, the godawful cow.
I looked down at my watch. 11:57. She should be out soon to get her cancer fix, I thought. I prepped by loosening the draw string on my tattered Champion sweatpants and pulled them down about a quarter of the way. NEVER completely off. I'm a pro at this, and've learned firsthand all the dos and don'ts of public meatbeating. I've gotten to the point to which I can assume complete normalcy, with dick in hand, in 2.4 seconds, if I notice someone approaching the van. Going commando underneath is KEY, as you don't have time to negotiate around the underwear when some cockblocking fuckhole is drawing near you.
On the passenger seat I had four miniature bottles of Scoresby, and I cracked the first one and hammered it down in one effortless gulp. I cracked the second one and did the same, as whiskey streamed down the sides of my unshaven, crusty mouth, and joined the other liquor stains on my Big Dogs t-shirt. It reeked of whiskey, of course, but also of a mustard, vomit, and Wild Tiger man musk. I downed the other bottles and tossed em in an empty McDonald's bag. At that point I was feeling pretty good, so I started finger-stroking my raging balls waiting for Trina to step outside.
As I sat and watched, finally, the door to the building charged opened, and out swayed Trina like a buoy in the ocean ensconsed in fat rolls. She wasted no time, and started sucking down a heater like a free corndog or a black cock. Either one. The way she had her stubbled upper lip wrapped around that thing, sweet jesus, I almost firehosed all over my windshield right then and there. But I stopped, and collected myself, wanting to savor the jerk. But, shit, who was I kidding? In no time at all my hand was seizuring all over my dick and I was about to blast one for the ages, then arrogantly walk to first base and admire my shot. Until it fucking happened.
I saw my supervisor, Tom, due west of me about 20 yards away, heading toward the van. He looked like he emerged from a Kohl's clearance rack, had his name tag perfectly centered, and sauntered with all kinds of phony bravado. FUCK THAT ASSHOLE, I thought, and then belted out a hearty "SWEET MOTHER OF FUCK!" Then I quickly focused, and cleaned up with military speed and precision. He came to my window and I rolled it down.
"Heya, Larry. What's with the van?"
"Oh, umm, it's actually a loaner. My car's in the shop."
"Ahh, right. So what's the deal, you workin' for free today?"
as he shot me the double guns and a wink.
"Nah, actually I came in to pick up my paycheck. See ya inside?"
"Alllllrightio."
He shuffled off with his cheesedick Sport Clips haircut and I exhaled loudly. Fuckbag. Fortunately, my paycheck excuse was legit, so I started to gather myself to head inside. But...there was still work to do. My plan abandoned, I reached for my camera and snapped a polaroid of Trina. At least with a picture it'd last longer, I thought.
Before I went in, I sprayed myself with some aerosol deodorant to (hopefully) cover up my various stenches of shame. Shame, though, I actually had none. I always knew that my only purpose on this earth was to pound booze, beat my dick, and watch sports. Everything and anything else merely got in my way of those things.
I marched in, bypassed every single worthless soul in there, grabbed my paycheck from the HR office, and headed back out. I turned a corner down the main hallway toward the exit, and then...gulp...spotted Trina coming straight toward me. I wanted to avoid her, especially the awful small talk, but it was nearly impossible as the hallway was very narrow, and simply passing by her pillowing hamflabs would've required a bout of Twister on my part.
"Hey, Larry. Isn't it your day off?"
"Oh, uhh..."
she cut me off:
"Oh, right, it's that time isn't it? Payday!"
"heh, you betcha."
As I said that, I reached into my pocket so I could flash her my paycheck for some stupid, awkward reason. And then the polaroid fell out, hit the ground, and laid face up. Oh...fuck.
"Ooop, let me get that for ya!" she said
"NO! it's ok..."
I scurried for it, but she beat me to it and snatched it up. Then she just looked at it, puzzled. She stood in cold, utter silence and just stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. Words simply couldn't describe the amount of tension that filled the air at that very moment. I couldn't say anything. I couldn't do anything. My forehead was sweating and I could've shifted winds with my breath. She finally looked back at me, and had a horrified and foreshadowed look on her face. Images of HR reps and police reports loomed in my head.
One thing I noticed in the picture, half of her face was blurred and glazed over with what appeared to be a dab of my encrusted pre ejaculate. I hoped maybe that deterred her from realizing who it was in that photo, but it was plainly obvious she knew exactly what the fuck was going on. She said nothing. She backed away slowly, crammed it in her purse, turned away from me, and headed back the other direction. Me? I breezed the fuck out of there.
Basically: I'm in shambles here, folks, and don't know what to do. I know she's going to break out the big guns, and I have little defense. Resident lawyers, what's my best move here? For the love of god, please help me.
At Sears, where I work, there's this fat, grotesque pile of shebeast named Trina who I've been checking out for the past couple months. I call it checking out, I think the courts technically call it "stalking." But whatever. This chick is straight up fucking NASTY. She's fat, ugly, poor, dirty, pregnant, smokes, boozes, 4 kids, whorish, stretch marks, tats, mudshark, fat, slutty, cracked out, hideous, shits kids, fat, and disgustingly fat. On days she looks REALLY good, she kinda looks like a walking vomit-filled balloon. Thing is, this hideous waste of lard gets my shaft rock hard, and when I think about her, I have to beat it furiously like a college dorm kid who's only got a 2 minute window of time before his roommate gets home from class.
Several months back I purchased this used church van to cruise my neighborhood and scope out fat milfs with huge tits while I fondle my ridiculously hairy balls and pound cheap whiskey like a dehydrated Somalian slugging back a bottle of Dasani.
A couple of weeks ago I decided to roll up to work in the van on my day off, and parked in the back of the building where people go to take smoke breaks, including Trina. The parking lot is usually pretty full so I thought it was fairly discreet. I had a good view of the break area, which is just a rotting bench and a dying strip of lawn covered in cigarette butts. Mostly from Trina, the godawful cow.
I looked down at my watch. 11:57. She should be out soon to get her cancer fix, I thought. I prepped by loosening the draw string on my tattered Champion sweatpants and pulled them down about a quarter of the way. NEVER completely off. I'm a pro at this, and've learned firsthand all the dos and don'ts of public meatbeating. I've gotten to the point to which I can assume complete normalcy, with dick in hand, in 2.4 seconds, if I notice someone approaching the van. Going commando underneath is KEY, as you don't have time to negotiate around the underwear when some cockblocking fuckhole is drawing near you.
On the passenger seat I had four miniature bottles of Scoresby, and I cracked the first one and hammered it down in one effortless gulp. I cracked the second one and did the same, as whiskey streamed down the sides of my unshaven, crusty mouth, and joined the other liquor stains on my Big Dogs t-shirt. It reeked of whiskey, of course, but also of a mustard, vomit, and Wild Tiger man musk. I downed the other bottles and tossed em in an empty McDonald's bag. At that point I was feeling pretty good, so I started finger-stroking my raging balls waiting for Trina to step outside.
As I sat and watched, finally, the door to the building charged opened, and out swayed Trina like a buoy in the ocean ensconsed in fat rolls. She wasted no time, and started sucking down a heater like a free corndog or a black cock. Either one. The way she had her stubbled upper lip wrapped around that thing, sweet jesus, I almost firehosed all over my windshield right then and there. But I stopped, and collected myself, wanting to savor the jerk. But, shit, who was I kidding? In no time at all my hand was seizuring all over my dick and I was about to blast one for the ages, then arrogantly walk to first base and admire my shot. Until it fucking happened.
I saw my supervisor, Tom, due west of me about 20 yards away, heading toward the van. He looked like he emerged from a Kohl's clearance rack, had his name tag perfectly centered, and sauntered with all kinds of phony bravado. FUCK THAT ASSHOLE, I thought, and then belted out a hearty "SWEET MOTHER OF FUCK!" Then I quickly focused, and cleaned up with military speed and precision. He came to my window and I rolled it down.
"Heya, Larry. What's with the van?"
"Oh, umm, it's actually a loaner. My car's in the shop."
"Ahh, right. So what's the deal, you workin' for free today?"
as he shot me the double guns and a wink.
"Nah, actually I came in to pick up my paycheck. See ya inside?"
"Alllllrightio."
He shuffled off with his cheesedick Sport Clips haircut and I exhaled loudly. Fuckbag. Fortunately, my paycheck excuse was legit, so I started to gather myself to head inside. But...there was still work to do. My plan abandoned, I reached for my camera and snapped a polaroid of Trina. At least with a picture it'd last longer, I thought.
Before I went in, I sprayed myself with some aerosol deodorant to (hopefully) cover up my various stenches of shame. Shame, though, I actually had none. I always knew that my only purpose on this earth was to pound booze, beat my dick, and watch sports. Everything and anything else merely got in my way of those things.
I marched in, bypassed every single worthless soul in there, grabbed my paycheck from the HR office, and headed back out. I turned a corner down the main hallway toward the exit, and then...gulp...spotted Trina coming straight toward me. I wanted to avoid her, especially the awful small talk, but it was nearly impossible as the hallway was very narrow, and simply passing by her pillowing hamflabs would've required a bout of Twister on my part.
"Hey, Larry. Isn't it your day off?"
"Oh, uhh..."
she cut me off:
"Oh, right, it's that time isn't it? Payday!"
"heh, you betcha."
As I said that, I reached into my pocket so I could flash her my paycheck for some stupid, awkward reason. And then the polaroid fell out, hit the ground, and laid face up. Oh...fuck.
"Ooop, let me get that for ya!" she said
"NO! it's ok..."
I scurried for it, but she beat me to it and snatched it up. Then she just looked at it, puzzled. She stood in cold, utter silence and just stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. Words simply couldn't describe the amount of tension that filled the air at that very moment. I couldn't say anything. I couldn't do anything. My forehead was sweating and I could've shifted winds with my breath. She finally looked back at me, and had a horrified and foreshadowed look on her face. Images of HR reps and police reports loomed in my head.
One thing I noticed in the picture, half of her face was blurred and glazed over with what appeared to be a dab of my encrusted pre ejaculate. I hoped maybe that deterred her from realizing who it was in that photo, but it was plainly obvious she knew exactly what the fuck was going on. She said nothing. She backed away slowly, crammed it in her purse, turned away from me, and headed back the other direction. Me? I breezed the fuck out of there.
Basically: I'm in shambles here, folks, and don't know what to do. I know she's going to break out the big guns, and I have little defense. Resident lawyers, what's my best move here? For the love of god, please help me.
