Sunday, November 18, 2007

SurfWeight

Betty was in beddie early one morning, but she wasn’t asleep. Oh no, Betty was getting rocked by one hot Surfer weight. They had been out all night, drinking and carrying on. All the shots of buttery nipples, Washington apples, and Jagermeister had caught up with their shenanigans and eventually led to this early morning weight training session. It wasn’t until around 8:00 am when Betty and her SurfWeight had finally caught the perfect wave. Everything was going amazing. His blond hair was sexily messy from all their rolling around, his chest and arms looked so very buff. He was such excellent weight that Betty would have been just as satisfied having his weight, but this was way better, Betty thought, as she rode his board. They switched back into missionary and she grabbed her headboard as she prepared to ride her final wave of the day…the one that would bring her right to the shore of climax beach. “Betty?” As she heard her name, she saw her father coming into her bedroom. The swell of her final wave of the day quickly disappeared and she yelled, “It’s a boyfriend!!!” Yes, this would help her poor father cope with the fact he’d just seen his only daughter getting railed by big, buff SurfWeight. Thank goodness manweights are like waves. There’s always another one right behind.
ChaunWeight


It all went down at Hannah’s favorite Irish pub in Rome. Picture this: A rugby match with Italy playing Ireland. They had the best seats in the bar. By best I mean right next to a group of hot boys, who were conveniently already drunk. Two tables became one as the two groups joined and seeing one became seeing double. Hannah decided that her “favorite leprechaun in the group was Carl...terrible name, amazing body, adorable accent.” We’ll call him ChaunWeight.

What better drink to drink with the Irish than Irish Car Bombs? And what better drink to get bombed with than Irish Car Bombs? The heavy drinking and heavy petting, eh I mean, dancing, led to heavy making out. At around 2:00 am, the bar was closing but this didn’t mean it was the end of the night for Hannah and hopefully not for ChaunWeight. What a fabulous idea...why not take little ChaunWeight home with her? (Maybe it was partly because he was barely 18). A firm arm tugging got him away from his group of friends. His friends calling after them "wait he doesn't know how to get back" Hannah thought to herself, "who cares about his friends…I'm gonna get some Irish weight."

Given the fact that ChaunWeight had been drinking since approximately 9:00 am, Hannah was ready for the possibility that she could encounter a wicked case of whiskey dick but she quickly learned …“never underestimate the drinking capacities of the Irish.” They did it until the sun came up and then some. The following day, Hannah courteously led him to a piazza to meet his friends because as they’d warned her, ChaunWeight wouldn’t remember the name of his hotel. As the two exchanged awkward conversation, Hannah commented on how drunk he was the night before. His response, while taking a sexy drag from their joint cigarette, and she quotes "Fuck, I still am.”

Mr.Weight


It was an average Saturday night for Zoë. A group of her girlfriends got dressed up, got together and got drunk. Not fall down drunk, but tipsy enough to deal with the hellish crowds at lounges on a weekend night in New York City, where it appears all bridges and tunnels lead. The gaggle of girls were headed to a spot Plumm, where there was a hot DJ and your typical hipster downtown type crowd. After being granted access to the lounge via the red rope outside, Zoë and her friends made their way up the club’s stairs and to one of the party promoters tables. An overpriced bottle of Absolute was chilling on ice for them. One of the promoters, standing omnipotent behind his shield of liquid confidence (otherwise known as that bottle of Absolute) was one quite handsome manweight. They called him Mr. Lounge. You could find him at most of the hotspots, only on the “good nights” at each of course and if you were a girl, showing enough cleavage and gratitude in the form of insincere flattery, you too could have at the bottle. Zoë had both cleavage and sincere gratitude for every sip of her free drink. She and Mr.Weight, as we’ll call him, got along very well and started seeing each other regularly. He was good weight and had a hot body. They totally had chemistry….around 4:00 am. One night when they were hooking up, or rather Zoë was going down on Mr.Weight, all of a sudden something went wrong. “Are you cumming?” Zoë asked Mr.Weight “No…” Zoë looked down at his dick and saw there was a tear in the condom. Not only that, her teeth must have scrapped the exposed surface, and he was bleeding! Mr.Weight jumped up scared shitless of what else Zoë’s mouth was capable of. For the rest of the night, Zoë appreciated his manweight… in the cuddling sense.

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