WARNING:

The following contains graphic detail of sexual acts. Viewer discretion is advised.

I'm a huge fan of the facial, if you didn't already know.

The uninitiated are scratching their heads while those in the know are shaking them. Bad, Armando, bad!

Oh well. I know I'm going to hell already. I might as well make the next few years of descent a tad bit interesting.

So I was getting close to what those in the industry call the C-Shot last night, and as I prepared for my final scene (speaking figuratively, here- no cameras were involved), I remember her saying something earlier about how she had never HAD a facial but that she would do it for me. That's the only incentive I needed.

So I get up, maintaining the vacuum-like vice grip she had on my member and maneuver over her. There she starts going down on me to get the blood flowing again, and once I'm ready, I unleash. My own life giving fluid is dribbling down her chin, on her cheeks, et-CET-er-AH. (I'm almost going beyond my OWN limits here.)

Okay..okay. So as this is happening, her face is contorting from that of shock to surprise to horror, and she's trying to smile and not look completely terrified, but I can tell the smile is fake. The horror is real. My last real thought was trying to assess what was going through her mind.

"There's male ejaculate all over my face."

I then couldn't help myself. Giddy with laughter from her expressions and still high off of the orgasm, I collapsed in a fit of rambunctious hilarity atop my bed.


I later screamed when she practically forced herself on me for a kiss that she BY NO MEANS received.

I WARNED YOU.

But hey, if you thought THAT was bad, shit, you probably weren't around for the Hymenaid post.

Now that you know I'm a bad person, like you didn't already, let me tell you how MY day went yesterday. It started off full of ambition and hope, but..it just ended with me committing three misdemeanors and wondering how it is that I get myself into the crazy shit that I find myself doing.

There's this concert venue that I've recently dedicated myself to getting a job at about a town over. In between bouts of smoking pot and talking on the phone to both ~cranberrydreams and *nevergetfooledagain (719!), I walk my ass down to my buddy Frodo's house to acquire him and make hustle over to said venue.

I could fill you in on the details of how I diligently spoke to his mother for over an hour concerning her feelings of loss after her father died last October, but I'm trying to keep the viewpoint focused on me doing bad things, so I'll skip that part. She did hug me, though- a long way to travel for someone who previously labeled me as 'creepy'.

Anyway, after driving from Martinez to Concord to Walnut Creek and all the way back to Concord again to finally find where we're going, we arrive to what could only be described as what a concert venue must look like when there are no concerts playing anytime soon. The place was deserted! I felt an initial onset of trepidation but shrugged it off. We'd find somebody who would accept our applications, and we would GET that damn job. Yes, we would.

No, we wouldn't. Because no one was anywhere. I suppose it didn't help that we only checked two places, and that the places we did check were unmanned ticket booths. Oh well, though, fuck 'em.

Now then- with our ride gone, and no way to accomplish what we came here for, what the hell were we going to do?

First things first: while wondering around, I leave a message with LiveNation, the company that would be responsible for hiring us, telling them in details that they should be more descriptive when telling people where to go to apply for a job.

Second- After another walk around the perimeter and not finding any means of legal access, Frodo and I found a small hole in the fence, which then somehow became a much larger hole- large enough for six feet, two inches and two hundred and thirty five lbs of pure deviance to fit through.

Breaking and entering/trespassing- first misdemeanor.

Up the stairs, around the bend, and boom: Elysium. At least for the moment. Completely unattended concert hall. Seats available as far as the eye can see. A stage unsecured within walking distance. Silence so loud you could hear the echo of a grasshopper's flatulence. What to do with such unrestricted freedom, you ask?

Taking a seat off to the side in the back, I gestured for my minuscule male companion to join me as I took in such wonderful atmospheric vibes.

We then smoked a bowl.

Consumption and/or possession of a controlled substance- second misdemeanor.

Now, pot doesn't make me paranoid, but trespassing does, so after carving our namesakes into the side of a vending booth (sinner and saint, respectively), we decided to vacate and never talk of said incident again, except during bragging.

With our ambitions gone, and our hopes of finding applicable employment dashed, we traveled further into the super unknown, eventually finding a Safeway. Walking inside, it suddenly hits us that only beer can make the taste of defeat go away. I'm the only one of age out of the two of us, so it's up to me to make the purchase.

Contributing to a minor- third misdemeanor.

With beers in hand, we hightail it to a park and down those suckers. 32 ounces of Miller Genuine Draft never tasted so good.

I think the moral of this story is that I have no morals left. The best part of this story actually happened earlier today, when I received a phone call from LiveNation returning the message I left.

I guess I should go back and put in my application.