[youtube]jOlVJv7jAHg[/youtube]
Walk into bike shop with cat6 cool on my heels and set down my hamlet with gloves before noticing the lady kattycorner from me is breastfeeding both her kids at once while the guy on my other side is chin in hand watching. Kept a straight face most of the way back to wash my hands. Dispatched cat6 before noticing mom and kids vacated. Early 40’s woman has moved into my spot and placed her items on top of mine with clear purpose. Smiled and snatched my stuff up without a word, clearly a good move in her book.
While moving away from creeper and not-a-milf I notice breastfeeders keys laying on the floor. Took them out to her and walked back in without noticing she followed me in. Get back to my stuff and she asks if I saw her phone while leaning over to give me a fuller view than my first glance at her swollen mammaries. This is getting to be too much and once again I flee with my belongings only to hear a phone start ringing under my ass a minute later. Pulled it out of the chair and swapped it for my espresso. One gulped it and got the fuck outta there.
Get me into not being a magnet for this type of shit. I’ll make my own friends and alienate them if this can be reversed to desirable circumstances.
Wait. have I seen this move before? Wes Anderson?
Methinks thou dost protest too much. Seems like a reasonably normal day in the breeder hood.
obviously you are trying to send out a ‘leave me the fuck alone’ vibe but response is mostly: ha ha haha ha.
stop trying so hard.
if you were like ‘hey can I help you with your titties?’ no one would go near you.
Truth.
actual lol
Especially if you couple it with some heavy breathing.
TC I picture chin-in-hand guy as Willy Wonka:
You are probably right. Think I just need to realign my patterns. Like not grocery shopping between certain hours on senior citizen day only more expansive.
Each rando story gives me another scene in the psychosexual thriller I’m writing about a cyclist who obsessively and mirthlessly pedals around a midwestern metropolis. Chance encounters with strangers only fuel his need for speed, as pedaling is the only way he can ameliorate his crippling anxiety. Thus, the bicycle represents both a literal and metaphorical escape, to run from other caffeine addicts and freds as well as his inner demons. Between rides he haphazardly composes illegible manifestos which he posts on the internet, further compounding his isolation.
Until he encounters another man on the MUP. He is faster. He is crankier. He’s Buddha, he’s Jesus. And our protagonist is drawn into a dangerous game of cat and mouse; longing gazes at Starbucks, titillating and taunting messages on Strava, furious sprints through potholes 7 feet deep. A crescendo of anticipation builds between the two riders until…
I don’t have the rest of the plot yet but I figure it will be called “Low Hanging Fruit” or maybe just “Hardman” depending on how sexy the ending is
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lol
Holy shit.
slow clap
long hanging hardmans fruitballs
So glad your day job allows you time to work on these side projects. I’d be happy to proofread anything you’ve compiled thus far. How you place yourself within the world of the protagonist is just amazing.
actual lols
The caption is incorrect - it’s erotic friend fiction.