A Dip in Cracker Lake: POC and their Hook-Ups
with yt People
By Anonymous | | February 233, 2018 @ 5:22 pm
I navigate my life on to do lists. Wake up, eat, sit down, eat, stand up, eat, pass out, eat… you get the picture. What I don’t account for in my life is the effects of alcohol. I recently took a journey on an international plane. If there’s one thing to know about international flights, it’s that they serve complimentary liquid courage (tequila, vodka, rum, it all works the same for me). So I started drinking, and as a result, got friendly with my seat partner, a 21-year-old interrogator named Chad (maybe Brad?) that worked for the US military.
In hindsight, maybe I was a little too friendly considering I didn’t know him, but there’s nothing like being thousands of feet above the ground to quite literally convince you to throw your inhibitions (or panties) out the window. After a splotch of turbulence that had me questioning if I was going to make it to England, I latched myself onto Brad’s beefy arm, figuring I’d go out with a (finger)bang. Thus, tonsil hockey commenced. And, as it turns out, my companion had a little kink.
In all honesty, I think it was an army thing, but somehow his hand found a nice home around my throat. Don’t get me wrong, I am all for experimenting, but my throat was dry from the kissing and the alcohol so I politely excused myself and went to the powder room. As I exited the restroom soldier Jake was waiting for me. My surprise was short-lived once I realized he wanted to hold a business meeting in the back of the plane. Except the business we were getting down to was in my pants.
To say the least, I’m thankful the majority of the plane was asleep as I got down ‘n’ dirty. There’s nothing like reaching cloud 9 with the clouds quite literally surrounding you. In fact, I highly recommend it. What I don’t recommend is doing the nasty with a rando. Because said rando might try to Snapchat you for a week straight, not get the hint, and then search, find, and message you on Facebook. A little more advice: exercise the block tool and try not to remember the random white man that was playing your vulvar piano every time you step on an airplane. Now the only service I want on airplanes is being bumped up to first class.