Myself and the ladies here at the Tingle Manor gusset group had a wistfull time yesterday, as we spend our tuesdays reinforcing the urine weakened gussets of our cottontails, we couldn’t help but cast our minds back to the time when we were initiated into womanhood.
Recently a ‘Hey Charger’ advertisment came crackling over my National transistor radio, it took me right back to the time i had my hymen, and dignity, torn apart in the back of a burnt orange Charger, one foot pressed against the collapsable steering column, and the other with a toe jammed into the lighter socket in an early attempt at automotive electro play. Ahhhh yes, the begining of a life long love affair with anything that holds a charge, that includes licking discarded 9 Volt batteries, and walking swiftly to cause a little St Elmo’s fire between my thighs when my stocking rub together. What a warming touch it was, as my boyfriend Ray* done a lap of honour at the Bellambi surf club car park, before driving up my parents driveway to deliver me safely home. Alas, poor Ray* was in no fit state to stand and usher me to the doorstep, i think he pinched a nerve trying to negotiate himself around my bionic-esque hymen, which was stretched taughter than a crepe paper streamer.
The following youtube clip is a pretty fair representation of the sounds of passion i was emitting at the time from the back seat, i’m sure it got Ray* all the more frisky (To quote Marian Cunnigham) ..
*Name changed to save the goats dignity.
