Sweaty, orgasmic, magical Ping-Pong

Sweaty, orgasmic, magical Ping-Pong.  Impossible, right?  Not if you understand the nature of the game, and have the right person to play with.  Ping-Pong (or table tennis if you trust Wikipedia) is a fun, physical, and sexy game if you wish it to be.

I met Julia at a comedy club.  A friend asked me to go with him to watch another one of his friends who was the warm-up comedian to the headliner.  You know how Jerry Seinfeld is funny because he makes humorous observations about everyday life?  You know how other people try to do that, and they’re not funny because only Seinfeld has that perfect delivery, and plus those type of jokes were only funny a decade ago when Seinfeld was spouting them out every week on TV?  Well, this guy didn’t know that, so he wasn’t funny.  The headliner was actually hilarious, told a bunch of jokes about werewolf taxi-drivers getting vasectomies.  Or something.  Guess I wasn’t paying attention.

Julia was sitting at the table to my left.  I could see a few drops of sweat on her brow, since this cheap club thought they could save money by turning off the air-conditioning and also turning off the lights, in an attempt to blind people to their sweaty-ness.  Being a man means that I sweat quite a bit myself, and I knew that she would appreciate an ice-cold beer to replenish those fluids that have been squirting out of her forehead.

Quickly, as that first comedian (if you could even call him that) was stepping off the stage, I swooped in beside Julia and asked if she would like a drink.  She mumbled something like, “Uhhhmmmm…” which I took in the affirmative, and rushed towards the bar to get us a couple of the cheapest beers they were serving.  The bartender was surprisingly prompt,  I gave him a 50 cent tip for his trouble, and dashed back to sit beside Julia just as the second comic was beginning.  This worked in my favor, as Julia could not verbally protest me sitting awkwardly close to her, as she didn’t want to disturb the comic’s ridiculously vulgar taxi-surgery jokes.

When the comedian finished, Julia and I began chatting about the merits of professional tennis, and the entertaining grunts some of the athletes make while playing (this comedian was funny!). Naturally, the conversation switched to ping-pong.  I learned that she had played since she was a young girl, as her parents had played doubles together in college.  I told her about my 2 tables, 1 outdoor and 1 indoor, made to Olympic regulations.  We agreed that beer-pong is a fun game, but not necessary as you can easily just get drunk and play.

I asked her if she would like to come and see my ping-pong tables, and play a few rounds over a few more drinks at my place.  She excitedly said yes, and we immediately left that dark sweaty shit-hole of a comedy club.  Stepping into the setting sun, I finally got a good look at Julia.  Was I ever happy with my choice.  She was incredibly beautiful, and had much more to offer than just the talking silhouette I had pounced on inside.  She looked like a combination of those 2 hot women on that Criminal Minds TV show; only hotter.

We began walking to my place, since we were both too drunk to drive (funny how watching a bad comic will make you drink more, maybe comedy clubs hire unfunny comedians as a ploy to sell more drinks?), and Julia commented on how sweaty I was.  I apologized, quoting my hyperhidrosis (I don’t know if I actually have it, but I do sweat a lot) but she said that it was “kinda hot.”  I don’t know if she was talking about the weather, or that my sweating was a turn-on, but I couldn’t wait to get home.

When we arrived, we immediately went into my basement so she could see my Olympic ping-pong table.  She was acted impressed, but quickly switched the subject to how sweaty her clothes were, and wondered if she could take off her shirt to let it dry.  I had no problem with that proposition, so I turned my back to let her take it off with a bit of privacy as I grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge.  When I turned back around, she was completely naked, ping-pong-paddle in hand, ready to play.

We drank, played every variation of ping-pong we knew, and groped and fondled each others sweaty bodies through the night until the sun came up.  Then we went outside and played a few naked games on my outdoor ping-pong table in the dim amber light before the sun completely rose and the neighbours would be rousing to go to church. 

I asked Julia if she wanted to go to church, but she said she would rather try to have 2 more quick orgasms, and show me a trick with a ping-pong ball.  I obliged.

I never saw Julia again, and thought for a while that the entire night was nothing but a dream.  But then I got a letter from the community association citing me with a $100 fine for “inappropriate public nudity and copulation”.  Totally worth it.

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3 Responses to Sweaty, orgasmic, magical Ping-Pong

  1. Pingback: Consoling a Friend After a Break-Up, As A Man | dongtacular: adj; sexually inappropriate language

  2. Pingback: How Many Times Can I Fall In Love Today? | dongtacular: adj; sexually inappropriate language

  3. Pingback: Incredible Celebrity Encounter – Part 2 – Interview with Ivan Reitman | dongtacular: adj; sexually inappropriate language

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