Sharing a Poncho

Sharing a poncho is one of those intimate activities that you would be glad to do with any woman who tickles your fancy.  And no, I’m not referring to a condom when I say poncho, nor am I speaking of vaginal intercourse when I say sharing.  Although that is a pretty good euphemism, might have to use that in a future post.

My experience in sharing a poncho was at an outdoor concert this summer.  The weather forecast called for a partly cloudy day, with a 10 percent chance of showers. Naturally, I wore my best cut-off jean shorts and a Weezer t-shirt with the sleeves cut-off.  The Double-Cut-Off outfit is one of my many fashion trademarks that you will be seeing whenever I get discovered as a designer, hopefully someday soon.

The day started off well, as it was warm and comfortable, with just enough sun peeking though the clouds to warm the asphalt and keep a lingering stench of sweat and spilled beer around.  Anytime you have a gathering of several thousand people, there will be the unpleasant smells of humanity.  Yet, it is part of the experience, and you can learn to appreciate it if you get drunk enough.  And I did.

Even though the beers were terribly overpriced, I was pretty damn drunk early in the afternoon.  This allowed me to appreciate the music even more, as I like to dance and sing (more like shout incoherently) when I’ve had a few drinks.  It was at this time that I finally found my friends that I was supposed to meet earlier.  We said that we would meet by the beer booth, but there were 17 beer booths (trust me, I counted, since I bought a beer at each one as I was looking for my friends) so that made it hard for us to find each other.

Jack, a friend I met while at university, complemented me on my dancing, but warned that I should stop bumping into random people, as they were beginning to tire of my wicked punch-dance moves.  I stopped dancing for the moment, only because the band had just finished their set, and it would be a few minutes until the next band would have their equipment set up.  I handed out fist pumps to Jack, Mikey, Cobra, Hurricane, Stark, and Erin (Jack’s long-time girlfriend, and one of the coolest people you’ll ever meet.  Too bad they live a 4 hours drive from me), when I noticed a stunningly beautiful angel standing seductively next to her.

I paused to rub my eyes to assess what I was seeing, and after a brief moment of shock, I extended my hand for a handshake (since fist-bumps are cool, but not good for a first impression) and introduced myself.  She shook my hand daintily, and said that her name was Gabby.  She was short, had bobbed black hair, and deep brown eyes like fine mahogany.  I tried to speak intelligently, but couldn’t form any words other than “Gabby-bbee… hai.”  I’m not sure if I was tongue-tied because of her radiant beauty, or the 17 beers, but I’m pretty sure it was the way she looked, and how those skin-tight jeans gripped her thighs.

She said that we should grab a beer, and step out of the rain.  “Raimn, Gabby?”  I mumbled, still unsure of what I was seeing, probably since the rain had started pouring quite heavily (10 percent chance of showers my ass!  I could have killed that weatherman) and had drenched my clothing.  I failed to notice, as I’m used to being so sweaty that it appears as though I had just walked through a torrential downpour.

Gabby and I stumbled towards the beer tent,  and my group of friends followed, giggling uncontrollably, probably at all the good jokes I was spouting off trying to impress Gabby.  She seemed interested, so I bought her a beer, as well as 3 for myself (I was really thirsty from all the dancing, and I offered to buy her more than one, but she declined).  As soon as I finished paying the $32 for the beers (I know! They rape you on beer prices at those things!), we heard the first chords of that hit song by the band that we all wanted to see.

By this time, I had only finished my first of 3 beers, and I wanted to finish at least one more before I went back into the rain, for fear of being too cold (alcohol has a strange warming effect on my body, has anyone else ever noticed this?).  Yet, I still had to be at the front of the stage for that show.  Gabby sensed my need, and offered to let me share her poncho.  Just to clarify, this was a rain poncho, not one of those Mexican style ponchos that aren’t really waterproof.

It was an incredible feeling.  I cuddled up beside her, and she lifted it over my head, insuring that our beers didn’t spill.  We had to walk rather awkwardly to the stage, so as to not rip the poncho, as these rain ponchos are definitely not made for two people, and rip rather easily, as they only cost a couple bucks.  I could smell her breath (a combination of beer and cherry Fruit-Roll-Ups, apparently), and was amazed that she didn’t recoil when I pressed my cheek against hers to get a better view of the stage (and to get closer to her, although you can’t get much closer than sharing a poncho!).

We watched the performance, swaying with the crowd, and laughed at each other while singing every word.  Gabby loved this band as much as I did, and wasn’t afraid of my sweaty body and beer-breath.  What a woman!

When that set was over, the rain had subsided, so I reluctantly removed myself from her poncho (yet another possible sex euphemism!) and offered to buy her another drink.  She agreed, and I signaled to Jack, Erin, and the rest of the crew that we were going to the beer tent.  He gave me a thumbs up, while grinning like an idiot.  I thought he was just being goofy, but I didn’t know what he was really grinning about.

The truth was that I was inexcusably drunk, and drooling all over myself.  Gabby was ok with this, for some reason.  When we reached the beer vendor, they wouldn’t sell me anymore drinks, due to my drunken-stupor up to the counter, as well as my general drunk expression and saliva covered face.  I was not upset, I’ve been refused service before, usually for the No-Pants, No-Shoes, No-Service rule.  I simply walked away, well, not simply, actually.  Gabby held me up, and I somehow was able to shuffle back to Jack and the group.

To clarify, I don’t remember much of this, after watching the concert.  I’ve pieced it together from vague memories and from what Jack and Erin told me the next day.

After Gabby handed me back to my friends, she gave me a loving pat on the shoulder, and had to leave.  Erin assured me that Gabby still thought highly of me, even though I did embarrass myself horribly.

I haven’t seen Gabby since, but I will be visiting Jack and Erin in the coming weeks, and they have alerted Gabby of my visit, hoping that she would join us for a few drinks.  Emphasis on a few.

When I see Gabby again, I hope she will not focus on the drunkenness, but will remember when we shared a poncho, and it was the best way I’ve ever drooled on someone.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Being a Man, Finding Women and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Sharing a Poncho

  1. ashleeekaren says:

    Very nice story – perhaps if you and Gabby get married she will tell your unborn children about how Daddy drooled on her the first night they met. 😉

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

  3. Pingback: How to Become Internet Famous – Part 2: Create a Meme! | dongtacular: adj; sexually inappropriate language

  4. Pingback: When You Are Forced to Suck Someone’s Face | dongtacular: adj; sexually inappropriate language

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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s