Goofguy said:
So I'm not going to be allowed to 'mess around' once I'm older than 30...?
You can still commit the EXACT same actions after thirty, it just won't be referred to as "messing around." More like "having a mid-life crisis," "being in denial," or "not acting your age/settling down." I don't make the rules, I'm just stuck with 'em like you.
Now, this next part is too funny not to share with several anonymous individuals, but could also get me banned, so watch as I attempt to make smut clean enough for the workplace.
I rounded up and went with 4 'cause my answer in real life is 3 and a half. A very nice gal I'd known so long that I essentially considered her family got me so wasted before I'd even consider the prospect of getting it on with her that it was about an hour and 3 sets of new scratches down my back before we realized that I still had my pants on and (anatomically speaking) that hadn't become a problem yet. She saw to the rest of my attire and commenced to throwing out some foreplay of her own, which I blacked out in the middle of a few times. When I intermittently came to in the middle of things, I'd look down at what was happening in my lap and think "wow. That is a lucky dude. Look at that, she's even got one foot on the couch for balance and leverage--" before spotting a birthmark in my lower regions and realizing that the elated set of genitals I was seeing get put through an inspection no mechanic could possible match was my own. While I could appreciate the skill of the percussionist whose knees were between my feet, I could feel NONE OF THIS, so it may come as no surprise to you who've had any sort of menage a trois(sp?) with a significant other and your old pal Jose/The Captain/Jim, Johnny, Jack/Pepe Lopez/all of the above that when the main event was announced beside my couch, I literally couldn't bring anything to the table in the 8 seconds it took us to change positions. After two rounds of this, we resigned ourselves to the reality at hand, and my dear, generous, beautiful, wounded friend found the strength to look into my hazy eyes and ask "is it something I did?" In the state I found myself in at the time, "of course not" just wouldn't come out, but you know what did? "THAT'S RETARDED" at the top of my lungs. We shared a laugh. Shrugged our shoulders. Commented very positively on her figure. And a couple of hours later when we woke up on a cramped bed (I really don't get the chance at sex that often, choosing instead to store up each experience with it like a camel so that I'm allowed the freedom to keep being a cantankerous bastard the rest of the while, so I do not have a pad that says "it's business time") together for another laugh when a certain part of me that had finally decided it could be used to CUT GLASS was almost bruising her spine and had to be readjusted.
I feel like I should tell everyone reading this to stay in school or something. I don't know.