Evidence of Stone Age cultures dating back 100,000 years has been found, and it is thought that the San people, now living mostly in the Kalahari Desert, are the descendants of Zimbabwe's original inhabitants.
The remains of ironworking cultures that date back to 300 have been discovered.
My first kiss was in the seventh grade while playing in a game of truth or dare.
I was dared to kiss this cute eighth-grade chick–a girl who would soon enter my up-the-skirt masturbating mind.
I remember getting my first blowjob, blissfully sitting on a couch thinking to myself, “Damn…oh fuck…whoa!
” I first had sex in the passenger seat of my car, the two of us awkwardly trying to find a comfortable position.
Maybe someone had slipped something in my beer, but what happened in the next twenty minutes remains a mystery to this day. There are a few possible scenarios of how we mysteriously arrived at that location: 1) We took a cab (But I would have remembered that and why wasn’t the cab next to the fire hydrant with us? 2) We had taken a pitstop for water on our 18-mile walk home (No). When she tried to get a look at the borderline lubricant I had brought back, I turned her around quickly, turned off the lights, bent her over, put the condom on, and squeezed the after-shave gel all over her ass and my dick, just the way pornstars did it. I figured it was just my dick coming out of the now vacuous poop-chute that had caused it. When I got in, the water on the shower floor was a shade of light brown. She tried to divert my attention by grabbing my dick, and almost succeeded, but I know what I saw.
The next thing I remember, we were standing next to a fire hydrant near a liquor store two miles down the road. 3) A guy with a rickshaw from India was visiting California and was looking to make a few extra bucks. When we arrived home, Tracy and I sprinted upstairs, slammed the door, ripped each other’s clothes off, and she started sucking my dick. I squirted some shampoo on both our heads to take my mind off that color.
Tracy had left a patty in my bed, and we had slept in it. I contemplated telling her about the present she’d left on my bed, but refrained in the end because talking about it would have just made me feel worse. Yes, I am in the Ass-fuck Club, but I have my scars.
I am at least able to maintain control along with my memory when I drink beer. When I returned to the table, I noticed a blonde gothic-looking chick talking with my buddy E. She wasn’t hot, but her black eye-makeup and lipstick sparked my curiosity. “Oh, we are definitely partying tonight.” What in the world?
I had said FIVE words, and this chick just implied to me that she wanted to get ass-fucked. In fact, we embarked on an in-depth discussion on why anal sex is so advantageous and underrated.
This incident was something I needed to keep bottled up. Next time I’ll prepare myself for you,” she replied. I can still smell the motorcycle “fart,” and I can still picture the aftermath of my bed.
She tried to ask me about being a teacher and other small talk, but I just remained passive and sped down the highway for eighteen miles.