First, I must make this disclaimer to my parents who read my blogs. Don't read this one. I cannot be responsible for what you may read in this particular blog. We have a deal; I was hatched, I've never had sex and my children were concieved via divine intervention. That's our deal. Don't blow it. Second, I was young when this happend; yes, it's ye olde young n dumb defense.
With that out of the way, it was the summer of 1996 and I was hanging out at my boyfriend's house. As usual, my piece of shit Nissan Pulsar was at the shop with it's voodoo electrical problem getting alternator number 8,000 put into it. I was driving his pick up and we were out "camping" waiting for my car to be fixed which we both knew would last about 2 days before that white hunk of junk was back in the shop. Now, usually we really were camping but this particular day, well, we werent. We were sitting at his house watching movies. As my aunt likes to say, the man 'heats' , he does not cook. His specialty was nachos. Now, the proper way to make nachos is one layer of chips, one layer of cheese, another layer of chips, another layer of cheese and some jalapenos sprinkled over the top. Not fresh jalapenos, mind you, but the kind in a jar with all the jalapeno juice in it, like a jar of pickles, only with hot peppers.
My boyfriend lived by himself, a bachelor. You know the kind, drinkin straight from the carton, take out and beer lining the fridge and only using the fine china to eat off of (read plasticwear and paper plates), the toilet seat was always up, occasionally the coffee table would be shoved out of the way and an engine would be it's place, or a transmission in the tub looking like TubGirl: The Menstrual Addition (for the automotive illiterate, tranny fluid is red). You get the picture.
So, we're watching movies, chowing down on nachos and inevitably, we start fooling around. He lived alone, we were in no danger of being intruded upon and remember, we were "camping" thus no one could get ahold of us, and if they needed to, they'd be out circling the lake. It started with making out, then all of a sudden, my pants were gone. I have no clue how *that* happened. Off came the pretty panties and fingers were exploring and trying to get things "in the mood". Then then it started to tingle.
I of course, was a little uncomfortable, but hey man, I was getting some action so I wasn't complaining. Concentrate, concentrate, there's an orgasm on the way..forget the whole burning sensation...burning, burning passion, burning desire, burning "OH MY GOD MY CROTCH IS ON FIRE!" I jumped up and ran to the bathroom, one leg up on the sink cupping cold water and throwing it onto my groin region to try to put out the fire. He was quite confused and kept asking me "What's the matter?!" Then a thought dawned on him; he knew why I needed a damn fire hose to calm down the nerves of a very tender region.
The chef had pulled the jalapeno slices out of the jar with his bare fingers and designed the top of the nachos with some nice symmetrical design; there is an art to nacho making and he was an engineering student, so you do the math. Badumpbump. The lesson: Never finish what you can't start, but always WASH YOUR FUCKING HANDS AFTER HANDLING JALAPENOS.
The End.
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