The tits were big. I asked if they were real. He said they were, I however had my doubts.
Then he showed me the full body shot and as I said, there was the va-jay jay landing strip and all shaped as if she were expecting company. Then V showed me another photo, the woman sent a close up shot of her chocha. Not only was there a landing strip, but she had a very visable piercing in that area. Despite the antics May and I engage in on the regular on television and the radio, when it comes down to it I blush quite easily. I didnt know what to say. Sure this girl would have probably would party with May Wilson but what if that thing got infected? Just saying. And someone who sends photos like that is probably not being safe and is probably safely assumed to be psychotic just like all the women V hooks up with. Of course it always ends with them having a nervous breakdown or going crazy on him. Surprise, surprise.
V asked what I thought. Meanwhile I have a hooha myself. To me it is a weird looking creature with a beard that bleeds three times a month and should never be seen by anyone other than God, my gyno, me when I dare tread there, and of course my most unfortunate undergarments. Needless to say when you have one it is not all that impressive. At the same time I realize men are simple creatures fascinated by the stupidity of this ugly organ, they struggle for nine months to get out and all they ever want to do is get back in for the rest of their existance it seems. Between that, football, and shark week men are but simple creatures.
V then mentioned she might be coming to a gathering amongst our friends and I could meet her. I am like oh, and spoil the surprise by finally seeing her face. NEVER!
Then I told V that if I met her I would say, "I saw so many pictures of you. Finally nice to see your face. Saw the rest of the package. Wondered what completed it."
Or then there is the, "I think you are a sweet, vulnerable young lady. I love how you expose yourself."
Better yet, "Have you been on any good landing strips lately?"
Then there is the, "Sometimes when you take a photo you have to be yourself and let it all hang out."
Maybe I could sing the old SNL Spartan Cheerleader song, "I've got spirit in my britches and it really, really itches."
This will probably end in utter disaster like all of V's encounters with women. She will probably handcuff him to something so he can't escape. She will probably come after him with a sharp object. She will probably be screaming as they lead her away in a straight jacket. He will probably be telling me about this the next time we hang out. Sigh, a picture says a thousand words.
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl