After the initial shock of the combine task of both date and chaperone, we settled in the movie theater. I had picked the movie out of time necessity. Big mistake.
Although we had done a substantial amount of harmless pre-flirting in text form, I was scared to make any moves. This, of course, was a combination of the fact that I kind of felt weird in a situation with someone my little sister’s age and the fact that there was a substantial amount of giant black cock in the movie we happened upon.
Eventually, after we saw our tenth or so set of breasts, I got enough courage to play footsy with her. She looked at me as if I was retarded (I know not P.C. but the most concise way to get that “What the fuck is this, middle school?” look from a freshman in college).
On the way home, we laughed forcedly about the movie and the giant black cock – it haunts me still, hanging, curved slightly to the left. Then the scars let me remember the tiny, minuscule, puny Irish Catholic dick in that same scene. (I fall somewhere between.)
At her door step, being mindful not to wake Dad, I stopped.
“Sorry I didn’t get enough courage to hold your hand,” I said shyly. In retrospect, I think it was an even split between honesty and theatrics. I mean come on, she was 19, this is a novelty.
She grabbed my hand and looked up at me. In my head, she wiped her nose in a way that that loud sniffle/wet wipe comes from a sick elementary schooler – alas she didn’t.
I looked her in the eyes. Well, through trendy, thick black frames.
She gave me that look. I leaned in.
BOOM BABY! Kiss town.