started to get pretty handsy outside the bar. I want you to take me out of here, Davidoff. Come on. Really? I mean, I will, but really? I had to be getting played here. Iâm not going to say that Lake George is overflowing with eligible and desirable bachelors, but why me?
I evaluated my options. The Entertainer was a no-go; it was in plain sight down on the docks, so the entire world would see. Not that Iâm opposed to that sort of thing; just wait for our chapter on that. There was a hotel not far from Christieâs, but my credit card was still inside at the bar being maxed out by Mike and the gang. LâPoop was staying in another hotel right next door to Christieâs, but it was occupied by friends who got too much sun that day. With no plan at all, LâPoop and I started walking south. At this point, we were only looking for privacy. After about ninety quick make-out breaks with LâPoop whispering in olâ Davidoffâs ear about how sexy he was (note to self: MOVE TO FRANCE) we found ourselves in front of Fort William Henry. I could go into a whole history lesson on just what Fort William Henry is, but this isnât a history book. All you need to know is that itâs a British fort on the southern end of Lake George best known for the notorious atrocities committed by Indians against surrendered British troops following a successful French siege in 1757. Ever see Last of the Mohicans ? Thatâs where all that shit took place. On the vast front lawn of Fort William Henry, there is a statue. Iâm not sure who the statue is of. Iâd assume itâs of William Henry. Iâm also not sure who William Henry even was. He was probably tortured by those savage Indians. What I do know is that William Henryâs statue is like a playground made of marble and LâPoop was getting downright freaky with me on it. She was taking her clothes off and giggling, which is possibly the hottest combination of two things a French chick could do, as we chased each other around the statue. I imagine if Martians were observing Earth at that very moment and saw the two of usâone goofy, uncoordinated white guy chasing around a gorgeous giggling French galâthey probably wrote in their Martian notebooks Note to Self: MOVE TO EARTH .
Soon things started to get hot and heavy and olâ William Henry wasnât the only guy sporting some marble. As perfect as this was about to be, I was still freaking out like something was wrong. It didnât add up. Was this girl about to drug me and steal my organs? That was the honest-to-God thought that was going on in my head as she wrapped her legs around me. Well, that thought went away pretty quickly, within about three to five seconds. I thought I was enjoying it so much that I was imagining fireworks in the background. Then I remembered it was the Fourth of July. An American slob making love to a French 10 on the Fourth of July on top of a statue of a guy who was tortured by Indians. For my money, it doesnât get any more American than that, folks.
We finished and smoked cigarettes as we lay ass-naked, half on the grass and half on the statue. LâPoop and I eventually gathered up the clothes we had been tearing off each other and wandered back toward the bar scene. I had a shirt on, though I was not sure it was mine, and definitely didnât find my boxers. I didnât even know what else I was missing, only that I was decent enough to pass the no shirt/no shoes/no service test. Since we had left the bar so early together, things were still raging as we got back to Christieâs. LâPoop told me she was going to pop into her hotel room next door to freshen up. Weâd better exchange numbers now; I donât want to lose track of you . It was the smoothest thing I had said all night. Absolutely not. She responded, deadpan. Then she smiled, walked into the hotel lobby, and I never saw her again. She never came back to
I evaluated my options. The Entertainer was a no-go; it was in plain sight down on the docks, so the entire world would see. Not that Iâm opposed to that sort of thing; just wait for our chapter on that. There was a hotel not far from Christieâs, but my credit card was still inside at the bar being maxed out by Mike and the gang. LâPoop was staying in another hotel right next door to Christieâs, but it was occupied by friends who got too much sun that day. With no plan at all, LâPoop and I started walking south. At this point, we were only looking for privacy. After about ninety quick make-out breaks with LâPoop whispering in olâ Davidoffâs ear about how sexy he was (note to self: MOVE TO FRANCE) we found ourselves in front of Fort William Henry. I could go into a whole history lesson on just what Fort William Henry is, but this isnât a history book. All you need to know is that itâs a British fort on the southern end of Lake George best known for the notorious atrocities committed by Indians against surrendered British troops following a successful French siege in 1757. Ever see Last of the Mohicans ? Thatâs where all that shit took place. On the vast front lawn of Fort William Henry, there is a statue. Iâm not sure who the statue is of. Iâd assume itâs of William Henry. Iâm also not sure who William Henry even was. He was probably tortured by those savage Indians. What I do know is that William Henryâs statue is like a playground made of marble and LâPoop was getting downright freaky with me on it. She was taking her clothes off and giggling, which is possibly the hottest combination of two things a French chick could do, as we chased each other around the statue. I imagine if Martians were observing Earth at that very moment and saw the two of usâone goofy, uncoordinated white guy chasing around a gorgeous giggling French galâthey probably wrote in their Martian notebooks Note to Self: MOVE TO EARTH .
Soon things started to get hot and heavy and olâ William Henry wasnât the only guy sporting some marble. As perfect as this was about to be, I was still freaking out like something was wrong. It didnât add up. Was this girl about to drug me and steal my organs? That was the honest-to-God thought that was going on in my head as she wrapped her legs around me. Well, that thought went away pretty quickly, within about three to five seconds. I thought I was enjoying it so much that I was imagining fireworks in the background. Then I remembered it was the Fourth of July. An American slob making love to a French 10 on the Fourth of July on top of a statue of a guy who was tortured by Indians. For my money, it doesnât get any more American than that, folks.
We finished and smoked cigarettes as we lay ass-naked, half on the grass and half on the statue. LâPoop and I eventually gathered up the clothes we had been tearing off each other and wandered back toward the bar scene. I had a shirt on, though I was not sure it was mine, and definitely didnât find my boxers. I didnât even know what else I was missing, only that I was decent enough to pass the no shirt/no shoes/no service test. Since we had left the bar so early together, things were still raging as we got back to Christieâs. LâPoop told me she was going to pop into her hotel room next door to freshen up. Weâd better exchange numbers now; I donât want to lose track of you . It was the smoothest thing I had said all night. Absolutely not. She responded, deadpan. Then she smiled, walked into the hotel lobby, and I never saw her again. She never came back to
Similar Books
