If
you recall my homecoming dance date's requirement was that I wear the
clothes she picked out. She had me come over a day before the dance
and got me out a suit with plenty of lapel and a bright pink shirt
where the designers didn't skimp on the billow or the collar. It was
so awesome I couldn't wait to give it test run. When I did I was
shocked, I looked hot, really hot. I was a young magnificent pink
plumaged dance ready sex god. When I picked her up she was dressed in
a baby doll dress made of the same material in the same style. We
looked incredible and then we got to the dance and blew some square
redneck minds. I was always a flamboyant dancer anyway so when I was
paired up with a equally wild and dynamic dancer the lid came right
off the top of that thing. I overheard a few of the inbred sheep
diddlers observe out load so I could hear that I was dressed like,
and dancing like a fagot. Keep it classy you dirt-bags. We danced it
up and partied it up and it was the most fun I had ever had a t a
dance because I was not at all interested in trying to turn this into
anything more than a good night out with a cool friend. It was
perfect until she told me that I had to give back the shirt and
jacket. Every rose has its thorn. I did give it back after I wore it
to church the next day and then washed the funk off of it.
