POP! POP!! POP!!!

It's just about dawn and I've returned home from a night/morning of pure hilarity.

My agency had a fundraiser at Everett & Jones Bar-b-que, Friday night. I MC'd the event and did a damn good job (tooting my air horn). We raised a little over $2000 which was beyond good, being that it was our first stab at it. After the event, I'm walking to my car, thinking I should stop at the 24hour donut store to get a sweet night cap to pacify my craving for something I knew I had no access to. Then he called my name.

"Chubby!" My mother taught me to never respond to a man who hollers your name, or yells for you to come here. I have two legs. Not four.

"Chubby, is that you?" I continue walking. I hear quickened steps behind me. I turn around to see Taylor. I met him at a club in December of last year. We went out twice and I left for Jamaica in January of this year. When I returned, I didn't bother returning his calls. I just didn't feel like starting over. We made small talk and exchanged numbers, once again. We set to meet after I got off work ( I have a weekend, holiday job at one of my favorite clothing stores. I get a 40% discount!), on Saturday, which was 10pm. Of course this means it would be a booty call.

I got off work and showered. As I was getting all dolled up, I started thinking: Why do I have to go through all this trouble? He truly could care less and it's all going to get thrown on the floor anyway. I get there in 20 minutes. That little voice starting telling me to dodge and head back for home, but my contracting cootchie won the debate. He answers the door and he's in his boxers...I ask again...Why did I bother?!!!!! He looked VERY good though, with his dark chocolate skin, complimenting the clean white boxers.

Before I could sit down, we're at it. He's alright, nothing to waste typing strokes about. We switch positions: I'm on all fours and he's behind. Everything's going perfect. Right pace, thrust, talking, fingering. Then it happens:

POP! POP!!

Within milli seconds, my brain starts to narrow in on what happened:
What in the hell was that? Did I fart? Oh, lord, not again. I didn't eat any beans? Did he notice?
He's not saying anything? I don't smell anything...

POP! POP!!

"Taylor, are you farting?" He ignores me and keeps at it. I lost it during the first round of farts. I start doing kegel exercises, to get him to hurry up. It worked.

I quickly turn around, not even waiting for him to catch his breath.
"Ok, that was wierd." I'm looking at him, waiting for a response.
"I don't know why that happens, but when I'm about to climax, I fart."
"I'm confused." He gives me an annoyed glare. I could care less.
"Just forget about it, Chubby. It's nothing."
"Well, I didn't smell anything, so it's cool." He doesn't respond.

He changes the subject and after about an hour passes, we're at it again. THE SAME DAMN THING HAPPENS!!! I start laughing. The type of laughing when trying to stop just makes you laugh harder. I collapse on the bed and tears are streaking down my face. He gets up and goes to the bathroom. I laughed while apologizing for a good four-five minutes.

To make a long story short, I long wore out my welcome and now I'm hear typing at 5:20am.
Well, at least I got a little to tie me over until I leave next Saturday...

Must learn to ignore exterior distractions that blocks my ability to orgasm.