Love Found & Lost in the Pudding Pit
Pudding wrestling. Have you ever considered sexy’s aftermath? Did you ever wonder what the color of pudding looks like streaked across white walls? It looks like mud. The color of pudding on a hardwood floor also looks like mud. The color of pudding smeared across your body because a 19-year-old blonde chick (that you thought was a sexy kind of cute since freshman year) rubbed her body all over you, is, in fact, the color of lust.
She intertwined her fingers with mine – but it wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t sexy because the combination of pudding and fingers feels like bony Nickelodeon Gak. But, as the two of us walked up the stairs, she turned her hear to shyly offer me a smile. She looked delicious. So I followed her.
“Lets get in shower,” she cooed as the recurring word I’d been repeating all night again resurfaced on my tongue: “Unreal”
Unreal (which is the un of real) began hours before. Real is not showing up to a party and finding a throng of hysterical party animals gathered around a pudding pit chanting ‘We want the boobies! We want the boobies!’ Real is also not seeing two girls, both of whom you found very attractive, making out in said pudding pit. Nor is real when one of those girls, after wrestling with other girls in a surprisingly feminine and erotic way, walks up to you and says, “I know who you are, Rob!” and proceeds to rub her body all over your clothing.
But I had a predicament: after my admission into the realm of unreality, I found myself in clothing now soiled with an attractive girl (that I thought was a sexy kind of cute since freshmen year) running fingers over my face, leaving a trail of pudding in their lascivious wake.
Suddenly I was being asked again, “So are we gonna take a shower or what?”
About Rob J. Rob J. is a writer and dating instructor in New York City. Themes that resonate in both his teaching and writing are masculinity, genuineness, rational self-interest, and general awesomeness.