I am not good at writing but hang on; it is a wild ride—cue in Minnesota’s dreary, damp, and foggy day. The phone rings, the caller ID shows a local call. I pick it up.
Oh, another depraved little story from those two gals... the J and L of E-J-L and E-J-L-2... don't read it... it will probably make you need glasses or grow hair in places it shouldn't grow... the title is pretty self-explanatory.
A true story that happened in the early 1980s. I pick up a coed after work and try to pass her off because she isn't my type. She is definitely someone else's type, perhaps everyone else's type. This differs from most of my stories as the sex is almost exclusively out of sight. It is just the absurdity of the events that make it memorable.