So I was at the bar the other night, having drinks with my friends and co-workers. A beautiful lady walked in: tan, lots of tattoos, long blond braids. I decide to go chat with her, and my friends encourage me.
So the MeatBeast, with lots o’ liquid courage, steps up and takes the seat next to her. After conversing with other friends at the bar for a moment, (long enough to eavesdrop on her conversation to make sure the gentleman next to her was not a SO) I strike up conversation and buy her a drink.
Long story short, things go well. It’s her birthday as well, so I ask how old she is (she looks 30 at the most, and that’s stretching it). She jokingly states she’s 21.:rolleyes: I know she’s lying, but I don’t care. She’s a beautiful lady, and obviously legal because she’s in the bar. And a good conversationalist. Good enough. We leave together. And after quite a bit of fun back at her place, I ask her how old she is, really. She smiles and says I wouldn’t believe her. I says, sure I will. She says 52. I says, okay, I don’t believe you. Then she shows me her ID…
:eek: :eek: :eek:
Not that it mattered, but it took a little bit of time for it to sink in that she was older than my mother, (a fact that I didn’t state), and that she’s a little over twice as old as me.
And then we had some more fun, and the MeatBeast woke up hung over, and feeling pretty damn smooth.
Thank you all for listening.
The MeatBeast

