Oh hell yes, it’s Saturday night. You load up your 2004 Subaru Impreza with some Bud and take off down the road.
It feels good to be out and away from your troubles, your lady has been bitching at you claiming you can’t satisfy her anymore.
You sit in the driver’s seat, waves of self doubt and worry wash over you. You think about your mom again remembering she had to go back to the hospital for treatment.
You feel like you’re about to drown in a sea of “What if” but then you hear a familiar comforting sound that washes away all your disquietude like a lighthouse beacon guiding you to safety.
“Bro…BRO you good? Nick just queued up some COD, come on everyone is waiting for you. Did you bring the brews?”
Your best friend since childhood stands at your driver side window ushering you inside.
Upon your entry you are greeted with warm welcomes and loving smiles.
You appear to be the last one to arrive and a few people have already gotten into the pizza laying on the coffee table, but you didn’t mind.
The night goes on and as empty beer bottles are set down, confidence is filled and heads are picked up.
The ambient chatter about the ballgame and picking up ‘the hottest chicks’ begin to mellow as more and more people filter out of the house.
Soon all that remain are you, your best friend beside you, and a spinning room.
You stare deeply into his soul. His soft brown eyes like a cashmere pillow you can rest your troubled head on.
You pull closer to your lifelong companion, breath becoming hot and heavy. He leans in near your ear and whispers shakaley “N-no homo… Right bro?” You quickly flip him on to his hands and knees before anything more is said, he doesn’t seem to mind.
You slowly insert your erect penis into his Bussy, he grunts with pain and pleasure.
Just then you hear the incessant buzzing of your phone that lies face up on the floor.
You lean over just enough to see a message notification. It takes a moment for your blurred vision to process the information.
It’s from your girlfriend, she says she’s been cheating on you and that you have two days to get out of her house.
You pay no mind to this as it only increases the speed and passion in which you are supplying the bent over jock in front of you.
You then hear a second buzz from your phone. You expect it to be your now ex-girlfriend returning to berate you with insults and slurs.
But to your surprise it is from your dad, your mom did not survive treatment and she died in the hospital’s care.
Still inserted deep inside your homie, your heart breaks and your nut busts, filling him with your seed.
Three words then escape your lips, “This shit…BUSSIN.”
You love Saturdays with the boys.