Schools are slowly drawing to a close and that can only mean one thing...it’s the holidays! We are finally free from overcrowded lecture halls, pitchfork wielding invigilators and the shackles of a seemingly endless barrage of assignments. The holidays bring with them the promise of mid-week drinking binges, unhinged party-fests and the faint but alluring smell of, what I like to call, 'festive fling ass'. Now I know you are wondering: 'what is this festive fling ass she speaketh of?’ Well it’s pretty self-explanatory! Come on, let’s not lie to ourselves we all know that during the festive season the majority of us like to, let’s say, 'explore'. The festive season is like a free pass, an excuse for us to, out of want of a better phrase, fuck around. Festive fling ass or festive ass (F.F.A or F.A for short) does not only refer to an individual but can also refer to a group of people. For those of you, who are a bit slow to bite, let me illustrate.
It’s the beginning of December and the holidays are in full swing, so you and a couple of your pals decide to go out for a night on the town. You pick the usual spot and decide to sit at your usual table, it is December after all so festive cheer is all around and the usual spot is full of lasses and lads ready to have a good time. The party is just getting started and everyone is on the dance floor gyrating to the sounds of some or other sex crazed pop starlet. Your throat starts to feel a little parched so, leaving your buddies on the dance floor you decide to go over to the bar to get yourself another dirty Martini to dance the night away with.
After the potentially dangerous task of navigating your way through the crowd of both drunk and high clubbers, you finally make it to the bar unscathed, phew. You order your drink and wipe the sweat from your brow, if your mom could see you now! The cute bartender hands you your drink and you take a sip to see if it’s just right. You give the bartender a satisfied thumbs up and proceed to walk back to the dance floor (or the battlefield) to find your friends.
Just as you are about to step on to the dance floor you feel something grab hold of your arm. You are kind of irritated so you turn around to give the imbecile a piece of your mind. On turning around you are confronted by a broad smile, you are a little drunk so you step back to get a good look at this buffoon. The first thing that you notice about this Neanderthal, is his towering height, his piercing hazel brown eyes and his broad masculine shoulders, your irritation quickly turns into a kinky smile as you look up at this dark giant of a man. As if your smile were the green light he was waiting for, he says "Hi" and seductively takes hold of your hand and pulls you to a dark corner. You can barely hear what he is saying over the loud music and the chattering of half-drunk party animals, but from what you can gather, he may be a hunk but he is not very bright. Regardless, you don't care what he has to say, heck it wouldn't make a difference to you if he were mute! You rub your hands all over his body, sizing him out. You grab him and snog him, partly because you wanna ascertain how good of a kisser he is, but mostly just to shut him up. He obliges and soon you are engaged in a hot and heavy make out session, groping and fondling each other. At this point you are both extremely horny, your undies are soaking wet and you can feel his crotch swelling up from under his zipper. He whispers "Let’s go to my car" and without a second thought, you get up and go. Now we all know what happens when you get to the car so I'm not going to bore you with the sordid details.
After the coitus relations in the back seat of the car you emerge, flustered but fully clothed. You exchange pleasantries and walk back into the club; you go and find your friends while he goes back to whatever hole he crawled out of. You find your friends and tell them what just happened, you all laugh about it, you make them swear never to repeat the story to anyone (especially Mark, your boyfriend of 2 and a half years) and just like that it is forgotten...NEVER to be spoken of again. These encounters happen sporadically through out the festive season. Now they could be a recurring thing with the same person or different sexual encounters with complete strangers but, when the festive season is over they are packed away in The Book of F.F.A,in a box in the basement along with the Christmas decorations and forgotten...until next year.
Happy Holidays!
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