The perpetually awkward and overly self-conscious Milton Honeysnickle had never been very successful in dating world. At age twenty-two he had nothing to show to his name except a few half-kisses he tried to force into whole kisses and a certain right thigh of Ms. Amelia Chalmers that he had befouled during a rather vigorous dance number during his Junior Prom. The incident was the last time that Amelia spoke to Milton; no matter how hard he tried to convince her that it was a “crime of passion”.
Five years, zero women, and a load of furious beat sessions removed from that event and Milton was halfway through his senior year of college with no prospects on his horizon. His band of friends in college were all initially uncomfortable with the fairer sex, but all except Milton had managed to get down to brass tax, so to speak, with a lady at some point during their college experience. Even Nerdenkrantz, the rascal of the group, had stories from a Spring Break filled with “orgasmic delights” as he described that, after hearing his tales, could all be accurately described as “mildly consensual”.
In reflections like this that Milton wondered if his high school guidance counselor was being one hundred percent truthful when he said that majoring in mechanical engineering will have you “waist-deep in white bitches.”
The ridicule had started about a year ago from the group. While, initially, the group, aware of their lacking erotic experience, had shied away from poking fun at each other’s celibacy, but as of late, and with the late blooming of several of them, the ribbing of the sexually inactive had begun. Typically, it would happen on Sunday night during their weekly Dungeons and Dragons game. It had started gradually, but as of late the frequency of the insults directed at the less “seasoned” group members had increased, particularly at Milton who had the least amount of experience points in the sexual realm. His friends became ruthless, letting every insult from “Unfit to Wield His Magic Missile” to “Level Fifteen Super Virgin” rain down upon the hapless Milton.
Week after week Milton took the abuse. His friends, aware of Milton’s sensitivity about the issue, continued to prod him, getting more and more of a reaction out of Milton each week. “Play the victim and you will be the victim,” they said as they departed each Sunday night while they left Milton alone in his basement to speculate on the quantity and the quality of handjibbers they’d be receiving from their respective ladies upon returning home.
Sunday rolled around and the jesting began at Dungeons and Dragons; first because their party encounter a group of very silly bards that spoke only in insults and riddles, but second because the group had begun making fun at Milton rather early in the night. Uncharacteristically, Milton kept his composure. The group, not used to the lack of response, was stunned while Milton calmly took their abuse, picked up the die, and assumed the floor.
“Your little quips, your yuks, your japery, they no longer affect me. You see, gentlemen, I met a girl, no—I met a woman last night. And after some conversing we journeyed back to her place and I gave her a taste of the ol’ Honeysnickle and she lapped it up like she was a ravenous and unrestrained mother grizzly.”
The room went silent. They wanted details and Milton knew it. His captive audience was holding on his every breath and, briefly, he debated reverting to saying “a gentleman never tells”. However, unlike the general public, within this company that line is a red flag that there was no raunchy details to divulge. In all likelihood that line is employed in this company to signal that there was no erotic conquest to reveal and that the story content of the previous night includes a disastrous interaction with a girl coupled with a description of late night nachos and a fat jerk-off sesh; which, and I think you’ll agree, are hardly the topics gentlemen should be conversing over.
Vindication was necessary; Milton knew the insults wouldn’t stop if he didn’t give them any bread to go with that Bit-O-Honey he hooked them with.
“I may have been a little late to the party when it comes to sex, but, and I assure you, my entrance was well received. Well received by the tight pink goop chute of a Ms. Kelly Kellenberger.”
“Pfff, really, Kelly Kellenberger?” Nerdenkrantz dismissed skeptically.
“Fine,” replied Milton, “if you’re don’t believe me I guess you guys don’t need to know—,” but before he could finish his thought the group protested that he finish the story.
“Alright, easy, easy, I’ll get you junkies your fix,” Milton answered as he took a swig of his drink and settled back into his chair. “It started as just an impromptu exchange. She had just broken up with her high-school boyfriend after being with him the first three years of college and she really wanted to talk about herself. She was leaving the party and we exchanged numbers, out of politeness I thought. However, it was but not an hour later when I received a text that read, “Hey, you’re hot and my friend totally wants to jam that dick of yours in her fuzz box.” Now, even though part of my brain told me it was a prank I could still feel my weiner perk up, but it wasn’t until she texted again with, “P.S. I’m my friend, ” that my sleeping giant in my pants was fully roused.”
—Will Milton seal the deal? Will his friends actually believe his story? What conquests will their Dungeons and Dragons party encounter? Who is Milton Honeysnickle’s real father? Tune in next week and find out!
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