Sweat E. Balzac and the Lebanese Sex Slaves

Yesterday I met my dear friend Secret Server for a hike.   We traipsed through the woods for an hour, her, looking for mushrooms, me, walking much too fast for her to really notice any.   We saw another group of mushroom hunters and a lone, older, running gentleman.  

Okay, maybe he wasn’t a gentleman.  Because as we exited the woods, via a paved path to the parking lot, he was lying on his back, slightly ahead, legs akimbo, stretching, while wearing very short running shorts.     

Sans underpants.

SS was on her cell phone, checking in with her family, and thus unable to do the quick, “OMG! Whiplash-inducing headturn” that I employed and she had a full view of his complete package.

Shouldn’t he have felt the wind beneath his wings, so to speak?  And realized he was exposing his ass to the masses?

After we passed him, SS turned to me and said “Did you just see that guy’s penis?”

We laughed all the way to a nearby sandwich shop, where we ran into fellow blogger MM picking up gyros on his way to his gf’s house.    He may have thought we were nuts, as I don’t know how coherent of a conversation we conducted;  we were still in shock. 

At the restaurant, I asked the owner if he had spicy onions for his falafal, like they do at another local restaurant, owned by his cousin Zavros.  He cursed Zavros, because, apparently, spicy onions are more expensive than regular onions.   I may have ignited a Lebanese family feud.

Zavros, btw, creepy.   Very flirtatious.  He pays too many compliments and I think he wants to lick my face.    

After our food arrived, the owner came over to talk to us.  For a very long time.  It was REALLY awkward.  Especially when he walked over and locked the front door and turned off the “Open” sign.    Then sat a couple of tables away and stared at us.   MarySue had her back to him and whispered “Did he just lock us in here?”

Me: “Yes!”

 SS:  “Is he listening to us?”

Me:  (quietly) “Yes, Maybe I shouldn’t have said that while he lacked spicy onions ‘his falafal was MUCH bigger than his cousin’s.'”

“I think we are about to become Lebanese sex slaves!”

Luckily a man, a handsome man in a miliatary uniform, knocked on the door and wanted to order a pizza.  And Mrs. Creepy Guy came out of the kitchen and sort of “shooed” us out of the place.   Apparently she didn’t want to have to prepare our gruel and clean out our buckets of excrement while her husband kept us chained up in their basement.

Safely arriving home, I told my husband the whole story.  He laughed.

Then he full frontal flashed me.

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6 Responses to “Sweat E. Balzac and the Lebanese Sex Slaves”

  1. Cameron Says:

    You certainly have met, and exceeded, your peni quota recently.

  2. Captain Dumbass Says:

    My dental hygenist kept poking me in the head with her boobs yesterday. But they weren’t sweaty or smelled like garlic so I guess my story isn’t like yours at all. Sorry.

    • jenjw4 Says:

      I wouldn’t mention that around town much, you might find that there’s now a very long wait to get into your dentist. Suddenly all the men will be very interested in dental hygiene.

  3. Sara Says:

    The title of your post made me laugh out loud. I think it is so funny when any man wears super tight shorts like that, as if we are supposed to think that they like wearing them like that because it’s more comfortable. I don’t think so – we are on to you pervy tight short wearing while exercising men.

  4. Mary Says:

    I don’t understand how going w/o underwear could provide any support while running! I am glad we escaped both situations virtually unscathed.

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