st. mike part one.

I was not upset on account of her having a penis. Rather, I was upset because of the size of her penis. You see, it all started 338 minutes ago.

I'm an accountant. After work, some co-workers and I decided to celebrate. What were we celebrating? I suppose another day we didn't fall mouth-first into a bottle of sleeping pills. (A common hazard in our line of work.)

Our usual haunt was closed due to the massive amounts of child pornography found in the owner's basement. After some argument, we decided to head out and look for another bar. After all, we all had unpleasant women to return to after our "celebration" was concluded. Except for myself, but I'm sure you've already guessed that.

After some driving, we paused in front of a small brick building wedged between two abandoned warehouses. The sign read simply, "St. Micheal's Tavern." After another quick huddle, we decided it was this or nothing. Now, if we had chosen to go home, this is where the story would end.

We each ordered a cheap American beer.

The walls were unadorned, and besides us, the bar was empty. Mike, the bartender and owner, leaned forward after a few minutes and interrupted our conversation.

"You boys want to hear the story of how I earned my nickname?" He asked.

Of course, we were curious, and he began the story of "Saint Mike."

Apparently, he was not the first "Saint Mike," and the bar's two previous owners had both shared the same nickname. None of them were named Micheal. He continued with a sweeping epic spanning three generations and two World Wars. Many parts of this story seemed exaggerated, but the look in his eyes was furious, passionate, and desperate. Acts of bravery, loves lost, and many other stereotypically manly events were sloppily strung together into this exotic tale. After about 20 minutes, we had heard enough. We thanked him, and he returned to his post atop a stool, and under a bottle. We continued our conversation, saving the discussion concerning this man's sanity until later.

Six rounds later, the conversation had shifted from dive-bar-risque to downright depraved. One of my co-worker was trying to explain the sensation of having his wife shove a pipe-cleaner up his ass while he jerked off. This comment was met by mixed applause. Sparking another debate, each man presented his favorite story of sexual domination (or submission.) By some cruelty, I was the last one to be asked to share. I was flushed with embarrassment and alcohol, but I explained that I hadn't had sex since my college years. Their faces lit up with joy. Getting me laid became the priority of the evening.

It wasn't long after when two absolutely gorgeous women entered the bar. Saint Mike grinned.

/end part one/

sorry guys, gotta build up suspense.

how do YOU think it's going to end. (it's not that obvious)

-Jizzy T