Jailbait On Wheels

jailbait

The picture used in my post on sluts got me thinking of my past experience with jailbait (funny that the girls in the slut post look more jailbaity than the ones I’m using for this post), and I thought I should share it.

This was back when I was still working with the crew mentioned throughout the “Christina Saga”. My buddy “Fred” and I were on the job late one Friday night, driving stuff back and forth in our work vehicle—which happened to be a massive, turbo-charged truck—when this all went down.

While waiting at a red light, a little Honda Accord pulled up two lanes over from us…and it was chock-full of chicks. So I smack Fred on the shoulder and call him over to my window. “Bro! Check it out…” Fred leans over to look, and his eyes widen. “Uhhhh, hello? What the fuck are you waiting for?! Honk the horn!” So I hang my left elbow out of my window, and give the horn two good presses with my right hand. The girls all look over, and in unison, let out a “WOOOH!” while shooting their girly little fists into the air.

“WHATSUP?!”, Fred shouts across the way…

“WHERE’S THE PARTY AT?!” one of them shouts back…

So I shout, “THE PARTY’S RIGHT HERE!”, while slapping the outside of my door (*groan*…so lame). That got some laughs out of the girls. They started asking us to come hang out, so Fred gets in my face and—with clenched teeth—points out that the light is about to change and I need to get a phone number. So I let them know we’re still on the clock, but that we can roll over once we’re done in a bit, and ask for a phone number. One of them shouts it over along with a name (we’ll say “Lindsey”), Fred puts it into his phone, the light changes, and they were off, blowing kisses and shouting unintelligible things as their car turned left.

Fred was pretty damn psyched. Needless to say, work got done very quickly that night. As soon as we were done and sitting in my car, Fred hands me the phone. “Here. You have to call.”

“Wait, what? Why?”  Like, it was his phone, and he’s the one that pushed me to initiate the whole thing. “Because! I’m the goofy Irish kid and you’re the smooth Puerto Rican. Now man-up and make the fucking call so we can get laid.”  Fred always had a way with words. He was great at delegating responsibility, also. “*Sigh*. Fine…”  So I hit send and wait. It was after midnight…

“Hello?”

“Hey. Lindsey?”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Jack.”

“Jack? Jack who?”

“Um, the guy in the big truck that you just gave your number to a few—”

And that’s when I heard it. “Oh. My. GOD!”  Um…oops? “This is Lindsey’s MOTHER. Did you know that my daughter is FIFTEEN years old?! I don’t know who you are, ‘Jack’, but let me—”

*Click*. I hung up, put the cell phone down slowly, and turned to face Fred, who looked confused. “Uhhh, what the fuck was that? Was it the wrong number?”

“Dude, her MOM answered the phone. Lindsey is fucking FIFTEEN!”  Fred stared at me for a few moments, shrugged, and said “So?”

Hahahahaha! Wow…

So, that’s about it for that story. Obviously, the rest of the night was pretty uneventful. At least, less eventful than partying and possibly hooking up with jailbait would have been (See? Not all of my stories end with me getting laid).

In my defense, it was dark out, and they were, like, over 12 whole feet away!…though, seeing some of them up close and in a well-lit space might not have made a difference. Liz, who met the physical standard for my ideal woman—short, thin, small but perky tits—was 20 when we started messing around, and she would have been any ephebophile’s wet dream. (I got a lot of dirty looks this time that I went into a Abercrombie Kids store with her.)

That’s actually the only time I’ve come close to messing with any proto-sluts shooting above their age-range…but I’ll let you know if it ever comes up again. To this day though, I still wonder if Lindsey got grounded….

Until the next time.

– Jack The Cradle Robber

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