Lord Henry Wotton: “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.”

Oscar Wilde~The Picture of Dorian Gray

Dodger wiped the drizzle of beer that trickled down his shirt with the back of his hand. He thought about just letting it remain there, seeing as each time he wiped the liquid away, another sweaty arm or shoulder slammed into his cup, causing the foam to sway precariously close to the cups rim.

Dodger looked up, green eyes running up and down his cramped frame, only to frown and then jerk her head away, laughing and pushing some jock’s thick Neanderthal hand off her taught ass. Dodger played the magician’s assistant, balancing his cup above his head, using his right hand to steady himself against the wall, his greedy lustful eyes burning two holes into the green-eyed sophomore’s thick ass, the denim jeans having been painted onto her body a few hours prior.

Dodger rolled his eyes and glanced up, hoping God was witnessing this seemingly trivial event, but was currently drawing up blueprints of the next five minutes, where the beefy jock developed a sudden case of diarrhea, and Dodger slunk into his place behind the girl, slapping her ass with such force, that her eyes bugged, the remaining sting a sensation she would reflect upon on her wedding night.

A popular song Dodger had heard before began to play, the crowd reacting like one massive clump of hysteria. Not wanting to be stuck against the wall in the heat, nor at the party any longer, Dodger squeezed this thin frame through the oblivious crowd in search of Ashley. He hadn’t seen her in awhile and was a tad concerned. His hand felt for his car keys, a sudden moment of panic erupting through his body, only to remember he had given his keys to Ashley as they trumped through the cup littered front lawn.