I go meet a friend - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com) +-- Forum:   (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=113) +--- Forum: Archives (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=13) +---- Forum: XWF Snow Job 2016 (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=83) +---- Thread: I go meet a friend (/showthread.php?tid=22452)

I go meet a friend - Ginger Snaps - 01-23-2016 I sat on a bus for 9 hours for this. I don't want to think about the bus ride, it smelled horrible, and the people there were all intent on meeting the conquering heroine from Scotland. They thought it was some big laugh to see me on the bus, watching films on my laptop, crying. The bus ride was terrible. I had to pee, and the toilets were all in use, so I had to wait for thirty minutes before I could pee. All of that trouble on the bus lands me here. In some town I've never been to, walking to a house I don't know. Asking people for help, because I am not riding in a taxi for it. The last time I rode in a taxi without Johnny I ended up flirting with a gay man. There's a shop close by, I'm going to go buy Vodka. This city is boring, I need to be drunk to enjoy it. There is a long queue which makes this so much worse. The bottle makes me thirsty, so I start to chug away at it while waiting. People look at me weird, but whatever. The queue moves, and I'm at the register, clerk looks at me funny as she scans my Three quarter full bottle, don't judge me. I ring up and leave. The walk to the house is slow, and boring, but the Vodka makes it more interesting, but only just slightly. It's started to rain a little, and I forgot my hat. The rain doesn't faze me, just hides my tears a little better. The house I'm searching for comes into view, and I begin to walk to it much faster. Another chug of the bottle, and I feel that it's getting light. Must be almost out. Hopefully they have some more where I'm going. I close the distance between the house and me, my heart racing as I do. I'm standing on the door step, mostly empty vodka bottle in hand, whole body shaking, hand reaching up and sheepishly knocks on the door. My heart stops for a second, I'm panicking. What if they have no idea what I'm talking about? What if I showed up at the wrong house? What if I wee myself? Breathe in and out, get it together Ginger. Get it together. Someone answers and I about pass out. A nice woman in his mid fifties, her hair is greying, and her face is wrinkled. She's been crying too. Hello? I gasp, and start to collapse. This is all too much, I can't handle it. I gotta get out of here, I'd run if I wasn't busy falling. She grabs me, and helps pull me to my feet. No lady, let go. I need to go, I can't do this. I can't talk to you. What if I cry, or you blame me? What if you don't like me? This hurts my soul. I need my run. I weed myself. I hope she doesn't notice. Oh, dear. Come on inside. We'll get you cleaned up. You're obviously in bad shape. Maybe she did notice. I can't have her noticing. She helps me inside her house, and takes my bottle and bag from me. The elderly woman looks at the bottle and walks away. I want to leave, but I can't make my legs work. I'm frantically twisting and shaking. Oh, shit. She's got a dog. Her dog charges at me, and starts jumping up and down licking at me. Of course she'd have a dog. I let out a murmur as a man about the same age comes down the stairs. He must know who I am, coz he runs over and hugs me. Ginger. Is it really you? I manage a nod. The woman comes back from wherever she went, without my bottle. Slag. Honey. It's Ginger. Oh, I've wanted to meet her for so long. I gulp and manage to get a sentence out. How long? The man chuckles, and leads me from the doorway to the parlour, he offers me a seat on the couch, and sits in a chair across from me. I get a little more comfortable. Oh, after you first met our boy, he called us the next day and told us how he met the girl he wanted to marry. Oh, he talked about you all the time to us. I can feel my face blushing. I didn't know, he never said anything to me about this. I had no idea that he felt this way. Oh, I'm smiling. Wait. I think I'm gonna be sick. Yes, definitely gonna be sick. I get up quickly. I need to use the toilet, I'm gonna be sick. The old woman speaks, her voice sounds shocked. Right around the corner, first door on the right. I rush to the toilet, and begin to heave. It hurts, and I don't like it, but I figure this is my penance for showing up drunk to meet Johnny's parents. The toilet is now filled with my yellow and red sick. I haven't eaten in days. I'm so hungry. I flush the toilet, and wash my hands and face before heading out. Johnny's parents are talking in the parlour, I can hear their voices, and then when they see me walk into the room, they stop. This makes me nervous. His dad gets up, and walks to me, he wraps his massive arms around me, and starts rubbing my back. I can't help it; I pour into him and hold him tight, my head buries as deep into his shoulder as I can go, and I begin to sob. It's hard, and it's uncontrollable. This is the first time I've cried this hard since it happened, and the first time I felt like I could let anyone in on my pain. I shouldn't be doing this, but I need to. I need to mourn and grieve, and get it all out. I want to never stop crying until it hurts. I want to curl up and cry in my bed with King Henry on one side, and Garbanzo at the other. Nothing else seems to be a good idea, except crying and drinking, and hurting. No, I want the hurt to stop. This is supposed to make it hurt less. A pair of arms warp around me from behind. My hair is getting soaked, I know he's crying, I can feel it. I don't care, let him cry into my hair, he lost his son. He needs this like I do. Slowly we break the hug, and watch each other for a minute. He leaves the room first, and it's just us birds in the room. I wanna say something, but I'm not sure what. She breaks the ice. I don't even know her name. You go take a soak in the tub upstairs. You're staying the night. Don't argue, it's what he would have wanted. I'll show you where the tub is. I try and speak, but nothing comes out. I think she knows this, because she just hugs me again and then starts heading upstairs. I grab my bag and follow her. We get up to the lavatory, and she starts to run the tap in the tub for me. She adds some salts to help me relax. The bag gets set on the toilet, and I nervously look around. She must be able to sense how uncomfortable I am. Sweetie, you can't soak in your clothes. Don't worry, ya ain't got nothing I've not seen before. Go on. I start to pull my top off, but something stops me. I finally find my voice. I don't even know what you're called. Beatrice. Now hurry up, dear. I need to wash those, and the tub is almost full. Can't have you running around in clothes you peed in. I'm sheepish, as I pull my top over my head. Figure it's normal to feel uncomfortable when you're in your bra around a strange woman. You noticed that, eh? I've kicked off my trainers and am now undoing my trousers. Course I did. Don't worry, I won't say anything. I'm standing in front of Johnny's mom, now, completely pissed and in the nude. I should be more uncomfortable, but I'm not. Instead I step over and sink into the tub. The water feels good on my skin. I fall deeper into the tub, and Beatrice leaves with my laundry. I think I fall asleep a little. This is exactly what I needed. After my soak, I get out of the tub, and pull the drain on it. I'm feeling so clean and relaxed. I'm ready to talk to Beatrice and her husband, whose names I still don't know. Ok, maybe not now, maybe I should on clothes first. I can't go down there in the buff. Well, I could, but I shouldn't. But, man I do look good. Ginger, stop checking yourself out in the mirror. That's not appropriate. Oh, but girl your skin does look good, and that arse? It's rather lovely. Man, Johnny was lucky to have such a hottie. Oh well, he'll be the last one to appreciate this. The body here is closed for anyone else. Sorry, XWF fans. Hi, XWF. Would you look at this streak I'm on? I'm becoming quite the monster slayer, aren't I? Little old me, Ginger Snaps, going around and dropping people way bigger than I am. And with minimal effort on my part. I wonder if this week will be any different. Instead of Ghost Tank or Cain I have to deal with Morbid Angel. There's not really a lot I can say about him that hasn't been said to death. Steroid junkie, Tourrette's syndrome, and a weird obsession with stealing penises. Whatever, you're secretly in love with Peter. Makes sense. This probably will be an easy match. And sparing with you before the match won't be hard, either. Just got to ignore the rubbish about Victory Forever, and unintelligible gibberish. I'm so looking forward to your trying to argue with me over every small point, and telling me how you let Vinnie beat you, and how you're not really an over the hill mental patient with a crush on Peter. It's ok to be attracted to Peter. I am. Or, hey, we can talk about how everything has to do with you taking penises. That's not weird. That doesn't scream that your dad fondled you a little to much. No, it doesn't scream how you wish yours was bigger so that maybe someone would finally love you. I dunno, guess I don't have room to talk, but hey, at least I beat Lane, and I didn't have to go around chopping penises to make myself feel good. I also didn't have to have a rematch against Trax to prove I'm an apt competitor, because I beat Lane, and would have beat him a second time if Trax hadn't stopped the match. Which means, unlike you, I'm actually apt in the ring. Yeah, little 130 pound Ginger is actually better than Giant 400 pound Morbid Angel. In the short time I've been here, I've accomplished so much more, and I'm not even sure if I want to still compete in the ring. You know what my last act very well might be? Taking your title. I mean, why not? I'm clearly a better champion than you could ever be. You go look at your mum's play girls and cut their penises. That seems to be about the only thing you're good at in this company. Oh, and fans watching this at home. Please stop sending me roses and pictures of you. I don't want them, or need them. Sorry, I'm just wanting to live my life with my Llama and my dog. I'm sorry, I'm just not in a spot for that. I'm sorry, guys. I know you're trying to help, but it's not helping. You know what would help? If you all shat in a box, and yes I know the shock of me swearing is strong, and send those boxes to Morbid Angel. He deserves it, the boxes will match his personality.