On my walk home, I finger gunned every cute girl I passed. Theatrically, with an audible tchh and a wink. There were a lot of cute girls walking about, so my finger guns were chewing through rounds. As best I can recall through my happy fog, every girl smiled, and a few commented sassily. One girl, a petite fatale heading in the direction of the barrel of my finger gun, grinned and sassed, “Do I look like target practice to you?”

I waited until we had merged into a delirious close quarters friction on the sidewalk, before back-sassing, “Do you want to be?” while blowing out the smoke curling from the ends of my finger guns and holstering them with Old West pizzazz.

She laughed and said she would but she’s a “taken cowgirl”, and we parted for our respective sunsets. No worries, my happyhead was still airborne. A girl’s “rejection” is much easier to absorb when she delivers it with a warm smile and sparkle eyes, letting you know with her expressionist regret that under a separate timeline the odds would have been ever in your favor.

Recollecting that day, and the innumerable sex positive reactions I received from girls at the business end of my finger guns, I wondered why I didn’t unholster those bad boys more often. It clearly worked to put the ladies in an approachable mood. And I’ve done it once or twice, unthinkingly, while on walks of triumph. Finger Guns Game has enormous potential as an opener gambit.

Maybe I’ve avoided it because it’s silly. It feels silly. It looks silly. But, chicks dig the silly. The man of stoic resolve who can indulge silliness demonstrates that he isn’t harmed by the indulgence. He has stoic resolution to spare, and that’s what chicks subconsciously notice, to their everlasting tingles.

Unaltered photos. lostcausemonaut quips,

tfw girth and rigidity

Grandma got something on her mind! First pic…a gentle fingertip caress of the frenulum. Second pic…the grip of uncompromising resolve, ushering la petite mort.