GEORGIA vs. FLORIDA
John B.
Thomasville, Georgia

The annual Georgia-Florida football game has been dubbed the largest outdoor cocktail party in the world. The 2001 meeting proved this to not only be a nickname, but also a clever euphemism.

My Georgia Bulldogs were disappointing me again as my friends and I sat in ALLTEL Stadium. Our day had been full of keg stands, martinis and catcalls to our Floridian foes. Needless to say, my posse and I were rather inebriated. I was bitten by the bad-luck bug earlier in the evening when we decided to draw straws to see who would pilot our Suburban on the long trek back to Georgia. My straw came out shorter than an Eskimo's wang during a snowstorm. I had to stop drinking at halftime so I could sober up enough to negotiate the post-game traffic.

As the fourth quarter rolled around and a Dogs loss was inevitable, I told the guys I would go pick up the car and drive it closer to the stadium to pick them up. In retrospect, this made no sense because we would have to spend twice the amount of time in traffic, but I had to get away from my obnoxious friends.

The walk back after a loss at Florida is something we Bulldogs have grown accustomed to over the past few years, but I had never done it sober. Even before the game was over, I was catching jeers from Gator fans. About halfway to my car, I saw a beautiful blonde wearing a sexy blue tank top. Her pants were black and you could just see the top of her red thong peeking out of the top. I quickened my pace hoping I would catch up to her before she changed direction.

"Where are you parked?" I asked, not really caring if I got rejected.

"Lot 40 C." She spoke as if she was genuinely happy to talk to me, which is a rare occurrence between Gator and Bulldog fans.

Her lot was on the way to mine, so I stirred up some small talk while we trekked through the littered streets. We arrived at her car, and she fumbled with her bra strap.

"I know this is kind of a funny question, but could you help me with this bra?" she said. "I had to borrow my friend's this morning, and it's cutting off my circulation." Obviously, her friend was not as blessed as she was.

I helped her unbutton her bra and she let out a sigh of relief as the lacy article slid over her head and was thrown into the back of her Tahoe.

"Champagne?" she asked. She must have caught me staring because she giggled. "Or do you want something a little wilder?"

Before I could speak she crawled into the Tahoe and removed her tank top. "You better hurry and get in here," she said. "My boyfriend will be back after the game, and he won't be too happy to see us fucking in his brand new truck. I'll put the game on the radio so we can see how long we have. He's never left a game early."

Not one to argue, I hopped in the Tahoe and cupped her beautiful tan breast in my hand. She was dark -- not tanning bed orange, but Florida brown. I fumbled with the zipper on the back of her pants but finally managed to get them down.

"Wait just a second," she said and reached for the bottle of ice-cold champagne. She unzipped my pants as she sipped on the bottle. Obviously not a rookie, she took a large swig of the bubbly and began giving my little bulldog a bath. The mixture of cold and bubbles almost caused me to explode right there.

She must have seen it on my face, because she said, "You better not pop as quickly as this champagne bottle." So I gathered myself and turned her over. She was surprisingly aggressive; maybe her boyfriend wasn't giving her enough attention. We fucked for about 10 minutes until I realized the post game wrap-up was blaring through the truck's speakers.

We finished, dressed and exchanged e-mails. She told me to hurry and leave because her boyfriend would be back any minute. I made my way back to my lot where my buddies were waiting by the Suburban.

"Where the hell were you?" a buddy whined. "We kept trying to call. We are all ready to fucking GO!"

I couldn't do anything but smile as I unlocked the truck and climbed behind the wheel.

"Buckle up, fuckers, we're goin' home."