Freedom in Heights

We retold what had just happened with such exuberance and excitement that we conjured up some sort of time portal leading to exactly 9 hours in the past. Suddenly we were the three bored and unimaginative douches we'd been at 10 o'clock the previous night. And we wanted to party. I can't remember who suggested that we go back on the roof, but I'm sure it was Roll. He's the one who disappeared downstairs only to reappear seconds later with a satchel of various beers.

Walking out on that roof was like hopping on the surface of the sun. It was 8 o'clock, but it wasn't morning. The sun was high in the sky and my newly naked tit skin could feel itself cooking. Our flesh was roasting, our brains were toasted and for the life of us we could not stop giggling. We sizzled on shingles like three sun glass clad pieces of bacon sautéing in gin and freedom. I pulled my shorts into thong position, giving my upper thighs their first taste of vitamin D. This was met with groans from Roll and a purring sound from T-Nasty.

We laid there soaking up sunshine and sipping on sin until the pure freedom of the situation overwhelmed me. I hopped up and gave a drunken homage to Charles Chaplin. I did precarious acrobatic maneuvers on every corner of the roof, diving and tripping, rolling and collapsing, mooning imaginary voyeurs and dancing with fictitious maidens. In the midst of my madness I spotted some painters hard at work on an adjacent roof top. I screamed for them to look our way, then showed them my ass cheeks. Moments later I noticed the faithful congregation of High Street Unitarian Univeralist Church filing in to their Sunday service. They then got a pre-church sermon on why God was dead before feasting their eyes on my supple buttocks.

By this time, my liberation from the dictate of society was nearly complete. All that was left for me to do was fully expose myself on the highest point of the roof. So, I went inside and grabbed the afore mention poster of George Costanza and whipped off my undies. I then scaled the remaining portion of the roof and jangled my dangle in the cool morning breeze with the poster of Costanza draped around my shoulders.

Jealousy is a stinky cologne.