A Young Man’s Strange Erotic Journey Around the Globe

America's Finest Ambassador Chapter 31 – Grinding Ain’t My Thing

Chapter 31 – Grinding Ain’t My Thing

By mid-afternoon on our second day in Vang Vieng, Laos, everyone was drunk and dancing up a storm at one of the bamboo bars from where a zip-line led down into the Nam Song River. Aroused by all the scantily clad girls glistening in the hot sun, I suddenly found myself feeling rather randy and started scanning the crowd for potential targets to shoot with my Orgasmorator. At some point I noticed Kathleen had been talking to a rather attractive girl close by and I decided to jump into the conversation in hope of wooing said looker into copulation.

“Hello,” I greeted. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Hey Lal, what’s up?” Kathleen responded.

“Hi Tim,” said the mystery girl whom I was about to start hitting on.

“Whoa, how do you know my name?”

“Oh my God Lally – this is the same girl you were talking to last night for like two hours at that other hostel we went to.”

You don’t remember me!?”

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that girls don’t like being forgotten – especially when you’d been talking to them for two hours the day beforehand. Following my total fumble on that one, I didn’t foresee myself making any progress with the Swedish meatball who I met while cruising on autopilot. So, after excusing myself from the conversation that I’d only moments ago jumped into, I began looking elsewhere for an outlet into which I could plug my love cable.

Upon my eagle-eyed scouting of the land, it appeared that all the attractive girls with the tan skin, the curvaceous hips and the pendulous breasts had been shakin’ their asses to some trashy Euro beat while the only guys gettin’ close to ‘em had been the ones creepin’ up behind and rubbin’ their dicks on ‘em. This unfortunately was not good news for me because, as it so happens, grinding on strangers has never really been something that comes naturally to yours truly. I mean, not that I got any other sort of game going for me that I could use in lieu of grinding, it’s just that I especially suck at this particular form of social interaction and rarely if ever pull any ass while utilizing the practice in pursuit of  poontang.

Before Vang Vieng, the last and only other time I’d been at an international, large-scale dance party had been at a Deadmau5 concert at Club Amnesia in Ibiza with my buddy Clough and right from the very start, I couldn’t have felt more outta place. When I feel outta place, my go-to move is usually posting up at the bar and getting hammered to develop a false sense of belonging and, if that doesn’t work and I’m feeling especially immature, then maybe breaking a bunch of shit to compensate. So, while Clough had been getting his grind on with some European smokeshows who seemed to be enjoying the dick-down, I stood in the back of the venue slugging beer after beer for the outrageous price of fifteen Euros apiece. Once I started to get a little bit saucy and had felt a little bit more comfortable with the whole scene, I too decided to dive into the crowd to see if I could get myself a piece of the grinding action.

Now, still to this day I’m not sure how this whole grinding thing works. Without an agreement or some sort of consensual initiation taking place beforehand, the whole idea of just walking up behind strange women and forcefully rubbing my hammer on their poopers seems to have “sexual assault” written all over it. While it’s okay to do this to a girl as long as a DJ is present but on the other hand you’d be getting arrested so fast your head would spin if you were to do it to the same girl at the supermarket the next day is beyond my comprehension. That’s probably why I felt like such a masturbate-in-the-changing-room-at-a-department-store type pervert at this Deadmau5 show as I awkwardly inched closer and closer to unattended girls with my crotch stuck out as forward as possible, ready to rub my joint all over their fat juicy dumps.

When I finally let the grinding commence, I wasn’t diggin’ the music, I had to pee, I didn’t have any idea what to do with my hands and since I came up on her from behind, I didn’t even have the slightest idea of what the girl I’d been grinding on had even looked like. Not feelin’ the scene, I soon after retreated back to my safe place at the bar where I continued to pound more ungodly priced drinks. Once I’d been satisfactorily shitfaced with a wallet empty of cash and a huge tab ran up on my credit card, I cut myself off in an attempt to conserve enough money to last me the rest of my European trip…which, as a side note, I didn’t because I blew my budget mentally escaping from Club Amnesia.

As I leaned with my back against the bar wasted as all hell watching Clough and every other dude in the monstrous venue getting the shit friction-ed out of their cocks by the cans of random slam pieces, I felt a strange, almost guilt-ridden obligation to put in just one more attempt at doing the same.

While stumbling around borderline-blackout by one of the bars in the back, I spotted a girl nearby who nobody had been grinding on and thought she’d be the perfect chick to go and start awkwardly rubbing my genitals all over. I waited for the next song to start and, like all the others, it sounded like something gay Cosmonauts would masturbate to while shooting zero-gravity loads at each other on a lonely night in the Mir space station. After staggering over behind my target and positioning myself accordingly, I squatted down in a wide stance and started scraping my salami on the back of her wheelchair.

After a couple seconds of the sack-to-spine action, the girl half-turned around to see what the fuck was going on behind her. When she did, she got a clear look at me wide-leggedly crouched down, grabbing the handles on the back of her chair for balance and trying to put on my best grind face to make the whole thing seem more authentic. As she stared at me, I nodded at her and tried saying something smooth like, “Yeah, you like that?”

Because I’ve never been in her position, I can’t say whether or not it’s all that exciting to have the limp dick of some drunk guy being dragged up and down the middle of your back, but judging by the way she laughed in my face and wheeled away, I’m guessing my effort did absolutely nothing to get her pussy the least bit imbued. Shamefully, I retreated back to the bar where I spent the rest of the night inflating both my buzz and my credit card bill on glass after glass of overpriced numbing agents.