Laura Stone (stoney321) wrote,
Laura Stone

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Let's Talk about Sex, Baby! Let's Talk About You and Me!

But mostly me, because I'm selfish like that. Hogod, kink city. Ode to a chisled chest on a dirty boy.

So, for those of you that have seen me in RL, I'm pretty... normal looking. Like, chick next door-ish. Dare I say, with an America's Sweetheart type quality? *cracks up* That's what I've been told at any rate. I grew up a good girl. Straight A's, shy, went to church, buttoned my top almost all the way up, that sort of girl. Didn't sass back, didn't cause trouble, didn't get grounded. Often. I was the "safe" girl - parents loved me, friends used me to drive them home because I would always be the sober one. I was Vice President of Mu Alpha Theta, the Math Society. Hahahaha, NERD ALERT.

I was a Robert Smith listener. A Depeche Mode and Morrissey girl. I had these elaborate fantasies at age 14 of my crush requesting "I Want You Now" at the church dance (hahahaha, shut it) and looking at me like I was the most awesome thing on the planet in my splatter-bleached Jordache jeans and striped Madonna "Papa Don't Preach" shirt. I would finally, FINALLY kiss a boy. When I finally did get a boyfriend he was everything I wanted: tortured artist, Morrissey hair, Honors society. OH MY GOD, love.

But... there was another side to me. I distinctly remember one of the "burnouts" (metal guys) approaching me in a clandestine manner at my locker my junior year and asking if it was true I had a copy of the Beastie Boys' "Paul's Boutique" albums, and could I get him a copy? My boyfriend Michael didn't understand that I listened outside the realm of New Wave. But it wasn't just hip hop/rap.

10th grade. Marty McNeill, our school's first "out" gayboy, who was wearing a turquoise shaker-knit cardigan and U2 concert T (god, I remember this like it was YESTERDAY) pulled me down the hall towards the band hall - that was where the burnouts smoked before school started. He was all emphatic and said you have GOT to listen to this. He gave me his headset and it was "Welcome to the Jungle." I fucking love that song to this day. (Tiff, if you're reading this, what was "Whatever's" name? Kara? "Eh meh ghed, that's so sehd." Her? Hahaha.) My school was mostly filled with country-music listeners or New Wavers. There were a handful of Metal Heads, but that was Not Cool. I had to keep my newfound love for Metallica and Dio on the down low.

My senior year was my "screw up" year. I had the grades already, I was depressed about my family moving to California and leaving me behind, and I didn't care anymore. Enter David Campbell. Smart as HELL but even more sarcastic - he had to fail several classes to qualify for the C student slots in Academic Decathalon, as the A slots were filled. He brought the team to victory, Nat'l title, and won several thousand dollars on Jeopardy, too! David's best friend was dating my older sister and they were rockers. Homemade tats, long hair and sarcasm? Yes, please. They would skip last period and drive me home so we could drink beer and watch Jeopardy. Hahaha. The best part was the music they played when we drove away from school to my house. (Oh, I didn't drink. I just gave them my step-dad's beer. Nice.) We listened to heavy metal, rock, glam rock... I laughed at their Faster Pussycat albums, because even I knew they were total crap. I loved how I got to be sneaky and live on the "other side of the tracks."

When I graduated and moved out, my first roommate was a rocker-chick from Worcester, Mass. Wicked awesome. I have never seen bangs reach that height, and y'all, I'm from Dallas, where the hair don't get much bigger. :D (Tiff, Beth, do y'all remember Cheri?) She woke up every morning with two lines of coke and a cup of coffee. My little Mormon perceptions of the world were completely shattered. That was the year I witnessed the stupidest guy in the world (seriously, how he was able to breathe and walk at the same time is beyond me) completely empty the chamber on a 3-Liter pop bottle bong he'd fashioned. I'm still blown away by the lung capacity. WOW. I hooked up with a guy named Chris and was a real life groupie for his rock band. (Brandi? Just. Like. Sebastian. Bach.) I started dating this one guy (I can't even remember his name now) that was into heavier shit like Slayer and Megadeth. I found Pantera, and life was good. Went to some Danzig concerts.

Again, I look like I look. Long blonde ponytail, bright "oh my god, you guys!" smile, polo tops. Hahaha.

But this is what turns me on. And this. (good lord those THIGHS.) Or this - back when he still had his own face, omg. They are stinky, dirty, crude boys. Ungh. Tommy Lee probably has every single STD known to man, and possibly some primates. I would still fuck him. Double bagged, yes. But still. (Good lord, my EYES watered from the hot in that picture.)

And what?? What with the two boys tonguing each other?!?!

So there's the other thing. Not talking music, because I get that a lot of you are into very quiet, thinky music. Sure, sure. ROCKSTARS ARE TOTALLY GAY FOR EACH OTHER. They grind up against each other. They watch their band mates get sucked off by groupies. They thrust their tongues, cocks at one another in front of EVERYONE (Voyeurism kink, hello!) and drape their sweaty, hot bodies over each other while they "grind their axe." My head go splodey.

So yeah. My name is Stoney, and I am totally turned on by rotten, nasty, tattooed assholes who can fucking rock the stage and the bed.

Next kink up: my love of sweet, sensitive Dandies! Hahahaha.
Tags: stoney doesn't suck, the unbearable hotness o'men
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