My first job was at Cedar Point at the age of 15.

I didn't want it.

My Mom barged into my room with threats and nunchuks, and made me apply. I was huddled under covers, and she poured kerosene on them and threatened to light it unless I got a job at Cedar Point.

So I blew out the match of immaturity...

And I liked it. I took the ferry across Lake Erie to my job. I felt special, and I was.

I was young. Naive. and shy. And the only guy in the burger stand.

The women had a bet who could fuck me first. None collected. I was just trying to figure out work, a mop without spilling grease, a pretzel without burning, and a burger without raw meat. Pussy was something outside of my understanding. I could barely mop up the kitchen.

I remember standing at the counter, and the woman manager (in college) leaning against me and touching my lips. she whispered, "that's a sexy freckle on your lip."

My bullshit reply: "I've never seen it"

I am the champion of turning down tail.

I may not be Magic Johnson or Wilt Chamberlain, but the even flow keeps me young. These memories. Which motivates me.

These memories spring up occasionally.

[Stoli provided the memories today while AnonMan is edited.]

Post-production on a movie is like several claws of several paws. But the difference is I hold them all.