Briarbabe
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- Jul 30, 2013
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Now, believe it or not, I grew up shooting shotguns and rifles. My dad was a master instructor for the NYS Hunter's Safety program for...well, forever. I spent more than my fare share of Saturdays sitting through the course, again and again. I could take the test to get my hunting permit (which I got on the first try) while I was asleep. While I was never keen on the actual hunting, man did I love to shoot. Used to be pretty damn good at it too.
Well, last week I spent the weekend with a hot libertarian who's got 6 acres, an incredibly sexy brain, a beautifully restored Honda CB550 and a few hand guns. After dinner Friday night he took me out for ice cream at a local creamery, we sat on a park bench eating our ice cream while he explained the adiabatic process. Hot! At one point my arm ended up around his waist and I could feel his handgun under his jacket. As I said later to my best friend, "the sensation of feeling that gun and knowing it was there just made my little liberal democratic heart beat wildly with excitement."
I had mentioned to him earlier in the week my desire to get my hot little hands on his piece, as I had never fired a hand gun, only shotguns and rifles. So the next morning after he made me pancakes; and a stroll around the property with his two pups and my pipe, we went out to shoot. I got to shoot two different 9mm's and a 45. Yeah...I'm so hooked. There is nothing quite like that percussive, POP, POP, POP in your hand. I was getting frustrated at what a lousy shot I was and by the time I finally started relaxing and getting better it was time to go grab lunch. Damn. Next time!
(Damn girl, time to renew that gym membership and tone those arms!)
Well, last week I spent the weekend with a hot libertarian who's got 6 acres, an incredibly sexy brain, a beautifully restored Honda CB550 and a few hand guns. After dinner Friday night he took me out for ice cream at a local creamery, we sat on a park bench eating our ice cream while he explained the adiabatic process. Hot! At one point my arm ended up around his waist and I could feel his handgun under his jacket. As I said later to my best friend, "the sensation of feeling that gun and knowing it was there just made my little liberal democratic heart beat wildly with excitement."
I had mentioned to him earlier in the week my desire to get my hot little hands on his piece, as I had never fired a hand gun, only shotguns and rifles. So the next morning after he made me pancakes; and a stroll around the property with his two pups and my pipe, we went out to shoot. I got to shoot two different 9mm's and a 45. Yeah...I'm so hooked. There is nothing quite like that percussive, POP, POP, POP in your hand. I was getting frustrated at what a lousy shot I was and by the time I finally started relaxing and getting better it was time to go grab lunch. Damn. Next time!
(Damn girl, time to renew that gym membership and tone those arms!)