Whitney's Story

(It's Valentine's Day)

It's February 14th in San Francisco. Feathers disguised the sky as snow. It is the unity of pillows tonight, where thousands of people blind the streets with pillows in hand to face off in the massive mosh pit orgy in the middle of the Embarcedero in for the annual San Francisco Pillow Fight.

I came there with my brother and his wife. I was wacking people from behind a much much harder than the recommended swing. They both left, once my friend got there to take their parking space. We went to the massive pit once again, grabbing the first pillows we could find.

I yelled things like:

"WIFE BEATER FIGHT,"
"GIRLS WITH BACKPACKS ARE HOT!"
"NERDY CHICKS ARE SEXY!"

Right before I would hit someone with the given attributes. I didn't plan on gaming. I planned on having fun. Behind my mind was Pase, the girl mentioned in the link that I provided before this field report started. But overall, I pushed forward to not think about her. I didn't game anyone, but I gained a lot of social circle happy times.

Nathan, my friend, wanted to go back to the car to take off his shirt. He was wearing two shirts so I initially thought he was just going to take off one shirt. Then he said we should just go shirtless. I'm an obviously better build, better cleaned up, and a lot tanner guy, so I agreed.

Immediately I got called Taylor Launter. I'm flattered.

When girls decided to hit me, I replied with charming effervescence, "Can't we just hug it out!" They laughed, and we did. There were kids fighting one on one surrounded by a circle of people. One kid, the Chinese kid, just stopped. He was in the middle and just stopped, and started getting hit over and over. He soon left, tears hiding behind his skin. Everyone was in shear silence wondering if they should just leave. Time to shine. I went into the circle, raised the little boys hand, shirtless and everything, and let out my signature roar. Everyone clapped at the boy, I was just collateral damage.

A lot of the same yelling at random people. A lot of girls hugging the shirtless me. A lot of kisses on cheeks. I was in a one on one battle with this lenky super tall African fellow, African as in International looking, and one girl just busted into the circle hitting me with her pillow.

"What are you doing?" I said in my nonchalant voice, I remembered her from earlier.
".. I don't know!" she replied. I wrapped my lips softly on her forehead. I left the circle, as my friend attacked my use to be opponent. As I left the circle to watch, two girls screamed at me, "good job shirtless guy!" I turned to look over to them timidly drooling over me obviously.

Tip: Before I get into more plot line, I recommend that people act like this in more social situations such as the one I'm explaining. Be the one being loud in loud groups, win over group satisfaction. And then girls will start opening you, or pointing at you, or giving you some type of indication of their horny slash so-lonely-ness.


I was watching something around several other people. Maybe i hit someone with a pillow, maybe I was just talking to someone, but the next thing that's happening is me getting hit feverishly with downpour of rough calamity. My head juts to the ground, I'm trying to look up, but it's a lot of pounding. A lot of reckless hammering just being unleashed on me. I pull out, I strife to the side. I pivot and turn. And it's a girl.

"... . . . . woah." I say quietly as I turn to see her. The people in close proximity are laughing because they've witnessed the whole thing happened, how this girl just started pounding across my face, neck, and whole upper body in awe, and then my storybook reaction to all of it just happening. She's recklessly beautiful, like a female carnivorous beast with short hair and impeccable skin.

I rip through the sky, my pillow breaking awakened in the silent instilled reverie. I'm flailing my sac across the sky as it meets up with her face and body. I roar! She roars! She's pushing her pillow through the sky as if it's her last day alive. Her hooks and blows jab me recklessly. It's white and motion. All I see is white and motion. I see her arms if I'm lucky.

"OKAY OKAY STOP!" I say. "You win you win! Stop hitting me!" the words come out of my mouth in a hilarium filled surrender. She starts laughing.

----
"I'm Jon," I say passing up the indicative questions of asking what her name is.
"I'm Whitney." I could feel everyone's eyes on us watching a storybook fairytale unfold in front of them.

I honestly forgot everything I said here. Maybe I said, 'you have short hair, I have short hair too, what makes you so special!' Or 'You looking to kill someone with that pillow or something?' Something comical.

OOPS! Scratch that, none of this happened. OOOOps. I'm not going to delete what I wrote, because that's just dumb, plus it's somewhat useful, it just didn't happen because the wrong thoughts are being pushed. Just scratch everything I said from the minute I introduced myself as jon. WHAT I DID DO! Was say, "okay I'm done, let's go hug it out." Then I left her, and watched as she just destroyed other people in front of me.


It wasn't until a lot later, when SHE OPENED ME!

She wacked me with the pillow again, again with the pillows, what'd she think this was an all-jon buffet bar. She stopped. "Who are you? I'm Whitney!"

"I'm Jon." The reflections of millions of artificial snow implied pillow feathers scooped across the night sky as I pulled my hand out to meet this infuriating yet sensitive small kitten. She seemed so much more smaller from where I stood. She told me where she was from, which was exactly where I was from. She went to a high school I knew, and I told her how the wrestling team was awesome. Then I think I messed around by saying that she must've been a cheerleader there.

Introduced her to Nathan, who was telling me he had to leave. I borrowed his phone since mine sucked major ass and it's screen was broken, I took down her number. I gave my friend his phone back, then looked back at Whitney.

"Wanna go wack people!" I asked.
"Let's go!"

We went from set to set, cornering people from the back and front. We did that a couple of times as a horde of ghetto retards were forming. The guy who was doing most of the talking, the so called "Leader" was rounding people up. Their focus was Whit, so as the pillows came driving at her I could see her fighting back, and so was I, the circle was pushing me away from her. She pulled out rip through the crowd throwing elbows at the leader. His hands flew up in the air, telling her to stop over and over, as we all watched this crazy girl go off at this one guy. He stopped us both, as Whitney and I stood next to each other.

"Hey," he said, "Join the mob!"

... ummm "okay!"

We went on wacking people, choosing them, then wacking them, and then asking them to join the big group called the Mob. And that got tiring really quick. "I need to use the bathroom," I told Whitney.

We went to the Hyatt Hotel. Pillow in hand, me wearing a wife beater, and feathers attending the hair show. "You sure their just gunna let us walk in like this?" Whitney asked.

"Why not? If we get kicked out, we get kicked out, who cares?"
"Okay!"

We went up the escalators to the vast main floor, designed with ceilings amounting to the number of floors there were in the hotel itself. Large lines of white Christmas lights rapeled from the ceiling. The large geometrical skeleton of a sphere was the main course of the room, as it stood definitively on a platform made of calm water, it's ends draping water across to another level below. We went ahead to find the bathroom.

I took a shit. I tried to be as quick as possible. But I needed to take a shit. I walked out and told Whitney it was my hair, and I tried to get the feathers out. We went over to the elevators. For some reason I felt as if we could get a great view of the city. Before we got to the elevators, Whitney was talking about being in rehab for alcoholism. She's a lesbian by the way. Just thought I should mention that. Her hair was probably a dead give away. She was even there at the pillowfight with her girlfriend. We stood waiting for the elevators when Whitney found out that her forearm was bleeding. I told her to show me. I took one look at it, pressed my lips around it and politely sucked on it lightly. She laughed.

We shared the elevator with several other people. I just remembered, we didn't want to see the city from the elevator, we wanted to see the hotel from the highest floor down.


Before returned to the fading mosh pit of feathers, and left her to her girlfriend, a really shy petite black girl, I took her number down again, on a piece of paper. Very important because the number in Nathan's phone wasn't hers. I walked around trying to find the girl who busted into my one on one and kissed on the cheek but I couldn't find her. I saw Whit several times as I circled around the place. She was gathering amongst several friends.

I saw some guy who hit me in the nut, where I playfully went about saying, it's okay I like white people. I waved to him and then watched outside another circle being formed, maybe the last of the day altogether. Everyone who was left watched as two people met at the center of the ring for a final bout of the night.

I looked to the girl next to me. I don't remember what I opened with. I don't remember how she told me she was French. But, her name was Anoli.

Anoli. Number closed in front of two friends within a measly sucky 3 minutes.


... ... several weeks later...

I wrapped my tongue around Anoli's firm C-cup breasts that miraculously were attached to her height of 5'3. "Why'd you give me your number?" I asked.

"Probably because you were wearing a wife beater," she said simply.