a story, which is definitely at least R rated.

once upon a time there was a girl who had some friends over for dinner at her parent's house.
some of her friend's parents were there as well.

every one was drinking wine (or vodka) and eating food and having a very enjoyable time, telling stories and making each other laugh.

then one of the father figures in the group decided that he had a story to tell.

the story started like this:

"once, when i was 18 years old, i passed out at a party and when i woke up there was a guy trying to s**k my d**k."*


the girl and all of her friends immediately looked up and locked eyes with each other, in a strange way of eye-locking that can only happen between 5 people after such a bizarre statement has been spoken.

the gaze of each person seemed to beg the question:

wait. did we all just hallucinate that at the same time?

but, no. it was not a hallucination.

the girl shot a desparate look at her mother, who looked at her and said:

what? you haven't heard this story before?

but, no. the girl had not heard the story before.
but now, she and all her closest friends had heard it.

the story concluded with the story teller describing how he noticed that the perpetrator of the unwanted sex act seemed to have a particular substance dripping out of his mouth.**

now, one can only imagine how one might feel if one were at the dinner table when one was told a story such as this.
and then one would be glad that one had friends of the sort that this particular girl had, because...

friend one immediately asked:
well, did you say thank you?

while friend two followed up by saying:
i don't see the problem. that sounds like my every friday night.

meanwhile, the girl had to excuse herself, to take a moment to collect herself, inside the house where the rest of the vodka was. but, in a brilliant stroke of (hopeful) revenge, as she walked by the storyteller/father-type figure, she said:

you know, i didn't know we were allowed to tell those kind of stories. but if it's that kind of dinner, i have a great story to tell you about the time i got c*m in my hair.***

*the fact that the person in question was 18 in 1969 does not necessarily excuse the story as an appropriate dinner table discussion.
**i really didn't want to tell you that, at all. but i tried telling the story without it, and it didn't work.
***he ignored her.