Facefarting Stories Novels & Stories

“Oh рurlеаѕе, hоw many times hаvе уоu еmbаrrаѕѕеd mе with your many ѕеx stories?” “Truе, but let’s juѕt ѕау, quite a mouthful.” Oh jeez. “And let’s juѕt ѕау mу drеаm еnhаnсеd mіnе a lіttlе too. Not thаt I’m nоt happy with what god gave mе.” Mу еуеѕ instantly flаѕhеd tо thе bulgе іn hіѕ trоuѕеrѕ, аnd mу cheeks automatically fluѕhеd.

she asked with a mischievous smile, and I exaggeratedly fanned my face. "What on earth would make you think that?" I responded in the same playful tone, and she burst into laughter. "How do you manage to make him act like that? Everyone is dying to know," she exclaimed dramatically, and I couldn't help but smile. "I simply ate worms for a week, and now whenever I speak, boys fall in love," I winked, causing her to erupt into uncontrollable laughter. She patted my back, appreciating the humor. "You're quite something," she said, wiping away a fake tear. She took my hand and led me through the gates.

I reply putting on a fake sad expression. "Well, if you think of any other funny stories, you'll have to share them with me," Iskander says smiling. "You're a really good storyteller." "Thanks," I say, feeling a warm glow of happiness. "It's nice to laugh and have fun. I haven't had that in a while." "That's why I'm here," Iskander says, giving me a big smile. "To make sure you have a good time." I smile back at him, feeling grateful for his friendship. "Thanks, Iskander. That means a lot to me."

“Oh you like that? Well I also proposed to her the day I met her and she said no!” I groaned and covered my face, thinking about how embarrassing that was. “Oh, and then I gave her my virginity only to find out days later that she was sleeping with my best friend. So I went to go kill her ex and instead she almost died. Now she barely even likes me.” How do the Griffons find these sad stories so funny? I mean sure there’s some humor to it, but I consider it ‘you had to be there’ humor. “Thank you, I’ll be here a few more hours hopefully!” Hunter grinned and waved.

I stifled a laughter, "You're scared of goats. What the fuck, you're scared of goats?!" "And you're scared of ladybugs, what's more embarrassing?" "You're scared of goats. Ha!" I pointed at him. "Shh, shut up." He shushed me. "There's a really sad and emotional story to it." "Oh, yeah?" I held back a laugh. "What's that?"

Still, it wouldn’t leave me. When the artist finally turned the paintings around, Elara gasped in horror. Her caricature exaggerated everything. Her nose was huge, her expression looked like a puffed-up rooster. I laughed so hard my eyes watered, clutching my sides. Then he showed mine. It was even worse. My elegant posture looked stiff and snooty, my face stretched into something prim and ridiculous. Elara doubled over, laughing until tears streamed down her cheeks. We left the stall carrying our embarrassing portraits, the paper crinkling in my hands, still giggling like kids.

Then somehow we drift into talking about jobs, and I tell him about the time I worked at a call center and had someone scream at me for twenty minutes about their cable bill, and he tells me about the summer he worked construction and accidentally put a nail through his shoe. “Did it go through your foot?” I ask, wincing. “Just barely missed. But I had to walk around the rest of the day with a nail sticking out of my boot because we were on a deadline.” “That’s horrifying.” “It was character building.” I laugh and it feels good, feels normal, feels like I’m not constantly bracing for the next disaster. We keep talking—childhood stories, embarrassing moments, things we believed as kids that w

I finish, and I scratch the top of my lip, trying not to laugh at the looks everyone is giving me. The expressions of stunned silence mixed with utter bewilderment and disbelief are the funniest thing ever. Granted, I do it often, but it never ceases to amuse me. “Uh, that’s…uh, yeah. Can I be frank?” Wyatt asks, running his hand over his scruff, still looking very perplexed. I fight a smile. “Yes.” “That sounds like a bullshit bedtime story, no offence.”

He grinned, wiggling his fingers mysteriously. “It’s called ‘Story Fingers.’ You take turns telling a story, but here’s the catch—you can only speak one sentence at a time, and you have to include a finger count with each sentence. For example, I start with ‘One fox ran across the river,’ and then you continue with two of something happening, and so on. It gets tricky, and hilarious, especially after a few rounds.” Jaiyana laughed, already intrigued. “Sounds… complicated. But fun. Okay, I’m in.”

“As long as I have my made-up evidence, they’ll believe me. The internet is a sucker for emotional stories.” I chuckled softly and shook my head before lifting my phone. “Too bad they already know who the liar is,” I said, a satisfied smile curving my lips. “Nate Stanford, the big baby who couldn’t accept the fact that the woman he discarded is now a big shot.” He was airing live on i*******m. “Get that camera out of my face!” he yelled, trying to pry the phone from my hands. Something inside me snapped. I stepped forward, drove my heel straight into his shin, then shoved him hard in the chest. He lost his balance instantly, stumbling backward and landing flat on his backside on the concrete