The Ding Dong Song

Across the vast epochs of human history, aspiring composers and starry-eyed virtuosos aplenty have struggled in vain to craft that perfect opus that can capture not only their time's zeitgeist but that of the future to touch the hearts and minds of the thronging masses for decades to come. Few musical compositions can be said to capture the full gamut of human emotion and ideas sufficiently to achieve such a high distinction, yet I argue that in the fourth year of the second millennium, precisely such an event came to fruition, not through the labors of a robe-clad ivory tower conservatory student, but rather by a certain salacious Swede by the name of Gunther.
For this leather-bound nightclub owner produced a song whose very name illicits deep within all men of taste and culture an unknown and most visceral emotion, "The Ding Dong Song". As the speakers shake with the bass of his masculine growl, pubic hairs stand on edge before those hallowed and unfathomably intellectual words are pronounced, "Oh, you touch my tralala".
Indeed, not before has a song spoken so truly to the dreams of an entire generation. Not John Lennon, nor Nirvana could quite hope to encapsulate the yearnings of humanity quite like our Nordic friend's lyrical waxings regarding contact his genitals receive at the hands of a woman. The first time you hear this song is quite possibly the beginning of a new chapter of your life, one when you can say that you are truly awake. The first time I heard this song was at a party at my friend's house on the outskirts of town. I was 20 at the time, and had just begun to find my way in the world. I was a shy and awkward child, and had only recently begun to grow into my own skin. I remember that night vividly. I remember the way the music thumped through the speakers as I walked in, and the way the girls swayed their hips to the beat. I remember the way the air smelled of alcohol and sweat, and the way the room was filled with the sound of laughter.
And most of all, I remember the way my heart skipped a beat when I saw her.
She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Her skin was the color of caramel, and her hair was a wild mass of curly black ringlets. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown, and they shone with a mischievous light. She was wearing a dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, and I could see the outline of her breasts and hips. She was everything I had ever wanted, and more.
I could feel myself getting hard as I walked over to her, and I could see the desire in her eyes. I remember the way her lips parted as I leaned in to kiss her, and the way her body felt as I pressed it against mine. I remember the way her hands felt as they ran up and down my back, and the way her nails dug into my flesh as we kissed. I remember the way she moaned as I nibbled on her neck, and the way she gasped as I slid my hand up her dress.
I remember the way her pussy felt as I slid my fingers inside of her, and the way she cried out as I brought her to orgasm. I remember the way she clung to me as we lay there afterward, and the way she whispered my name as she fell asleep in my arms.
I knew then that I loved her. I knew that I would do anything for her.
And I knew that I would never forget the ding dong song.
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