Monday, November 15, 2010

The Price of Manhood.

The contour was sleek. Depth as smooth as a ravens talon. The length of each meat curtain measured by it's ability to drive the masses giddy. Vertical lineage like waves of an untamed tsunami. Cosmic forces are the root of this evil summa-mo-bitch. If asked, "Why?" My only reply would be "Because it's there." Instantly, I gauged my surroundings and became erect. This was the axis power. The epitome of epitome. Sadly, being a teenage idiot I had no words or excuses for what I was viewing. The fine lines and color were astoundingly vibrant. Lucid, lean, sculpted, bliss. A calming effect considering my naive disposition.

The most recent of my conquests would testify that I am a hound. I enjoy the dance. The whirling subsequent ambiance of the scene. As I drift into the mild abyss, I am humbled by the power it has over my mind and my body. Men have killed for it's beauty and it's arrogance. It may seem that I am delusional. Possibly. I am not alone. I am merely flesh being seduced by flesh. Her name was quickly forgotten. The smell and taste linger. The last unspoken gesture was a wave. A simple but abrupt, "Get the fuck out of here!" I slip into the night like a cool breeze leaving the last breath of a roadkill cafe blue plate special. Simply put, I bolted. The dank scent still on my index and middle fingers. Perspiration crossed my brow as I leaped into unguarded shadows. I'm free.

The very next day, I pondered my new found faith. Religion had no bearing in this episode. Fornicator is the term. Ugly word for such a right of passage. There were no bells. No red carpet. No parade. It was for lack of a better word, normal. The hallways were the same. No vivid extra colors. My life was not instantly seen in high definition. I had showered twice, yet I felt the odor emitted from me had changed. It had not. I had no interest in child's play. Foreplay was the new wine. Heavy petting. Kissing for hours with no real goal in sight. Public displays of affection? This shit is surreal.

On the grand scheme of things, summer vacation is a mustard burp. Momentarily tangy and sprite. Then, forgotten in the wind. My faith has not faltered. It has only been enhanced by the new day. Jubilant new day and the ever present possibility of another rumble in the clouds. Damn, I love pussy. Love it. Out.


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