My Blog

lemme try tweaking an old adage -

"all work and no play makes ash a horndog."

that goes for too much stress hormones flowing through my veins the past two weeks. a corroding overdose which must have haywired the rest of my pituitary juices, including this boner-ducing, cum-collecting sortie.

i'm going to call this x-filey an itch, as it has become one. from down there. not literally, of course. but striking off as a "green" compulsion. anytime, and at no moments notice. not even a spark needed to ignite.

but what's characteristic about this hoopla, this horntardation's prey were all non-imaginary. not some man-love taking on the mythical facade of the likes of papa p. all took off from either my past, or the current. or flying from things i closeted to do.

firstly, there was the missis. my first and most convenient line of outlet to dissipate this pressure cooking. who took careful note of this sudden surge in libido. but who took the excesses as "bastos" while i was only striking at every opportunity to graze. i always need to remind myself of this edict. that for women, each is a full fledged ritual. while for us, dear male readers, it is only just a walk in the park.

missis was then, an easy quota to reach. plan b please.

now this basketball guy whom i shared a ring hooping balls, one weekend afternoon, got a handful of parking space over at dreamland. a jock in the making and pleasantly charming, he was all sweat. the sweet-smelling kind. and for christsakes, turning up in court wearing only sandos and boxers! who wouldnt like to go elbow tagging or even within rubbing distance while playing defense to him? to his defense, he was exceptionally good at dribbling. while i took the time passing glances eyeing on his crotch. another mental note - cotton briefs get soggy at the deluge of sweat.

bar none, the rest of these clandestine visions took form with my long time badminton partner. yeah, call it incestuous. but sue me for clinging on to an amateur dick magnet himself. he stands about as tall as i am, a tad skinny-er, err... leaner, than myself. yet took the better and fairer of the vanity genes known to genomics. i'd say he's a pubescent and pinoy version of mtv vj utt. and i never realized how close intimate i was to this guy until now. think numerous butt tappings, chest bangings, locker room changes and alcohol binging. hell we've even shared toiletries and clothes in the interest of commonality. at one point while bedridden with a viral infection, he was alone and helpless in his pad. i took some groceries and medicine to his place, took his pile of laundry out to the shop. and offered a sponge bath to pacify the high grade fever. yes, i've seen him wearing his birthday suit. accidentally, of course. and without malice. *wink*

now he's migrated first world. and im stuck with the last fantasy of him and his embrace. in bed. and in the nude. *wink* *wink*

so what's the moral of this story? none. even call it immoral for the matter.

i'm lucky i dont sleep talk.

NB: Pardon my slur.