June 23, 2007
How old am I? It’s difficult to figure out.
Mentally, I’m sharp as a fucking needle. I learn fast. I read fast. I absorb information fast. I have a brain which fits right into an academic environment, though fortunately I’ll never be entirely satisfied with the purely cerebral activities academic traditionally promotes — I need to actually have hands-on, relevant experience with my subject matter.
That all said and done, I’ll appreciate any fart or dick joke you happen to throw my way. Mental age of a 30 year old and a 10 year old combined.
At which point do we realise that physical age should not matter as much as mental age. But when I can get on with a 50 year old truck driver than a 20 year old student, what does that say about my mental age?
I often mull over this sort of thing when trying to figure out my place in the various social interactions I encounter on a daily basis. It’s a puzzler, for sure.
June 13, 2007
I’m in the office. The sun is shining outside, it’s distinctly summer. I’m packing up to go home.
Suddenly I notice somebody else in the office. Blonde girl, perfect height, perfect build, perfect hair, perfect breasts. “Hi.”
I realise that I’m horny as hell, and my erection is standing proudly out of my jeans in front of this girl.
She gently nudges me back onto my desk, asking “Do you want me to suck it?”
Then I woke up, my good friend morning wood having acted as my alarm this morning.
June 8, 2007
I step onto the train, and subconsciously scanned the occupants. I spy one intensely attractive women sitting, coincidentally, across from the seat I had earmarked the moment I stepped aboard. She looked Norwegian. Something about the face, the hat, and the flowing knee-length skirt.
When sitting, the blue-green skirt sat just above her knees. My day had been long. I’d been asked to do a few more weeks work on a project I really don’t value at all. I wasn’t in the mood to chat.
I wish I had been. This girl spotted me as I sat down across from her, and she was continually glancing back at me. She moved to get a little more comfortable on the train seat, in the process shifting her legs slightly to point in my direction, and also nudging them ever so slightly apart.
The single motion sets my mind racing, and starts blood rushing to my groin. Before long, I have an erection I could hammer nails with. Today I’m wearing my baggies; nobody but me knows that I’m hard.
I can’t help but look at this girl’s legs. My mind’s running through all sorts of mental imagery, most of it involving her leaning back just a little more, and me easing down between those legs. Tongue or cock while I’m there? Inevitably both for as long as possible, but it doesn’t matter. These are the sweetest pictures I’ve dreamt up in a while.
She shifts her legs back closer together. Party’s over. It’s her stop. She gets off the train. Nary a glance back, naturally.
I imagine kissing her, holding her, fucking her. Then walk home throbbing in my trousers.