It's a normal day. We get up, shower, have a bite, catch the news for a few seconds, and then grab the essentials. Cell phone. Check. Coffee mug. Check. Keys, office card key, shades. All check. Now begins the typical monotonous block of waste of time we call WORK!
I do enjoy work. To an extent. However, the truth is that I'd much rather win the Lotto, travel the world, meet beautiful women and enjoy the frivolous act known as sex. It's all perspective because some of you women prefer a good FUCK. There are less than subtle differences, but it's all in the loins of the beholder. Such an evil GRIN!
As with most days, I proceed around every corner with anticipation of the delectable woman I'm about to see. It's like waiting to see what's behind door number 2. Will I see an attractive woman on the bus that I would like to have sex with Maybe even a FUCKABLE? Don't mind my vocab. It's quite simple: A precious female I could..and even would...FUCK. If I want to hold you in my arms, and make slow, passionate love to you, I want to sex you and then I want to have you mentally and emotionally. If I want to fuck you, I simply wish to fill your cunt with my cock. What lovely thoughts from which to choose.
Sadly, the bus rarely has any women worthy of either sex or a FUCK. I sure as hell am not about to get off envisioning myself doing a Cougar well beyond the expiration date! No, the motherly European woman nor that pimple faced emo teen won't do it either.
I'm after that woman who is average to above average who makes eye contact and then turns away. It's obvious she's sickened by me. How dare I eye her. Men are pigs, says her face. Then, as if she's wasn't entirely convinced,she glances my way as if to validate that she is, at this moment, desired. Let the games begin.
What will my glance of affirmation be toward her? A shy, innocent smile? Or a flirtatious smile from a man ready to explore the folds between her legs with a passion that even a Blow-Pop would envy? Ohh, the thought is arousing enough to make me look away from shameless guilt! No matter. You women aren't created with the ability to mentally and visually FUCK me at such moments. Perhaps...maybe, just maybe you are.
As reality of an unfulfilled bus ride sinks in, I make my way off the bus and proceed to my ordinary, usual day.
I don't expect much at the office. I don't find any of the women particularly attractive, though during a horny moment, even the frumpy, granola type tends to somehow polish into a beauty. Mind games, that's all they are. Like a distant lake in the Sahara desert; a mirage.
Understand that we, as men, have to deal with our flaccid cocks and our sack rubbing up against the material from our slacks. The thought alone makes me tingle. Not to mention that after we have a piss at the urinals, the extra violent thrashing we put on our manhood to be rid of the last drop is above and beyond the call of that duty. To be sure, it must have been a man who set desk heights. After all, why do they all reach to within inches of our pubic bone anyway? It's a conspiracy, in case you haven't been paying attention. Thus, our days are filled with love or lust or desire or horniness or whatever else you want to call it.
Sigh. It's been a very long day, but the next milestone is just minutes away. It's a beautiful day. Pleasant weather; everyone is dying to feel the warmth of the noon sun, and I hunger for my lunchtime stroll. Who will be waiting around each corner?
Hands in my pockets, some quick pocket pool riding the elevator, and women taking in the sun.
Let the game continue...
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rainy_dew_drops
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