When I was 19, I developed a guilty little love affair with soap opera television in between early morning English Comp and evening Stats 101.
I know, I know, I know.
Next, you are probably expecting me to brag to you about my lumberjacking prowess, my tour on the underground bare-knuckle boxing circuit, and how I shave with an ax.
Just hold your wetness for a moment, ladies. I think I’ll have a point by the end of this jumble of words. (Way to sell it there, TRD).
Anyways, I was a Days of Our Lives man, if there was such a thing. Be damned, all you General Hospital fuckers.
As a man who loves writing, I never really gave two shits about poetry, although for some reason I’ve always appreciated poetic phrases. Days of Our Lives always opened and closed strong in this regard – you know, with the words, “Like sands through the hourglass, so are the Days of Our Lives.”
So, I suppose the words from that ridiculously stupid show somehow still stick with me all these years later. And seriously, like how did I ever watch that garbage? Do people actually still watch it? And how good can it really be? Besides, Stefano died, Hope is just not the same without Bo, and the good Billie is not even on the show anym…
I think I need to just shut up now. I can see this is clearly doing more harm than good to my super-dark D/s online persona. Let’s see if I can salvage this embarrassment of a post and recoup some black leather dignity in the process.
So anyway, what was I saying? Oh, well as sand pours through my proverbial hourglass and middle-age sets in, clarity of mind becomes commonplace and as a man of my station in life, you really start to value what is important in life.
Passion. Love. Flame-broiled cheeseburgers.
When you find that good stuff, you know, like that little lady that inspires all my passion (obviously, minus the cheeseburgers), well you sack the fuck up and run after it with everything you have.
No looking back. Everything you got. Total vagina-like vulnerability foisted on her with the purest passion, all coming from a bearded man with a hairy chest.
Passion that would make Shakespeare do a double-take.
And you can bet your sweet ass that when you are in presence sweet one, you are going to fucking feel it, everywhere. Wound up with decades of pent-up desire, pure 200 proof enthusiasm over the one I call my orange sky. All the other ladies in this world can eat a dick for all I give a shit, and not mine.
Yeah, Kitty Cat. You are going to fucking feel it alright.
I’m eating that pussy of yours like I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. No holding back; no governor on my motor. I am coming at you like a fucking cheetah so you better brace for impact.
You are cumming and the number of times is really not even a footnote on the world I am bringing to you so just close your eyes and ball up your fists because shit is about to get intense.
These fingers are going to make you do backflips and this cock is going to make you thank God, Buddha, and anyone else you can think of that I fucking found you and you found me.
So settle in, cupcake. I am locked on you.
Also published on Medium.