It’s like an appetizer for the cum slut. Rarely even acknowledged in the intimate times in my experience, but it’s really like an opportunity sauce. Why an opportunity?
Play with it, stare me in the eyes when you do it, like the top GIF above, rub it around on your lips like chapstick, send a wink and a smile my way you dirty little whore, taste it, kiss the head of my gorgeous circumcised cock, and you just set this motherfucker aflame. Gawd fucking damn.
Get ready bitch. I’m coming at you like a fucking superhero who lost his sense of good.
Unfortunately, it’s also an opportunity for me to be embarrassed. See, as I go empty the 40 ounces of premium coffee that brought me from Walking Dead status to Wolf of Wall Street type A, I get a sticky reminder on the inside of my black boxer briefs that I’ve had a hard dick half the morning thanks to my new little Tumblr addiction and the plethora of knuckled-down-and-in housewives wonderful enough to share the impact of my mind’s pink eye on their counterpart sticky chonies.
Surprise. A tad of sex memories in liquid form is saying hello on the inside of my Hanes as I pull my half-hard cock out to relieve my bladder. The opportunity of embarrassment would be if somehow that made its way past the very weak wall of defense of cotton into the outside world as I stood up and briefed a meeting.
This is the shit I worry about. Thank god it’s never happened.
Constant fear as I adjust my hard dick throughout the day like a fucking clock’s hand. 9 o clock – shift left. High noon – tuck into the belt. 3 pm – right.
When the clock hits happy hour, a happy hour becomes hand-in-dick or dick-in-pussy and my anger fuck of pent up daytime fantasy makes it way into a spurting stream of “come and get it”.