Too Much of a Good Thing/FG

Sunday I watched The Terminal with Tom Hanks. It’s a decent movie but it’s a little slow. Slow movies and me = nap. I had a lovely nap complete with the snoring and the drooling. But before the nap it was play time. You remember play time when you were a kid when you got to hang out with your friends and run around the playground. Play time in my adult life involves playing with my testicles (friends) with my hand down my pants (playground). As a kid, too much play time would leave you sweaty and exhausted. In 85 degree weather on Sunday I was pretty much in those same two states, sweaty and exhausted, when I decided to stop playing and take the nap. I, and my balls, were content.

Sunday nights I usually play pool with the Sunday Steak Crew. One of the members couldn’t make it and another one ended up working till 10:00 but we still made it out to shoot pool. When you shoot pool you’re generally standing up most of the time. Unless you’re in a wheel chair because some 350 lb woman gave you a really nasty lap dance one time, you’re going to be standing a lot. On Sunday, lying on the couch or sitting on a bar stool was perfectly fine. But standing, walking, and shooting pool left me with this sensation that I can only describe as “dangling.” It felt like my right testicle was just dangling there, waiting for a quick movement that would give it an excuse to fall off and drop out of my shorts. I don’t know about you, but the thought of losing a testicle is quite frightening to me. But I’d bet you’d make some doctor’s blog much more funny after he wrote about the time you showed up in his emergency room at 11:00 pm on a Sunday with your testicle in your hand. “Hmm, what seems to be the problem?” Eventually I got the cute bartender to rub my crotch a little and then everything was back to normal. Whew.

Speaking of fondling my balls… I heard that Flirt Girl moved out on her own earlier this month. I believe she was living with her boyfriend before. Now that she’s out we can make all the passionate monkey sex we want. (If you’ve never had monkey sex I’d advise you to try it sans the throwing of fecal matter.) Now, instead of having her look at me with the “fuck me” eyes while I try to suck down a cigarette I get to have her look at me with the “fuck me” eyes while we, well, fuck. Seriously, I must have died and gone to heaven.

Yeah, it isn’t exactly all that easy. First off, I have no idea what you have to say to women to get them to sleep with you. “Hey! I shaved my junk this morning, wanna bone?” “You know, I haven’t gotten much action lately, would you like to come over?” “If I buy you dinner and a couple drinks will you sleep with me?” Or the classic Joey Tribianni line, “How you doin’?” I thought about slipping her a condom and winking at her in hopes that she’d get the hint but decided against it because, well, I couldn’t decide what color condom she’d like. I mean, you can’t slip the girl a pink condom when she is decidedly a blue condom type of girl. Fucking up on the color could severely decrease your chance of fucking. To be honest with you, I really wasn’t thinking of slipping her the condom but at this point it doesn’t even matter because Flirt Girl quit smoking!!! The smoking lounge was the only place I would ever see FG. We have spent countless cigarette breaks talking about sex, drugs, and women’s underwear and now it’s all gone. I don’t have a phone number, I don’t have an email address, I don’t have shit but a raging hard-on in my hands (well, there isn’t that much that’s raging about it, or hard for that matter). In my fantasy filled dreams we made sweet love every day after work, ate dinner, got drunk, and made sweet love once again leaving my testicles void of anything resembling sperm. She would even pull out her bag of Korean sexual tricks that would always have me begging for more. I even ate the pussy. Dude, it was that good.

(I can’t believe I just wrote that. Eating pussy, fucking gross.)

Now there is no chance for any of that to happen unless I happen to see her in the hall (unlikely) or she starts smoking again (oh God please!). Till that day comes… who the fuck am I kidding, shit like that doesn’t happen to me. I’m fucked.