All for your delight, I present this.
I would pout about not getting so much as A TOKEN WASHINGTON in my g-string, but sheesh, DocDaneeka… you’ve done this before? Or it’s a natural talent?
I’m Norwegian. That’s my excuse, & I’m stickin to it.
Wow! I leave the board for one little weekend and see what I miss!
Thanks Zoggie for keeping the men in line for me!
No sweat, Miss B. They’re listenin’, right guys? ::cracks the leather whip::
At this point I would like to offer myself as a completely objective judge of the dancing.
Men?
We are in a sparsely furnished, dimly lit room in a private residence. Bare wood floors. The temperature is ever so slightlty warm, 73-4 degrees. You are seated in semi darkness. I am a 44 year old male, 5’ 10", 162 pounds, brown hair and eyes. Women my age describe me as thin, but they speak in comparative terms. I walk to a spot ten feet in front of you. I remove my tortoiseshell glassses, fold them and place them in the right breast pocket of my leather bombardier jacket, which I slowly unzip with my left hand and softly drop to the floor. In the darkness and without my glasses, I can not see you clearly though you can fully see me. I do not smile, will not speak. You will not speak, nor will you touch me. I am wearing grey Swiss hand sewn loafers (Bally). I raise my left leg and remove the shoe with my right hand. Repeat on right. Place shoes directly pararllel in front of me. Raise left leg and remove Italian made wool paisley sock which is not inverted, but folde in half and placed on shoe. Repeat on right. Right hand removes end of burgundy Coach belt from belt loop, left hand grips brass buckle, disengage and slowly draw belt from trouser loops. Drop to floor rather carelessly. Left hand undos buton of dove grey pleated flannel trousers, right hand pulls down zipper. Hands shift to side belt loops, pull trousers over hips, and let drop to floor. rebutton trousers, fold twice length wise, drop on shoes. Place thumbs on side of waistband of khaki colored no name briefs. Pull straight down to ankles, lightly flick from left foot into the semi darkness. Undo top button of Brooks Brothers white Oxford cloth shirt. Continue. Undo sleave buttons, left done first. Drop shirt on trousers. Cross arms, hold bottom of white ctton no name T shirt and remove in single, decisive motion. Drop on shirt. Apart from a gold and bloodstone ring dating to the Second World War, I am completely naked. The ring does not come off. Heels six inches apart, feet at 45 degree angle, I hold my arms at 30 degree angle from my torso, palms out. The front of my body is covered with slightly more than typical dark male hair greying at the chest. I have the muscle tone of a former athlete, no longer tight, but with some ribs still delineated and a stomach flat in profile. I raise my arms. The biceps and pectorals flex. Stepping over my clothes, I walk toward you as you sit in the darkness. Two feet from you, close enough so that you could touch me with your fingertips, though you will not, I turn around and slowly bend over and touch the floor. You see my calf muscles tighten and the bwline of my tendons running up the backs of my legs. And beneath the shadow of the medial groove of my buttocks and in the warmth of a slightly over heated room, you notice the barest promise of an uncircumcised glans from behind my scotal sac. The must from my apocrine glands is quite noticeable and has effected your hormonal system as it has done to women for 170,000 years. Your pupils dilate, there is a tightness in the back of your throat, a heavy dark pulse deep inside you. And thunder in your heart. I slowly, silently turn around. With the first and middle fingers of my right hand I pull back my foreskin.
It’s over.
BWAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA!
I can’t let this thread die… I can’t let this thread die… I can’t let this thread die…
What we really need right now is a Wally-ism.