I have nothing to say now, but I used to be interesting
*****
Greg40 has earned his comma.
And my body is responding.
My penis throbs. The memories of those lost in wars past, school shootings, political terrorism: they all live on in my unrelenting erection. Every middle school flag flown at half-mast is done justice as the juices rush through my yearning member. Twitching in the evening wind. Reaching ever upward. Thick with veins running blue as the Montana skies. It calls out to people like a restored church steeple on Sunday morning. They come from miles around. Each pulse ringing the truth of God's work. And the Word is good. The Word is Greg. A meaningful droplet of seminal fluid moistens the head.
My scrotum hangs. The skin, freshly sheen like a sheep in summer's heat, droops smooth and mature. Childlike with the hard earned wisdom brought only by age. As I walk up his driveway, my sack keeps the rhythm. Each step celebrated by the sound of scotch tape carefully removed from a birthday present - a thoughtful child hoping to reuse the wrapping as wallpaper on her new doll house. The shiny ballbag sticks to my leg. But only for the slightest moment. It swings like a rusty pendeulum on a grandfather clock much needing service. My tween carriage glistens with sweat while my leg remains dry - insulated by a thick nest of transitional body hair. A boy in a man's world.
My balls are stretched taught. Enjoying the cool nighttime air. Full of my seed. Destined to be sown on a barren landscape. Beautiful destitude. I've been saving for this. The world is asleep. Greg's living room window pane is a harsh environment. My massive ejaculate globs in lifeless streaks, save the solitary rope stretching its way to the flowerbed below - ready to return home bringing life to the soil. God's circle. Greg's doormat, rough and used, proves equally unforgiving. My semen pools thick like bacon drippings. Ready to soften with the rising sun. Greg's couch, the scent of his manhood alive in the cushions, proves a willing partner. Dancing fast. The third number ends before the dance is over. Thick ropes, their existence summoned from depths unknown, sink, lost between the cushions. A happy surprise - more than spare change down the road. A clock slowly ticks in a nearby room. This is the moment. He now slumbers below me. The satin sheets steadily rising and falling with each breath. Instinctively, my breath syncs with his. I climb in. Spent but ready. Spoons. His eyes are closed but his heart is open.
*****
I started doing a P-90x type class at my local community center this evening. One of the activities involved partner pull-ups. My partner was an older guy. Lanky. White hanes v-neck a size too small. Goofy gray hair. A grunter.
I was standing, holding a 3 foot long wooden rod parallel to the ground with a bicep curl grip. He was laying on his back on his mat while I straddled his chest. Luckily, I was wearing tight boxer briefs or he would have had a clear view of my junk. He reached up inside my grip with a similar bicep curl grip. The point was for him to pull himself straight off the mat, keeping his back and neck rigid - like a 30 degree pull-up. My job was to support his body weight, keeping my core tight and knees slightly bent.
As a I hinted earlier, he wasn't in super shape. The first couple pull ups went alright, a little grunting, but nothing out of the normal. His form looked good - straight as a used arrow. Up and down. Pull up number three however, was more of a modified sit up. He had reached his limit and his form suffered. His back and neck curled inward as he pulled himself off the ground. I kept a straight face as his mouth grunted towards my crotch. "Thhhhrreee!" I looked straight ahead, straight faced. "Nice work". "Foooourrrr!" He actually left a little fleck of spit on my gym shorts from his exertion. We were doing sets of 15. Each rep became more and more inappropriate. The trainer, usually the boot camp type, had to walk to the other side of the gym. She couldn't comment. I made the mistake on rep number 8 of looking sideways in the giant mirror. Full on man on man action. Public forum. My arms were getting tired. We were both grunting now. His nose nudged my shorts on number 12. Sweet Jesus. I actually had the thought of how traumatic an erection - even a partial - would be at that moment. I don't know why my mind went there. I had to say something. "Keep it up." I gritted my teeth. 14 - our eyes met. Not a hint of embarrassment on either side. Neither acknowledged what was happening. We couldn't. We were men. Working out. And loving it.
*****
Golly willickers.
******
I had a very vivid dip dream last night. It was a combination "Dragon's Lair" / Bike Helmet Safety"The More You Know" PSA / Dip Dream.
I can account for both the Dragon's Lair and the Bike Helmet aspects, but I'm not sure where the massive chew in my dream accompanied by the feeling that I had been secretly chewing for the last couple of months came from. Actually, I was hit with a pretty severe urge a couple days ago while driving. Two times in the same day while returning Christmas presents. I actually think my mouth was watering a little bit. I thought about all the steps I would have to go through to actually get from driving in my car with nearly 600 days quit to having a chew in my mouth.
1) Exit the freeway and find a convenience store.
2) Park at the convenience store.
3) Go inside the convenience store.
4) Get in line at the convenience store.
5) Ask the cashier for a can of whatever is on sale.
6) Give the cashier my money.
7) Take the can in exchange for said money.
8) Cut the seal around the edge of the can (without my special long thumb nail).
9) Pack the can.
10) Twist off the lid.
11) Transfer lid back under the can to free up a hand.
12) Take a pinch of whatever was on sale.
13) Pull my lower left lip open a bit to insert poison.
There are probably more steps involved that I did not write down, but each of those 13 steps provides an opportunity for me to catch myself. I rarely carry a cell phone with me, so at any of those 13 steps I could say to myself, "I will not chew tobacco today" "I am in control of my actions" "I deserve the freedom that I have earned". You know, shit like that....
I think I'll print out the Contract To Quit and stick it in my wallet just in case talking to myself would be a little strange at that particular moment.
For now:
I will remain quit. Quitting is possible and I can do it. I love myself more than I love dipping. I care about my personal health more than I care about dipping. I love family more than I love dipping. I know this addiction could still kill me, and I ACCEPT that fact. I enjoy spending time with my friends and family more than I ever enjoyed spending time alone with my can. I look forward to my life - the daily struggle is worth it. When I am lying next to my wife in a hospital bed holding our newborn child, I will feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that this is the path I CHOSE. I will have no regrets and will work to make positive choices in the future. I will feel joy for my familyÂ’s support and unconditional love, and I know I will remain free for myself and the people I truly love.
I know ALL the consequences of my actions and I accept them fully and without regret. I hereby choose to control my life and this addiction - I do so with a smile on my face.
*****
I had my observation with my principal today and the 20 year old man-boy in my class said, "Ms. Principal, Mr. Green touches me inappropriately sometimes." And another girl said, "You too!?"
*****
