47.9% Tanqueray
It does the trick. Duty free and made in the motherland, Mustardseed had brought home a nice, big bottle of the stuff. It helped, shall we say, lubricate the slide through the details (the twists and turns) of her recent troubles.
So, we plowed through a few glasses of that, along with a host of MP3's, and came to the realization that yes, gin is better when it comes from the source. Huzzah, Britain! You grande damme, you stern nanny; you giveth and you taketh away... most especially that icky, to close for comfort feeling of feeling, so acute and unwelcome. We'd rather be intoxicated.
After enthusing that, we did go out. To a retro-sleaze party being held on the second floor of Remington's, the only gay male strip club in the city; salacious in itself, i know. There was a lovely boy with brown hair and glasses, a large bullseye on his t-shirt, hanging about the room.
Oh. A target....
My aim was off. However, fun watching the strippers all the same, both amateur and pro. Mustardseed and I were talking about somewhat lighter fare by then, the entertainment value of nudity. It's dawning on me that I believe I may be ready, both physically and emotionally, for a good, solid 'ho' phase. Yep. Lots of sex for me, please. I'm ready for the ultimate entertainment value of the naked form. Full sensory immersion. A whole array of different flavors and textures. Though I'm not going to be taking just anything, no sir'ee. This time around I'm going to have standards. I am relsolute. If he's not unquestionably hot, then he's to be ejected from the running. Launched right off the field.
Rather pleased with that private drunken assertion, I gave Mustardseed a very fond goodbye on Yonge St., and set off in a different direction.
Between that point and this one, sitting here writing, after getting back to my own bed, sleeping through the day and my hangover, I did, indeed, manage to give it a head start, my promiscuous summer. Phew. There's one resolution, one choice, that I can say has come off without a hitch. I can be an industrious fellow when I need to be.
We'll see how long it lasts, both my motivation to throw it down on the mattress (floor, counter, lawn... there're a lot of surfaces in the world, come to think of it), and the confidence I have in myself to pull it off. The latter is a waxing and waning phenomenon.
Sex does rock. Human connections: friendship, love and concupiscent tussling, all make it bearable. There is beauty under the sky, fleeting birds across the sun; blazing little Phoenixes hot in the hand. The most permanent relationship that I have had evidenced in my life, that one between my generators, those two points of origin, is fractured. No longer cooperating, no longer co-anything; but not solitary.
No one is really alone.
So, we plowed through a few glasses of that, along with a host of MP3's, and came to the realization that yes, gin is better when it comes from the source. Huzzah, Britain! You grande damme, you stern nanny; you giveth and you taketh away... most especially that icky, to close for comfort feeling of feeling, so acute and unwelcome. We'd rather be intoxicated.
After enthusing that, we did go out. To a retro-sleaze party being held on the second floor of Remington's, the only gay male strip club in the city; salacious in itself, i know. There was a lovely boy with brown hair and glasses, a large bullseye on his t-shirt, hanging about the room.
Oh. A target....
My aim was off. However, fun watching the strippers all the same, both amateur and pro. Mustardseed and I were talking about somewhat lighter fare by then, the entertainment value of nudity. It's dawning on me that I believe I may be ready, both physically and emotionally, for a good, solid 'ho' phase. Yep. Lots of sex for me, please. I'm ready for the ultimate entertainment value of the naked form. Full sensory immersion. A whole array of different flavors and textures. Though I'm not going to be taking just anything, no sir'ee. This time around I'm going to have standards. I am relsolute. If he's not unquestionably hot, then he's to be ejected from the running. Launched right off the field.
Rather pleased with that private drunken assertion, I gave Mustardseed a very fond goodbye on Yonge St., and set off in a different direction.
Between that point and this one, sitting here writing, after getting back to my own bed, sleeping through the day and my hangover, I did, indeed, manage to give it a head start, my promiscuous summer. Phew. There's one resolution, one choice, that I can say has come off without a hitch. I can be an industrious fellow when I need to be.
We'll see how long it lasts, both my motivation to throw it down on the mattress (floor, counter, lawn... there're a lot of surfaces in the world, come to think of it), and the confidence I have in myself to pull it off. The latter is a waxing and waning phenomenon.
Sex does rock. Human connections: friendship, love and concupiscent tussling, all make it bearable. There is beauty under the sky, fleeting birds across the sun; blazing little Phoenixes hot in the hand. The most permanent relationship that I have had evidenced in my life, that one between my generators, those two points of origin, is fractured. No longer cooperating, no longer co-anything; but not solitary.
No one is really alone.
Comments