If Life Is Just a Bowl of Cherries...

Was I saying something a couple of days ago about decreased appetites? If you will allow me a bit of artistic and/or logical license, I believe that I must personify the universe as a kind being with an impish sense of humor.


For while I haven't noticed any change in my appetites since earlier this week, the universe has seen fit to shower me with sexual companionship. And not just a maintenance fuck, like Kip was on Tuesday.


This evening, I somehow managed to hook up with and fuck three different guys, without ever straying from deepest suburbia. And, blessedly, each was better than the one before, which, frankly, was a surprise: the second guy was so much fun that, after we'd finished up and had chatted for ten minutes or so and I was leaving, I had to tell him, "Your body is like an amusement park: there's fun everywhere you go."


Maybe this is the universe's idea of a practical joke or its way of trying to show me how little I know. TED rambles on about having less sex, so suddenly more sex is sent his way, demonstrating to TED his massive ignorance about the workings of fate.


But there are a couple of problems with that theory. First, I think I'm already painfully aware of my massive ignorance, and, truly, I can think -- without trying very hard -- of bazillions of people more in need of that lesson than I. Second, sexual appetite is not so much like the appetite for food. You eat too much and keep on eating, sooner or later you're going to get sick. But even if you weren't overly horny when you started out, you can do three guys in the course of an evening and not really feel any ill effects, particularly if you save the ejaculation for the last guy. And, as you all should know by now, ejaculation is really not necessary for me to have a great time.


Anyway, a universe that teaches you a lesson about ignorance by showering you with hot men is not terribly consistent with a universe that comes up with, say, Dick Cheney. Although I suppose you could posit some notion of balance whereby after this evening, I would have no right to complain if the universe saw fit to bless me with crabs. Or Dengue fever.


All in all, though, the screwing of three wonderful asses in one evening when I wasn't particularly looking seems more like the work of random chance than a sentient universe, so I think I'm going to have to conclude, yet again, the lack of a sentient higher power. Sorry, universe. Maybe next time!


I will likely subject you to full accounts, with mind-numbing levels of detail, of at least two of this evening's encounters, if only because it's been a while since I've written a detailed description of one of my sessions. For now, though, it's too late, and I'm too tired, to do the evening justice, so I'm leaving you with this abbreviated account and these pictures.


To be honest, armpit pictures do nothing for me, but armpits themselves are another matter altogether. The problem is that for a pit to be something that I want to push my tongue into, it has to be clean and it can't have anti-perspirant on it. So it's pretty rare to run into a pair of suitable pits on a guy who likes to have them worked over. It seems counterintuitive to me, but it's a lot easier to find an ass that's clean enough to eat than it is to find an edible set of pits. In fact, it's been quite a while since I've enjoyed a good pair. This evening, however, I had two pairs, and both recipients were extremely appreciative of my attentions.


All the same, I have had no and continue to have no immediate interest in cheeseburgers. What a world.