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TreSwank -> I Love My Hard-Ons (11/29/2006 9:15:58 AM)
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This morning I woke up with an exceptionally bothersome hard-on. Most regular folks like to make that disconcerting transition from unconsciousness to full awareness via alarm-clock, or natural sunlight. On the other hand, my personal internal clock is regulated by the frequency of blood-flow to the spongy-tissue inside of my beautifully symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing, yet oddly humble pleasure-craft.
Lots of things give me hard ons: big white-trash asses, women's tears, humiliation, spanking, braces (bling-bling), choking, golden showers, rim-jobs, etc.
Whenever I venture to watch pornography (pretty damn frequently), I get hard from imagining that each comely actress doesn't really want to stick that bulbous throbber in her mouth, but needs the money to support a ravenous cocaine habit or feed her hungry kids. The more reluctant the actress seems, the more my man-gland hardens up. If a porno-star were to have a full emotional breakdown in the middle of a scene, I'd probably blow my load without having to touch my penis at all.
I think that there may very well be a direct correlation between the consumption of red meat and the frequency of my hard-ons. Sometimes, when I'm in Stop and Shop, or the Big Y, I'll get an erection while perusing through aisles of cube-steak or ground beef. I figure that the most rational explanation for this would be the Algonquian "wolf" manitou, whispering sweet nothings in my ear........................"hunt and copulate". It makes me want to rip off my clothes and howl on the house-intercom, sporting my hard-on like a Medal of Honor.
Hard-ons are the reason that being a man is good.
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