And then there were none.
Last night the Beautiful Dudes defeated the Blasphemous Ballers in the West Hollywood Dodgeball league finals. The decimation (8 to 2) took place at the Staples Center and Ke$ha appeared as a publicity garnering addition to the losing team. Los Angeles being the fantastical adult playground that it is, one would expect no less. Thus, it was only missing an opportunity to cavort amongst all those tank-topped titillators for which I am most “Tik Tok”ed off at myself.
It’ll be a few months before I get another chance to weRRRq this crowd as a whole. Arduous though this thought would have been at the start of the season, I’ve since realized that patience is, in fact, a virtue. Especially when striving to secure some quality cock. And forget the gold, rooster-shaped trophy appropriately awarded to the WeHo champions. This Power Bottom only accepts multi-platinum-worthy penis.
It is a result of these standards that I didn’t fuck one fellow all season. Not a teammate. Not a league mate. No one on the roster joined the ranks of my randy repertoire.
The Billion $ Boi Toi kissed me on the mouth in front of everyone at Gym. Then he mashed his penis up against the outside of the window for all to see. Unfortunately, he was otherwise engaged for the remainder of the season. I didn’t get another glimpse of his head, much less his face.
Sid36 sidled into my schedule via a dodgeball affiliation, but he was not a participant himself. Although we made it to three and a half dates, he never did go Balls Deep as one of the teams is actually called. The closest anyone came to coming was Simply Sid. Y’all remember how that went – or rather, didn’t – go down.
Despite the fact that I’ve yet to bed, floor, kitchen table, backseat, or even alley anyone after adult recess, the permission to perspire in public, to mingle all mussed up, is what I’m going to miss most during our interlude. “This is what I’ll look like if you take me home,” it says. The short term equivalent of meeting your lover’s parents. A reliable prediction as to how marvelously or miserably your investment will fair over the next 30 years. Shame it’s such a rare opportunity.
Like a good book, however, sometimes it’s best to disregard the exterior. Often much of the fun is in figuring out what’s inside the cover, as tattered or ornate though it may be. And as Agatha Christie knew how to spin a suspenseful yarn, an amorous adventurer need also be a master of mystery.
So come on boiz. Get your name on the waiting list. Check me out. Perhaps you won’t want to flip (through) me twice; but this is most certainly a tail with which you want to curl up in bed.
Or on the floor. The kitchen table. Your backseat…
LoLz