I enjoy the hunt

During restless times a friend of mine wrote to me that, while he didn’t necessarily want a relationship, a blowjob from somebody sure would be nice. I told him I’d be on lookout for girls with mouths.

This morning I had a vision of the hunt for mouth. I’d wear a bowler hat and sleek trench coat, binoculars on a strap around my neck. Dominatrix-heel boots. I’d carry a large black bag filled with instruments: plenty of ink pens, a notebook, a tarnished trumpet, tape recorder, lollipops, a tape measure.

I’d spot a potential on the street, library or bar, depending on the energies. I’d cup my hands around her shoulders, look her deep in the eyes, and broach the topic.

Blowjob? she’d ask curiously. What’s he look like?

Doesn’t matter, I’d tell her, Let me tell you, you’ve gotta see this thing.

I’d put the tape measure to her lips, then I’d pull a lollipop out of my bag and poke it into her mouth. Show me what you can do.

When I’d found the right mouth, I’d put her in a plane, note pinned to her chest. I’M HERE FOR THE BLOWJOB. She would feel like a victor, my friend would feel like jupiter. I would be jesus.

Strange intersection: In the same period of time three friends of mine each told me they’d like a blowjob from someone, accompanying relationship unnecessary. These same three friends also have in their recent history a girl they were attracted to who turned out to be religiously bent in a way averse to their liking. I wonder what all this means.

Fever persists and I’ve added several links to the sidebar. Visit the praised and the cracked. (Many of them are my friends, though not those for whom I seek mouths.)