Good Morning Little Schoolgirl
The nice spring weather is finally here and I think it can finally said that I have morphed into a dirty old man. In fact, the hotter the weather becomes, the younger the woman I find myself ogling in the Supermarkets.
It’s embarrassing to admit, however, it’s unfortunately all true. I already realize all the psychological mumbo-jumbo that could be employed to explain my progressing sexual interests in younger women, in that my subconscious male desperation to procreate has me unconsciously searching out the most prime candidates with whom to unload my seed and thereby guarantee the continuation of my genealogical bloodline.
Oh, horseshit! I just love me some young supple stripper boobs in tight halter-tops – period.
End of story.
At last, I feel I have to be open about this. I’ve been waiting for Ms. Right to come along since the time I hit puberty, but so far, she has not materialized. Even more evasive is Ms. Right Now. In recent years, the only women to have expressed any interest in me whatsoever have been of the older, haggard, divorced with three snot-nosed kids and all the sex appeal of an old shoe variety.
To say the women my age I meet have “issues” is like saying that Adolf Hitler needed “light therapy”.
Why wouldn’t young women appeal to me? They just have that certain ‘joie de vivre’ that I don’t find anymore with women my own age.
Of course, there is the unfortunate tragic catch-22 in that if I were ever to successfully land me a young nubile goddess with which to bump uglies, my aged male heart would probably explode in my chest mid-copulation.
But, oh, what a way to go!
It’s embarrassing to admit, however, it’s unfortunately all true. I already realize all the psychological mumbo-jumbo that could be employed to explain my progressing sexual interests in younger women, in that my subconscious male desperation to procreate has me unconsciously searching out the most prime candidates with whom to unload my seed and thereby guarantee the continuation of my genealogical bloodline.
Oh, horseshit! I just love me some young supple stripper boobs in tight halter-tops – period.
End of story.
At last, I feel I have to be open about this. I’ve been waiting for Ms. Right to come along since the time I hit puberty, but so far, she has not materialized. Even more evasive is Ms. Right Now. In recent years, the only women to have expressed any interest in me whatsoever have been of the older, haggard, divorced with three snot-nosed kids and all the sex appeal of an old shoe variety.
To say the women my age I meet have “issues” is like saying that Adolf Hitler needed “light therapy”.
Why wouldn’t young women appeal to me? They just have that certain ‘joie de vivre’ that I don’t find anymore with women my own age.
Of course, there is the unfortunate tragic catch-22 in that if I were ever to successfully land me a young nubile goddess with which to bump uglies, my aged male heart would probably explode in my chest mid-copulation.
But, oh, what a way to go!
posted by crazytigerrabbitman at
5:55 PM
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