LARGETONY Blog

A friend told me that I have a dirty mind. He’s wrong. I have a filthy mind. I admit it. The better part of any given day, I’m carrying a little something extra along my right leg (or left hip, depending on how I dress that day) all because of the nasty thoughts that pump through my brain. Not so much extra that it’s obscene. Just enough to let me know it’s there.

The blood starts pumping in one head and the next thing I know, it’s pumping in the other head (and shaft). That only pumps more blood into the first head, which only gets the second one going even more, and…well, you get the picture: A vicious cycle that can lead to an unintentional advertisement, if I don’t keep the ol’ noggin in check. So I’ll just distract myself and focus on something like a puppy. The brain backs off and my pants fit better…until the puppy’s owner comes into the picture. The puppy’s hard-bodied, thick-thighed, bubble-butted owner who is bending over to play with his scrappy little friend. The next thing my brain tells me is that the puppy is sent off to the corner with a chew toy while I provide the master with…(do I even need to make this joke?).

People think that being a painter is a mindless job. It’s true that, depending on what you are working on, sometimes you can go on auto-pilot. But that doesn’t mean the brain is not working. It’s just means it’s not on paint. Unless you count when your brain tells you to that you have just bumped into the leggy guy out for jog, splattering his torso with a creamy semi-gloss. You immediately apoligize and try to wipe it off him, but all you have is your hands. But that just smears it all over his pecs and rigid abs, making a mess all over him and yourself. You’re forced to break out the hose and wash him down…(I’ll let you fill in your own dirty joke here, too.)

It’s not just when I’m painting, either. Almost anything will trigger a lewd thought if I let it. Maybe it’s pent up sexual frustration. I don’t know. Because even though I don’t do a lot of actual screwing, in my mind I must suck and fuck with at least five guys a day. Yes, I’m a mind slut.

Just the other day I was in Home Depot looking for something to plant in the yard. In the garden center was this college-aged guy with rock-carved cheek bones and the reddest, plumpest, cock-sucker lips imaginable. Add to that, t-shirt sleeves rolled up to the shoulder showing off tanned sinewy arms and shorts that revealed he was slightly bow-legged, giving his calves a beautiful sweep. Grrrrrrr. I’d plant that in the yard.

Well, before I knew it, garden boy was bent over a tall stack of 20 lb bags of seed, checking the firmness of my root. His hands clawed at the bags, bracing himself for my pounding, tearing through the plastic as I tore through him, causing a huge spill of seed…In my mind.

In reality I tried to play it cool. I tried to check him out without looking like was checking him out. But it was hard…and so was I (you knew I was going to go there). Luckily, the basket I was pushing concealed the basket I was carrying. The advertisement was becoming a full-fledged Sunday circular. That’s because, in my brain I left garden boy dazed, laying across a display, a little more bow-legged, with his shorts around his beautiful calves and his hard butt glazed like a bundt cake. Over the loudspeaker while I was walking out the automatic doors: Clean-up in Garden Center!

What needs clean-up is my gutter. My gutter mind, that is. I wonder if garden boy does gutters? Uh-oh…there’s that old familiar feeling. The cycle begins. Who am I kidding? The cycle never ends. And I should just enjoy it. There will come a day when the cycle doesn’t roll anymore. But that doesn’t mean my mind will be any less dirty. I just won’t have as much to show for it.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, June 1st, 2005 at 8:24 am and is filed under dating and sex. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.