LARGETONY Blog

If I was a character in a Harry Potter book (or movie), I would have been put into the Slytherin House at the wizard academy. That’s because I think I may be part parselmouth (for those not familiar with Harry Potter, those are wizards who can communicate with snakes).

In the wee hours of this morning I woke up to hear my snake talking. You know the one I mean. Well, first it kept tapping me on the tummy. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. I was sleepy and tried to ignore it, but it was persitent with the tapping. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. I tried to be strong and pretend I didn’t hear it. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.”Come on, dude. Wake up.” it whispered. “I wanna play.” Why was it bothering me in the middle of the night? We had already played a vigorous round of “Tarzan and the Boa Constrictor” (it was Tarzan, I was the boa constrictor) just before bed. And, like always, it ended with Tarzan suffering from an aneurysm and his brains splattering all over everything. And now the snake was back for more. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. Well, a lot of snakes are nocturnal, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

I even tried to roll over and forget about it, but it liked being trapped against the mattress and started trying to root around. My hips betrayed me and got in on the act, helping Tarzan push deeper into the forest…over and over again. Finally I gave in and took matters in hand. “That’s it, Tony. Just like that… No, a little more over there,” he instructed. “Yeah, you know me better than anybody. You know what I like.” Well, DUH!

You’d think he’d shut up now that he’s getting what he wanted. I finally did manage to silence him, but not before a steady stream of coaching that resulted in, well…a steady stream of cumming. Now, after I unload, my body generally responds in one of two ways: either I get hungry or I zonk out. Sometimes both. And in those cases, like this one, I generally zonk out before I can get enough energy to get off my ass and fill my face. Last night was no different. A nut-induced coma never lasts long and I woke up fifteen or twenty minutes later to find a now lifeless Tarzan still trapped in the clutches of my sticky digits.

While in the bathroom cleaning up, making sure to hit the nooks and crannies, the ol’ belly started to rumble. I had satisfied the sex box, now it was time to satisfy the bread box. I usally don’t eat stuff like this at four in the morning, but I made some of my special oatmeal cookies on Friday night (yes, I am single, thirty years old, and have a jumbo cock, but I’m at home on Friday night baking cookies. Could I be a bigger loser??) , and that was what I was craving. So, I threw on some underwear and headed for the kitchen.

It’s kind of surreal going down there in the middle of the night. The only light is from a little florescent tube under one of the cabinets that I keep on in case granny needs to get up. It gives you just enough light to see what you’re doing, but not so much that you get blinded coming from a dark room. And that’s all the light there is. We’re out in the county so there are no street lights, and unless the moon is out, it’s pitch black outside. And it’s so quiet that all you hear is the hum of the refrigerator and your own breathing.

So, I’m standing there in the front of the open refigerator eating a cookie and drinking milk straight of the jug. Gross, I know, but I didn’t want to deal with washing a glass, and I’m one of those people who can’t have a dirty dish in the sink overnight. As I was enjoying my cookie (I really make the best oatmeal cookies in the world…no lie), Tarzan started to stir again. Jesus Christ, what is the deal??? Did somebody slip viagra in my cookie dough? (By the way, I do not call my dick Tarzan. Just using that for the purposes of illustration. I actually do not have a name for it. Besides, I think this time it was wanting to play “The Curious Milk Maid and the Lucky Cow.” I would be the milkmaid, it would be the cow.)

I admit, I started in on the old squeeze and tug action (outside my boxer briefs). I was fully awake by now, so why the hell not? Besides, it seems to be a possible way of curing my insomnia…and a lot safer than sleeping pills. Here I am at four in the morning, standing in my kitchen, committing at least four of the Seven Deadly Sins: Gluttony (several cookies in the middleof the night); Sloth (too damned lazy to wash a glass); Lust (pleasuring my body); Pride (in my cookie as well as in the way my cock filled out my shorts. They tasted great and it looked hot. I admit it!). I’m sure that the fact that I was committing them all at once (cookie in the mouth, milk jug in one hand, dong in the other) didn’t score me any points upstairs. Being a Sunday probably doesn’t help either.

I was taking the last chug of milk, with a mouth full of chewy, oaty, nutty goodness, ready to plunge my fist into my shorts for the third time in five hours when I heard it. THUMP. THUMP. I froze on the spot. The sound didn’t come from Tarzan this time. Nor the Lucky Cow. It was outside the kitchen door. Possum? Skunk? We have a screened in porch out back, so unless a rodent could unlatch a hook, it had to be something human. Somebody was on our back porch. Since the only light was inside, I couldn’t see them, only my reflection in the glass of the connecting door. Which means they could see me. Which means they saw what I saw: Me. Standing there in just my cock-stretched underpants, milk dribbling down the corners of my mouth and beard. I looked like a power bottom porn star who just finished a group facial scene.

No time to worry about that. My instinct led me to the door. (In hindsight, stupid, I know. I had no idea what was on the other side, and what weapons it might have. But it’s that fearless streak that “J” always accuses me of.) Whoever it was must have seen me coming (thank god it wasn’t ten minutes later, then they would really see me coming), because I heard another THUMP that sounded like they fell over something, then a slam (the screen door) and nothing. Even as quick as I got the door unlocked and was out on the porch, whoever was out there was gone.

I went upstairs to put on some pants, then came back down and turned on the light to see what the deal was. The “thumper” had poked through the screen and reached in an unlatched the door to get onto the porch. There is nothing on the porch except some porch furniture and some potted plants, one of which was knocked over and the pot cracked. That must have been the last THUMP I heard. Since there was nothing to steal on the porch, anyway, a broken screen and pot was, all in all, a pretty minor thing. Didn’t see a real reason to call the Sherriff.

Of course, the light of day always shows you things you didn’t see before. So, this morning when I went out to my truck, I saw the door was slighty open. I look inside and the ignition is gone. I did find it laying on the floor, but apparantly, before the thumper tried to get into the house, he had tried to steal my truck. I did call the Sherriff this morning and when they came out to do the report, they explained that theives have these tools that they force into the ignition to start the vehicle without a key, and in doing so, they tear apart the ignition switch. Lucky for me, it doesn’t always work, and I still have my truck. I have to have a new ignition put in, but I still have the truck.

The most disturbing thing about all this is that things like this never happen around here. No one has ever tried to get in this house before. I’m hoping it’s an isolated incident. The Sheriff seems to think so. Getting onto the porch is no big deal to me. And ultimately, neither is getting at the truck. I do think it would be much harder to get into the house itself, and it couldn’t be done without a lot of noise. I’m a light sleeper, so, I feel confident that if someone broke in I’d hear it and I could get to them before they get to Granny.

Maybe next time my dong keps me up at night I’ll be more grateful. Perhaps it sensed something and kept me on the alert. Kind of like a guard dog. A big fleshy, rock hard, cum-spitting guard dog. WOOF!

This entry was posted on Sunday, August 28th, 2005 at 9:31 pm and is filed under being tony, 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.