Another Threeways Throwback. Happy Hanukkah people!
With all these pro athletes writing auto-snitchography’s recently, I’m almost expecting Slim and Seattle to start fessing up to taking part in the “culture.” Perhaps Tiff might get her Marion Jones on. (Eff you by the way, Tiff) For the un-sports-savvy, a few of Major League Baseball’s major stars are on the hook right now for taking steroids. Alex Rodriguez, Miguel Tejada, Jason Giambi, Andy Petite, and other miscellaneous players have already snitched on themselves. Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens however are sticking to man rule #1: “Deny, deny, deny.” For years, I’ve been of the opinion that steroids aren’t really cheating, and if some dude wants to shrink his man jewels so he can run faster and jump higher, by all means, be my guest. For the past few years, as the media made a big deal about it and Congress took time away from running the country into the ground to investigate doped up athletes, I never understood what the big deal was. That was of course until it came to my doorstep in an interesting fashion.
I was talking to my Midwest cohort the other day and as we got to comparing notes, he starts telling me about a particular episode with him and a tenderoni that involved Cialis. As he nonchalantly kept telling his story, I was still stuck on the fact that a 26 year old, presumably virile young man felt he had to pop a Cialis. Especially since I’m from the Caribbean and I’m of the opinion that all I need to gun all night is a belly full of kallaloo, a guinness, some high grade and a stiff breeze. (Bullet!) When I asked him he told me straight up, that with all the demands of grad school, other ventures and life in general, he has to keep his edge. Similar to the “culture” excuse that athletes are using to excuse themselves, he told me that he got the pills from a classmate and that “more people than you would think” actually use “enhancements.”
This troubles me very deeply. Aside from the kick the Jack Daniel’s provides, I’ve never purposely used a drug for assistance. I’m not some self-righteous snob (I am), but for Christ’s sake, I’m only 26, I thought this stuff was for old dudes. Here I am, working out, eating healthy and rubbing one(two) out when necessary to stay on track, when other people are doing God know’s what, popping a pill and all of a sudden my miraculous 15 orgasm performance is now seems average.
Here’s the thing…I am great in bed. I am phenomenal in bed. I don’t think there are enough adjectives, adverbs, and adjective-adverb pairings to describe how finger licking good I am. There’s more to sex than heavy breathing, sweating and plain ol’ in and out. I am an artist and the female anatomy is my canvas. My job is not done until her body has been expunged of every orgasm it can possibly produce, by any means necessary. I take pride in my work and I take pride in the fact that I can work all natural. Of course, penetration is not all sex is about, but let’s be real, she ain’t walking through 3 feet of snow just to get licked. She came for body aches. And I deliver. But damn, why am I spending all this time in the batting cages, working with hitting coaches, while other cats are popping pills, doing 20 push-ups and and still hitting homeruns. I know some of the ladies can feel me. God blessed you with an amazing figure and your own hair just for you to walk outside to encounter weaves, push up bras, body girdles, boob jobs and lipo. It’s becoming so disgusting for you in these streets you spend the first 15 minutes of meeting a new guy convincing him without letting him touch that you are 100% natural. (Ain’t that a b*tch?!)
So what would you do ladies, you’re on a date with a guy and during the middle of dinner he pulls out his little blue friend, downs it with some water, winks at you and says “That’s for later.” Does he get points for planning ahead or does this somehow strike you as lame? Fellas…don’t pull a Barry…the truth will set you free. Spill it…
Good past the last drop,
The Award Winning RightCoastLexSteele, Your Girlfriend’s Wet Dream (Hey, they’re not my dreams, I can’t control other people’s dreams)