(no subject)
dawn. what i'm just gonna stare at that word? i'm going to sit here and stare at that word. unpleasant.
if you turn the w in dawn upside down...
i fucking shaved my junk last week for the first time. really.
i mean for the first time, i really did, which is to say, i once tried to shave my junk when i was young (older than you're thinking though) and i couldn't figure out how to shave my balls.
what i mean by 'figure out' is, i was scared to use a razor. i honestly can't remember, but i must have used a pair of scissors or something at first to just, you know, trim it down to size. this turned out to be arguably worse than any little nicks and cuts would have been. i had just created a bristly, itchy, prickly, deathtrap of a crotch for my junk to swing around in. it seemed to take forever before it was long enough again for me to walk without trying not to make a face.
anyway, all that was before they had cream for that shit. i...had no idea. what. my balls looked like. it is exACTly like your friend had a beard when you started hanging out, and years later, you're still tight and they just up and hack it off one day and you're like, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!? because you know it's them. and they're acting like them, and they still smell the same and everything, but your mind rolls a speed bump every time you glance because you still have that genetic instinct or memory left over from a time when we didn't cut our hair, and the way people looked was their name. all this to say that i am simply fascinated with my new cock and balls. which is to say absolutely nothing, since i was fascinated with my old cock and balls too. simply.
my father turned sixty yesterday. your parents getting older can be it's very own feeling. a demonstration to look forward to, against a life left behind to regret.
oh shit.
if you turn the w in dawn upside down...
i fucking shaved my junk last week for the first time. really.
i mean for the first time, i really did, which is to say, i once tried to shave my junk when i was young (older than you're thinking though) and i couldn't figure out how to shave my balls.
what i mean by 'figure out' is, i was scared to use a razor. i honestly can't remember, but i must have used a pair of scissors or something at first to just, you know, trim it down to size. this turned out to be arguably worse than any little nicks and cuts would have been. i had just created a bristly, itchy, prickly, deathtrap of a crotch for my junk to swing around in. it seemed to take forever before it was long enough again for me to walk without trying not to make a face.
anyway, all that was before they had cream for that shit. i...had no idea. what. my balls looked like. it is exACTly like your friend had a beard when you started hanging out, and years later, you're still tight and they just up and hack it off one day and you're like, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!? because you know it's them. and they're acting like them, and they still smell the same and everything, but your mind rolls a speed bump every time you glance because you still have that genetic instinct or memory left over from a time when we didn't cut our hair, and the way people looked was their name. all this to say that i am simply fascinated with my new cock and balls. which is to say absolutely nothing, since i was fascinated with my old cock and balls too. simply.
my father turned sixty yesterday. your parents getting older can be it's very own feeling. a demonstration to look forward to, against a life left behind to regret.
oh shit.