Oh no, Fru has an excuse to talk dirty again!
As patient and alert readers have no doubt deduced, and as my roommates know beyond the palest shadow of a doubt, I lead a nearly pants free life.
My usual mode is to be wearing a T-shirt and socks and nothing in between.
Yes, just like the dress code for Fuck Club.
This allows for a maximum degree of freedom and comfort. My torso and feet stay warm and protected, and my big beautiful butt and balls and terrifyingly (to some) uncircumcised penis get the plentiful air circulation and freedom to move about to which they have become accustomed because that’s what they prefer.
And I bet your bikini region would enjoy them too, at least now and then.
And if you live alone, well, why the heck not? Who’s to know?
Of course, it’s also nice to have my cock and balls and butt close at hand for purposes of masturbation. [1] It allows me to do things like jack off while waiting for a file to load in a game I am playing, or stick a finger or two up my ass in order to give myself a quick finger-banging in order to scratch what I affectionate call my “bitch itch”.
And it’s amazing how calming and soothing a quick dozen and a half thrusts of my fingers into my capacious rectum can be.
Anyhow, In general, then, I only wear pants when I am leaving the apartment. And on an average week, I only leave the apartment twice a week : once on Friday to go to Wound Care, and once on Sunday to go do Denny’s with Le Gang.
That adds up to a total of about five hours a week in pants, and the rest of the time my cock, balls, and butthole are free and breezy.
Normally, what happens when I get home from whatever is that the pants stay on until I need to pee.
Now in order to pee at home, I drop trou. It’s a lot easier than fumbling around with belt, button, and a zipper, and there is no chance of getting my precious tool caught in the unforgiving teeth of a zipper.
It happens to most men at least once. And as bad as you think it is, ladies, it is so much worse. Better to take a tap to the nuts.
Dunno if it’s possible to get a labia caught in a zipper. Not accidentally, anyhow.
And once the pants are on the floor, it’s so easy to just step out of them and revert to my natural unpantsed state that I end up going pantsless from thence onward.
So why, pray tell, would I seek to change that wonderful system? Why keep my pants on for longer than necessary?
Because I am trying to civilize myself again, for one. Right now, if I had to function in normal society, the culture shock would be brutal.
But more importantly, I want to stay awake and focused. Just like when I was a more thorough nudist, I find that being pants free keeps me in a kind of half asleep state where I am never very far from a nap and while that state does round off a lot of the rough edges of life,. ultimately I think it is very bad for me and that I really could use more structure and focus in my life in order to help me gather my energies together and harness them to get stuff done.
I definitely need to be pouring my energies out into the world instead of mindlessly holding them in and letting them damage me.
But I need to find my source first.
More after the break.
Finding my source
:Like I said yesterday, that’s how I have been thinking of it lately. Like hiking to the source of my river of life in order to find and deal with whatever is blocking it.
I mean, I know what the blockage is : the trauma from when I was raped when I was a preschooler. That’s an easy solve.
And there is a powerfully huge amount of “stuff” built up behind that clog. 46 years worth, in fact. I have been functioning on a mere fraction of my potential life energy for all this time, and I am royally fucking sick of it.
I want to live, god damn it. I am sick and tired of being a shadow person who lives life like he’s hiding from the Mafia and who is so afraid of life that he spends as little time dealing with it as possible in favour of the world inside his computers.
I want to be a real person, with substance and content and a normal life. The kind that comes with a job and/or a relationship. The kind where things happen, and I feel like I am getting somewhere, and there is some god damned point to my being alive.
The kind where I matter.
Right now, I feel like I am a ghost. A fragile creature as ephemeral as a smoke ring. I have so little impact on society except as an (admittedly minor) parasite.
And yet I know in my heart that I could do so much if I could just pull my head out from under my tail and face the damned world.
There has to be a way to overcome all this fear. It’s kept me all boxed up inside myself for far too long.
And it all comes back to that ice jam way, way up river. I wish I could focus all my latent energies into a laser beam that would just melt that motherfucker once and for all.
And I know that would release the flood. Apres ca, la deluge. And I welcome it.
I could use a nice, cleansing mental breakdown. I have been running on bald tires and battery power for way too long.
I need to pull the hell over and fix this fucking thing before it falls apart completely.
And by it, I mean me.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.