Rockindeano wrote:bluejeangirl76 wrote:Step 2 made me laugh like all hell. "Trust the testicle!!"
Don't laugh, it's true.
Back in high school, you know, when every boy in school would get hard when the wind blew a certain direction, or gasp, a pretty young girl in class got your attention- I would sit there, hard as a rock, in the safety of my wrap around desk. The desk conveniently covered up the evidence. I vividly remember having a dual hard on. What's a "dual hard on" you ask? You ever heard of "morning wood?" Well, any guy here can testify that a "dual hard on" contains both arousal and piss(pee makes up the "morning wood"). So anyway, I would get and keep this duelly for the entire 50 minutes of class. When the bell rang, everyone would pop up and jet out of the room, but I had to take my time, rustle around with my jacket or books, which was hard considering we don't wear jackets very often here in Southern California, and I rarely brought books to class, or home for that matter- so I would delay my departure until I had enough privacy to quickly, and I do mean quickly, grab my dick by the neck and bring it up into my waistband of my underwear. I would wedge the neck between my boiler and the waistband of my pants, as so to hide my sword. Seriously, if it was hard and was able to hang or poke freely, it would look like I was about ready to joust with someone in the hallway. So, I would remain hard,(that was the bad part about being hard, you could stay that way for a week sometimes)- and when I would walk to my next class, it would remain thankfully, tucked in there, like I stapled the fucker or something. Finally, whenever that may be, it would lose it's rigidness, and gently slip back into flacid mode, and return to the depths of it's home.
Guys, don't tell me you haven't done this in your life at least a hundred times. Girls, did you know your husbands do this too? Hell, when I was at Lowe's and a hot woman came in, dressed in the business outfits, you know, the blazer, white blouse, pinstriped skirt and come fuck me heels, I would revert back to my high school training. I would quickly dip into an open bay, tuck Mr. Happy into and under the waistband, and re-emerge on the scene, ready to engage in friendly customer service. The only problem with "tuck and hide" was that it would spring a leak, and my entire front would look like Lake Michigan after I was through. That was quite a bit tough to hide as well. Fairly soon, I discovered vicodin, and I never really gave two shits or not if the female customer could see my excitement. I swear to you, that drug just takes away all of your fears. I would bust open a conversation that was so far out there, talking about her pets, her family(like I gave a shit about her family), the type of car she drove, politics, music, art, you name it. Yeah I know, I said "art." Well one lady was into and had asked about a paint to go with this fucked up painting she brought in. I pretended to care, but truth was I only wanted to screw her. So wearing an apron helped hide my joystick greatly, but later on, when I became a manager, I didn't wear an apron, and I was fucked. I had to conceal my rod with a fuckin clipboard or some paint pallet samples.
Yeah, it's safe to say that didn't work for shit. I believe the next chapter of this story was already written by me a few years back..I would have to find it, but some here have read it. it took place in a Lowe's bathroom (surprise surprise). I'll see if I can dig it up. Sorry to ramble.l
You said "Art"...........there may be hope for you yet.
