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texpig
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I prefer waxing--and I go all out, paying a woman in a salon (mostly decorated in clinical whites with accents of pink--got a mental pic yet?) and she takes me back to the room, tells me to disrobe, then comes back and then waxes me back to...infancy? Prepubescence at least. And she lifts a skeptical Latina eye when she asks if I've been having erectile issues. "No," I reply. "Maybe if you were a little more masc it might engorge a tiny bit, maybe?" None of her swipes with moisturized hands (none of which was at all intended for eroticism/HE, mind you), nor my squeals of delight (OINK!) as she rapidly--ZIPPP!!!!--tore through the fur that had previously signified my adulthood, was enough to allow an erection to distract from the view: like a baby bird, featherless and puny, newly hatched from the egg. And then, with the pride of resisting heterosexuality's attempts to pull me in (NOT today, Jesus!), I pull up my sweats over wonderfully smooth, and somewhat sexier, me. Hey, I can use all the help I can get. And frankly I do it to make me look bigger (ahem.. um: cough, cough), seem more hygienic, promote improved anal appearance, and, most importantly, to never suffer the indignity of whimpering at the sharp pain from a silicone cockring (or three or four) being snagged by a nest of hair as it is chucked off at the end of playtime. I guess the other parts could be shaved (legs, thighgap and whatnot), but I otherwise find it hard to devote the time to removing wads of hair from a Daisy razor, esp when I've got other stuff to do--except to make the above the only hair appointment I've made since the pandemic changed everything...
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A few months later I was in New Orleans. I drank buckets of urine both from a pitcher then cut out the middle man and guzzled from the tap, and worked on the "taps" that peaked out from the upstairs bar (but, in varying lengths from boyish to OMG) and all was good in the world. God I miss the old New Orleans where you could feel free to be a pig without running the risk of being thrown in the klink...
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First time was at a bar in Dallas—think it was the Eagle or the Hidden Door. here in DLlas, TX. He brought me to his home to breed me and said he needed to jet off to the men’s room. I was so drunk and infatuated that it seemed natural for me to open my mouth and lay before him as a human urinal—and then just let him flood my mouth, not dropping a drip. I think his name wAs Christopher and he may have one some regional emmys. Iwas hooked from that day.
