I am a sexy man.

I am a sexy son of a bitch. With my smoky blue eyes, thick dirty blonde hair and six pack abs, my sex appeal is undeniable. The proof? Have you seen my wife? She is smoking hot, so there is no way a lady like that marries a turd. We don’t even have to discuss my dazzling personality, expertise in the bedroom (or wherever my wife chooses to indulge in my goose bump inspiring touch) or startling ability to combine intelligence with humor. Sexy stare, subtle bounce of the eyebrows and a pouting of the lips, you are helpless.
Now that we have established my desirability I want to tell you what I have recently discovered that could potentially bring all of this to a screeching halt. Men don’t look sexy in the same outfits that women look sexy wearing. I am not talking about cross dressing here, even though that too is the case, but rather the potentially innocent outfit that bridges the gap from shower to fully dressed or transitioning from work to casual attire. Let’s call them accidental outfits. In order to preserve my delusions of erotica I have removed the following outfits from my wardrobe while simultaneously requesting these be worn by my wife at least once a week.
1. Dress shirt and no pants or underwear. Seeing flashes of my manhood bounce in and out of the shirt tails is not hot.
2. Black dress socks and white underwear. Need I explain?
3. Hoodie sweater shirt and underwear. It makes me look like a perverted Unabomber.
4. Just socks. Heads up fellas, put your boxers on first out of the shower.
5. An open robe. Now you see me now you don’t and peek a boo are equally disgusting phrases used to enhance this attire.
6. Naked.
7. Shoes without pants on, specifically dress shoes.
I will attempt to keep the transitional content in the house to a minimum specifically cut out the “Risky Business” move making the transition from clothed to naked as hidden as possible and I suggest you do the same.

The Meat Between the Buns; A Story About Pure Ecstasy

I have finally settled in back to my normal routine after engorging my sexual deviance over two weeks ago with a little something I like to call the ‘meat between the buns’. If you are faint at heart or thought, like me, that the movie was actually called Puss in Boobs and locked your doors when you heard a million children saw it opening night you might want to turn off your computer, this is about to get nasty. Please note that the names of many involved have been changed to protect the innocent and deter the sexually inexperienced.
When I informed a close friend of mine, we will call her Limberly, of my intentions there were some immediate and unpleasant reactions. Our relationship had been through a lot, but it seemed what I was suggesting we do was simply more than we could handle. Take into account the number of absolute strangers that needed to be involved and the risk of catching something weighed heavy on both of us. What I needed was someway of showing Limberly that what I wanted to do was not only safe, but something that millions of Americans enjoyed at isolated times during the year and we were quickly coming upon the ‘season’. I reached for my computer and to the internet and based on what we found her fears were not unwarranted. The videos we graphic. What if I couldn’t go back to the way it was ‘before the meat’? What if I had a bad reaction and needed to spend hours on the toilet? What if I became addicted? As much as I love Limberly I was willing to take many of these risks in hopes of obtaining that moment of pure bliss. Sure I pictured my addicted body cowering in an alley with everything lost, all alone covered in sweat longing for one last hit. I had to be strong.
So on that fateful day Limberly gently let me slide to the dark side giving me a personal moment to enjoy the journey that lay ahead. It was everything I could have expected and more. A sweet aroma punctured the air driving out the surrounding noise as a succulent and salty taste danced across my tongue. It was ecstasy.
Today, days later the moment is as fresh in my mind as the day my lips embraced the sinful delight that can only be know to two people that have experienced this much together. Would I do it again? In a heart beat. What would I change? I say the more the merrier. Do I feel like a gallant warrior returning from the battlefield soaked in victory? No doubt. Would I recommend this to my friends? I think the simplest response…Try the McRibb for yourself and tell me you don’t feel the same way.