Fucking
Canada, man. If it weren't for the fact that my only lady friend lived
there I'd never even bother. Then I wouldn't have to go through the mess
I do each time I want to cross the border. Regular people probably get a
wave on through after being handed a complimentary bearclaw. Me being a
freak and all though means I get dogs sniffing my balls because they
think we're related and fat women with latex fingers probing the outer
regions of my ass. Sometimes they let their fingers slip and go beyond
the fringes of the rim. Just seems to depend on how sloppy and desperate
the volunteer reach 'rounders that offer up their fondling dibs for any
given night turn out to be.
I live in Detroit. It's the shits. I think the female population that would consort with the likes of me must all be infected with AIDS. Canada is much more hospitable. I just despise what I have to go through sometimes for a little affection. I'm not exactly the most attractive male ticket in the slums I call home sweet Hell. This on account of that freak thing I got going on. Such are the spoils of inbreeding. Ma and pa being brother and sister growing up in the same sweatbox of a bedroom somewhere South of Heavenly in a dwarf trailer made for some interesting bedtime manner. Next thing you know they developed a thing for each other and even though they was always warned about the dangers of flipper babies in them training films one touch lead to another and then all them touches became too pleasing to ignore and before they knew it they had me. I was a damn unsavory excuse for a child, let me tell you.
I've often been referred to as "horn dog" on account of I got horns growing from my noggin and more hair on me than an Alaskan malamute. I have been called ugly as sin. Sin don't usually win no trophies either. Had there been a trophy though I would have gladly taken it. Guys that win trophies seem to get laid an awful lot. But me? No prize, no pies. Hence the drive on I-75 so as then I find myself shat over the border into Ontario and meet up with a girl that just wants to be called Lacey. Our dates fall on a week night typically due to traffic reflux. Obvious setback though is more time being hugged up and down and the feel up process tends to make me late sometimes as a result of the more eager types.
If I wasn't so picky I'd be relishing the fact that I always got a free coconut juggle instead of the bearclaw. They're pigs though. Always. Even a freak like me has standards. That is why I have to pay for it and let me tell you if you saw my investment walking towards you in a pair of red garters and a firemans hat you'd slap yourself silly trying to reach around and grab your wallet out of your pants because she is worth every cent in every sense. Oh, and about the firemans hat .... I got standards and preferences. Who doesn't?
I got poked and pawed pretty heartily tonight. This one was ready to play and never seemed to mind the fact she had a steaming hot and filled cup named Joe waving in mists of freshness to her from inside the office and a bearclaw that looked so damn appetizing I thought of sneaking to the can so I could swipe it off her desk. You thought I was kidding about the bearclaw I would imagine. Hardly. As I posed spread eagle against the glass with her fingertips just inches from my insides I saw the pastry on her desk with my own eyes. Sometimes they even stick one hand in my crack with the bearclaw in the other hand. Lacey has told me I have crumbs in my shorts and glaze on my ass hairs quite a few times. She licks it all clean though for a little extra. What a goddess.
With them hands rubbing over my back stuff I got to thinking about Lacey and am not entirely ashamed to admit that I found myself becoming aroused. The pig tonight was one of the cuter ones. If you have ever set foot in a barnyard and really looked some of those pigs in the eyes after they come rolling out of a GREAT BIG MUD PUDDLE they almost seem so serene that it's kind of cute. It was like that. She asked me if I had anything to declare and I damn near told her that I wanted to smear my beef stick all over that pastry of hers and give her some clawhammer while glazing her with some high fructose corn flavored jiz syrup. I have no doubt she would have obliged. It was getting later than late though and I didn't want to keep Lacey waiting any longer than I already had.
My will to get going would sychronize with my eagerness to be strapped in a chair and have a woman dressed as a judge bang a gavel on my sac. My preferences had long since passed any intention of being simple. I began to fidget but then I felt her hooves exiting my anal cavity and she cleared her throat. Before I could turn around she started gushing like a river of pork pus.
"You know, I have been watching you come through here for a few weeks now-"
She started slurping and laughing and then just stood there staring at me with a post shit eating grin due to her teeth being brown. It was about that time her cuteness faded into the night right alongside of my once hard-on.
Her laughing and slurping continued in lieu of words being spoken and had I not been strongly against animal abuse I would have punched her in the shitty teeth. Still, I was becoming vastly annoyed.
"Can I leave now?" I asked.
She seemed to be deflated only in her expression as her bulges remained pulsating outward. I almost felt bad for a second. Almost. Then I realized that I was starting to feel dizzy from my yogurt being backed up. This was not cool as I still had some driving to do. Lacey would have to wait. It was time to visit the barnyard and do a little swine canoodling. Standards be damned. Horn dog had a date with Bertha the border pig. It was a slow night at the border but if I worked it real fast I would make it to sex court within the hour. I might even grab me that bearclaw off her desk on my way out. Glaze up the old ass hairs. I think I'm developing an addiction to those things.
*****This was part of another old writing challenge. Not sure of the date. Original post was sometime in 2012.*****
I live in Detroit. It's the shits. I think the female population that would consort with the likes of me must all be infected with AIDS. Canada is much more hospitable. I just despise what I have to go through sometimes for a little affection. I'm not exactly the most attractive male ticket in the slums I call home sweet Hell. This on account of that freak thing I got going on. Such are the spoils of inbreeding. Ma and pa being brother and sister growing up in the same sweatbox of a bedroom somewhere South of Heavenly in a dwarf trailer made for some interesting bedtime manner. Next thing you know they developed a thing for each other and even though they was always warned about the dangers of flipper babies in them training films one touch lead to another and then all them touches became too pleasing to ignore and before they knew it they had me. I was a damn unsavory excuse for a child, let me tell you.
I've often been referred to as "horn dog" on account of I got horns growing from my noggin and more hair on me than an Alaskan malamute. I have been called ugly as sin. Sin don't usually win no trophies either. Had there been a trophy though I would have gladly taken it. Guys that win trophies seem to get laid an awful lot. But me? No prize, no pies. Hence the drive on I-75 so as then I find myself shat over the border into Ontario and meet up with a girl that just wants to be called Lacey. Our dates fall on a week night typically due to traffic reflux. Obvious setback though is more time being hugged up and down and the feel up process tends to make me late sometimes as a result of the more eager types.
If I wasn't so picky I'd be relishing the fact that I always got a free coconut juggle instead of the bearclaw. They're pigs though. Always. Even a freak like me has standards. That is why I have to pay for it and let me tell you if you saw my investment walking towards you in a pair of red garters and a firemans hat you'd slap yourself silly trying to reach around and grab your wallet out of your pants because she is worth every cent in every sense. Oh, and about the firemans hat .... I got standards and preferences. Who doesn't?
I got poked and pawed pretty heartily tonight. This one was ready to play and never seemed to mind the fact she had a steaming hot and filled cup named Joe waving in mists of freshness to her from inside the office and a bearclaw that looked so damn appetizing I thought of sneaking to the can so I could swipe it off her desk. You thought I was kidding about the bearclaw I would imagine. Hardly. As I posed spread eagle against the glass with her fingertips just inches from my insides I saw the pastry on her desk with my own eyes. Sometimes they even stick one hand in my crack with the bearclaw in the other hand. Lacey has told me I have crumbs in my shorts and glaze on my ass hairs quite a few times. She licks it all clean though for a little extra. What a goddess.
With them hands rubbing over my back stuff I got to thinking about Lacey and am not entirely ashamed to admit that I found myself becoming aroused. The pig tonight was one of the cuter ones. If you have ever set foot in a barnyard and really looked some of those pigs in the eyes after they come rolling out of a GREAT BIG MUD PUDDLE they almost seem so serene that it's kind of cute. It was like that. She asked me if I had anything to declare and I damn near told her that I wanted to smear my beef stick all over that pastry of hers and give her some clawhammer while glazing her with some high fructose corn flavored jiz syrup. I have no doubt she would have obliged. It was getting later than late though and I didn't want to keep Lacey waiting any longer than I already had.
My will to get going would sychronize with my eagerness to be strapped in a chair and have a woman dressed as a judge bang a gavel on my sac. My preferences had long since passed any intention of being simple. I began to fidget but then I felt her hooves exiting my anal cavity and she cleared her throat. Before I could turn around she started gushing like a river of pork pus.
"You know, I have been watching you come through here for a few weeks now-"
She started slurping and laughing and then just stood there staring at me with a post shit eating grin due to her teeth being brown. It was about that time her cuteness faded into the night right alongside of my once hard-on.
Her laughing and slurping continued in lieu of words being spoken and had I not been strongly against animal abuse I would have punched her in the shitty teeth. Still, I was becoming vastly annoyed.
"Can I leave now?" I asked.
She seemed to be deflated only in her expression as her bulges remained pulsating outward. I almost felt bad for a second. Almost. Then I realized that I was starting to feel dizzy from my yogurt being backed up. This was not cool as I still had some driving to do. Lacey would have to wait. It was time to visit the barnyard and do a little swine canoodling. Standards be damned. Horn dog had a date with Bertha the border pig. It was a slow night at the border but if I worked it real fast I would make it to sex court within the hour. I might even grab me that bearclaw off her desk on my way out. Glaze up the old ass hairs. I think I'm developing an addiction to those things.
*****This was part of another old writing challenge. Not sure of the date. Original post was sometime in 2012.*****
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