Running Woman Makes Blogger Breaks Vow

English: Running woman Nederlands: Hardlopende...

English: Running woman Nederlands: Hardlopende vrouw (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dear readers, I have a problem. You see, I have this habit of double glancing everytime I see a beautiful woman.  It doesn’t help that I think women are God’s most beautiful creation, bar none. If a woman walks past me in yoga pants, lululemon or tight jeans, I can’t help but look back to see if she looks as good leaving as she did coming. Nothing sexual or lustful, just pure admiration for the fairer sex and the presentation. I am happily married and think my wife is the cat’s meow so I guess it’s more like admiring your neighbor’s expensive red jaguar. Not wanting the expense but thinking it’s still a beauty to admire. So now you get where I’m coming from?  Don’t want you to start judging me, calling me a playa and all that, because I swear, that’s not how it is at all.  Don’t judge be because of that last post. Here.

But anyways, I am not writing this blog to confess my bad habit to you, no sir/ma’am.  The reason I’m blogging is actually to tell you what happened on Saturday morning.  My 8-year-old has soccer practice on Saturday mornings and instead of taking turns driving him, I told the wifey that I would do the honors. I am more of the morning person and enjoy the alone-time, drinking my coffee while I wait for him.  Going to MacDonald’s for breakfast after is a good deal maker too.  So anyways, while standing on the side of the field, I caught myself double looking at a female coach who was coaching some 5-6-year olds. Yes, she was wearing lululemons. Or were they yoga pants? I was mad at myself and made a mental vow that starting immediately, I would not give any woman the double-look again.  I vowed to be strong. I had to stop before it got out of hand, right? So yep, no more checking out the grass on the other side. Done!

While enjoying my new-found emancipation from this binding addiction, movement on my periphery caught my attention.  I turned my head and saw it was just a blonde young woman, dressed in lululemon pants, or were they yoga? and matching top, out for a run.  Her pony-tailed hair swooped from side to side like a horse’s. (Oh, that’s why they call them pony tail! Aha moment!).

Kinda like her

 

Vow forgotten, tossed to the wind like torn up paper, I double glanced.  Yup, I did.  It was the hair, I swear!  She probably used it to put weak men with vows in trances. Mesmerize us.  Had to be. as here I was, double, triple, quadruple glancing, waiting for her to go by to see if she had the correct running form. She did! He hips, shoulders and entire body was a mass of rhythm. I was proud of her. Like a running coach admiring his star athlete.

Ok, nothing is as beautiful as a woman and nothing is as graceful as a human running.  See where I’m going with this? So yup, I broke my vow before it was even cooled from exiting the warmth confines of my thought. I disgraced the school of thought.

Honey, let’s go running.  Better yet, you go running around the block while I watch.  Yes, around the bed is fine too…

 

Check this out:

https://funnysideupandscrambled.wordpress.com/2015/05/18/its-all-about-the-sunscreen-honestly/

Monday Madness: Keep Your Head To Yourselfie.

The dreaded school head lice letter

The dreaded school head lice letter (Photo credit: ChezMummy)

 

Do you or someone you know take selfies?  Do you or someone you know have head lice?  How about this, are you a regular selfie taker who happen to also have head lice?  Maybe it’s not such a coincidence as you may thing.  It turns out that the two are connected.  How? Don’t ask silly questions. It’s plain as day. Let’s put our heads together on this one.  Oh actually, let’s not.

 

I read somewhere, probably here, that head lice is prevalent among selfie-taking taking teen girls.  This is due to girls putting their heads together when taking a photo of themselves.  No idea on how the other person got the lice in the first place but with my dirty mind, I’m thinking that perhaps their partner had pubic lice and…nevermind. Too much information.

 

Closer guys.

Closer guys.

 

So next time you decide to take a selfie with your bffs, make sure you know where your head is at all time and keep it to yourself.

 

 

 

 

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My Most Embarrassing, Agonizing and Violating Experience. Ever

Warning:  Blog contains graphic detail of catheter inserted in penis and the odd sexual innuendo.

Today I had the worst experience of my life in terms of pain and discomfort.  I made the mistake of complaining to my doctor about some issues I was having about two months ago with my bladder.  After sending me to see a urologist, I was booked for a Urodynamic Assessment.  Don’t know what that is? You will by the time you are through reading this blog.

I had an idea what I was in for as I read up a bit on it.  I knew something was going to be inserted into my urethra.  I also knew it would cause some pain, but nothing prepared me for what was in store.  Nothing could.

When I checked in, I was sent to a change room to don a robe and gown, much to my dismay.  I always feel a little less of a man when wearing that dreaded gown.  Plus, I had nothing on underneath!  I was sent to sit with a bunch of old timers dressed like I was.  They were all hooked up to IV’s and I suspected were there to have various ‘old timers’ procedures.  There were two women among them and the thought that they too were naked underneath the flimsy cloth made me feel just a bit uncomfortable.

Remember I blogged a while back that I have this fear of having erections at the wrong places, like massage tables etc.?  Here.  Well as I sat crossed-leg, I thought, “What if I get a hard-on and then they come to get me?”  The thought terrified me so much that I was determined not to let that happen.  I started to think of nonsexual things. Like the old timers sitting with me.

I was supposed to report for my procedure with a full bladder and by the time the nurse came to get me, I could barely stand.  I wanted to go! Bad!  She called my name and asked how I was doing and I replied, “I really really want to pee!”

In the room, I sat in visible distress as she went over what was to take place.  She placed a long plastic object on the table and informed me that it was to be used as the probing object.  It would be inserted into the tiny hole in my pee pee and all the way into my bladder.  The thought alone made me ill.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, this young female nurse was the one who was going to administer my torture!  She sent me to lie on the bed while she prepared the tools of her trade.  Lying there, we talked about our lives, The Voice, family, etc.  I was getting rather comfortable with her.  So comfortable that again I thought, “What if I get a hard-on right here?  How embarrassing would that be?”  So I bit my fingers to distract myself.  Then thought of what lay ahead.

Then she was hovering over me, lifting up my robe and gown exposing my privates.  Thanks darling, I needed that. Then she showed me a small pack of antiseptic wipes.  Or was it gel? Not sure.  “I am going to wipe you with this, ok?”  I nodded.  I had no choice as I was at her mercy.

She took hold of my member and gently wiped it.  Then again.  As she wiped the underside where the nerves were, I instantly felt myself reacting to it.  (Come on! I am human! Don’t go judging me!) Oh gosh no! Seriously?  Kill me now!  Please nurse, stop wiping and get on with it!  This was bad.  Down boy! Down! This is the absolutely worst time!

The nurse must have felt the sudden change too because all of a sudden the wipe was out of her hand and replaced by the catheter, like a magician.  And just like a magician, it was suddenly being pushed into my urethra! OH. MY. GOD!

index

I knew it was going to be bad but had no clue what bad was.  It felt like a scaly garter snake slithering up my penis!  While she urged me to breathe in and exhale through my mouth, I thrashed and writhed and clenched my fists.  Then I groaned then half screamed. I was in agony.  Distress. Traumatized. Violated.  And I was dying.  I wanted to stop her.  Call it off.  Anything to make her/it go away. I also wanted to kill her and her entire family.  Whatever it took to make this stop.  I hated her!

After what seemed like an eternity in hell, it was all in.  I whimpered inside like a wounded animal.  The violation was not over.  She then inserted another object into my anus as part of the test.  So I was DP’d.  Wow!  Could you say EMBARRASSED?

When it was all done, I told her that it was officially the worst experience of my life.  I have an excellent pain threshold but this was not pain.  This was something else.

Against my better judgement, I went back to work and shared my story.  Well it made me the butt of jokes for the day.  Oh and no pun intended.

 

 

 

 

What’s Your Excuse, Big Boy?

feb06a8d-e7ad-495d-8841-d859157ac54f_What-s-Your-ExcuseWomen are mad! No no, I don’t mean you women/chicks/ladies are nuts.  That’s a whole different blog.  I am talking about women being mad over the photo posted on Facebook by a hot mother of three.  She had the nerve to post a hot pic of herself looking sexy as hell, with the caption, ‘What’s your excuse’.  I am not sure what she meant by that but I couldn’t think of one excuse for ogling her photo. Not even having a wife and kids was a good enough excuse.

Ok, I know she wasn’t talking to me.  She probably wasn’t talking to you too but some saw it as an attempt to belittle, pardon the pun, fat people.  I don’t see it that way.  Jeez, Jillian Michaels and all the other slave driver excuses for trainers say the same thing all the time and no one takes exceptions.  Don’t believe me? Watch Biggest Losers.  Heck, they are even calling fat people losers!!! Somebody better organize a protest. Do it now while I go peruse Maria Kang’s Facebook page.

Back to Ms. Hottie. So she’s posing in a nice workout bra complemented by matching micro shorts. Her rock hard abs are to die for as are her arms.  To some, she might be regarded as a MILF. (not to me, I’m married with kids).

If you are one of those who took exceptions to this photo and feel that it was a personal barb at you, don’t be.  As a matter of fact, what’s your excuse?

Friday Folly: The Erection Goes, I Go!

imagesMen, if you have a hard on lasting more than 24 hours, see a doctor.  If it’s the result of a botched penile surgery, sue immediately!  If it lasts 8 months, then you are just an idiot, an opportunist, or have a wife that decided to take advantage of your situation.  In this case, I think it’s the latter.  In some cases, if you have an erection that lasts more than a few hours, DON’T TELL YOUR WIFE OR GIRLFRIEND.  That’s like telling me you hid a pepperoni pan pizza somewhere in the house. I gotta get it! Or like telling a woman you have chocolate balls and a diamond dick.

It’s too bad that I did not warn the trucker from Newark who had a penile implant surgery done on him.  He is now suing the doctor that did the implant because his scrotum swelled up to the size of a basketball after 4 months and he had an erection that lasted 8 months.  Could you imagine? No, not you women.  You can’t imagine what’s it like to walk around with a loaded and aimed gun.  No wonder the wife took advantage.  She probably told him, “Don’t point that thing at me unless you plan on using it.”

So, the point of contention by the defendant’s lawyer is why didn’t this man come back after his balls became, well a big ball?  He couldn’t! He was threatened by his wife!  Here’s the guy with a blessing and a curse at the same time.  He could please his wife whenever she wants and for that, who cares about a little swelling in the sack area?

“Lose the erection and lose me, you selfish jerk!  You can finally satisfy my needs and you come up with this lame excuse?  Well, the erection goes, I go!”  That was probably her response when her poor swollen-balls husband mentioned that he wanted to get the surgery reversed.  The fact that she could now have sex and play a game of volleyball without leaving the bedroom couldn’t hurt either. So yes, she busted his balls over it.

Luckily for the guy, women are easily bored and after 8 months, she grew tired of seeing her husband as a prick.  She was probably not exactly the sports type either so playing volleyball quickly bored the heck out of her.  So one day she said to him,  “Honey, I’m not sure how to say this but I think your balls are swollen.  They are BIG! And I mean BIG!  You should go back and see that doctor who gave you the surgery.  You might want to see if he could do something for that permanent erection too.  It’s a pain in the ass.”

For 8 months, the guy couldn’t take his kid to school for fear of arousing suspicions and being labeled a pedophile.  Couldn’t stand in lines or get a massage, couldn’t go to the beach, couldn’t lie on his stomach…Heck, the guy couldn’t enjoy his kid playing on his lap!

And that’s when the trucker decided it was time to go see his lawyer.

Man, I would so switch with you!

Man, I would so switch with you!

Weird And Random Thoughts On A Lunch Stroll

imagesI started walking on my lunch breaks to get away from my desk and get some much-needed exercise.  It is going great! Kinda lonely, but I have my thoughts to keep me company.  I found that some of these thoughts were strange, weird, random and on the crazy side.   Here are yesterday’s thoughts from my stroll…

Great day for walking.  I will do about an hour today.  Should I put my cell in my pocket or hold it in my hand?  Ok, pocket it is.  Nah, hand is better.  Looks cooler.  Car keys in other hand.  Now we are good to go. Hey!  That blonde just checked me out!  And another! And another!  I must look not-too-bad.  Shit! Did I remember to suck my gut in and square my shoulders?  Can’t remember.  Look at the legs/ass on that girl in the shorts…oh nevermind, just some teenie girl trying to look older than she is.  What’s with these young girls today?  Should I turn here? No, go on a bit more. It’s still early into the walk.  Here is perfect!  Where the heck am I?  Holy shit! I walked far! I still have to get back to my car. Uh huh…I want to go poo pee bad!

I have been walking behind this lady now for the last 20 minutes.  I hope she doesn’t think I’m following her.  I am dressed for styling/work, not walking.  I must look idiotic.  Oh swing those arms! Look like you are walking! You are passing by a school!  You don’t want to be mistaken for a pervert.  Let them know you are just getting your exercise in.  What’s this world coming to anyways?  A grown man can’t casually stroll by a school without feeling self-conscious?  Ok, I am done with this walking.

Why is that woman sitting on the grass?  Why is that girl lying on the grass? Reading or texting?  Must be texting, young people don’t read anymore.  I seriously want to pee but I just need to get back to my car and get to work. I can pee there.  I should pee behind that tree but with my luck, that blogger chick who blogged about seeing too many penises would see mine and blog about it.  I.am.seriously.done.

How come I’m the only idiot walking anyways?  So many people yet I’m the only exerciser? Nice bike in that yard. I wonder what they would do if I just took it and ride away…Ok, where the hell is my car?  It’s almost an hour! I always do this crap.  Go walking and forget that I have to walk back.  Oh, there it is, just a block away…finally! Now to go back to work and blog about it.

 

It’s Just A Sperm Sample, Officer.

imagesTo me, one of the most degrading moments in my experiences with doctors has to be the time when I had to take a sperm sample.  It trumped walking down hospital halls with my rear end exposed in those less-than flattering robes with the split down the backside.  Or the front, depending on how you wear it. Trumps being fondled while I turn to the side and coughed.  Even trumped getting a suddenly gigantic-seeming Q-tip inserted into my suddenly too-small urethra opening in my penis.  Yes.  It was downright degrading and embarrassing.

It all started when I had my Vasectomy.  As a follow-up to make sure that no swimmers were making it pass the dam, I had to take a sperm sample for testing.  That in itself is not that bad.  After all what’s one more masturbation, right?  What was bad was that I had to do it while at work and it had to be in the winter.

There was a window of time that I had to get the sample to the lab by or else it would be worthless.  (Hence the ‘at work’).  So there I was in my workplace washroom trying to conjure up dirty thoughts but all I could think of was the people just outside the bathroom door.  I work in a construction business, not hot girls here.  I thought to myself,  If they only knew what I’m doing right now...The sound of their voices did nothing to enhance the mood.

Finally, after much coaxing, I was able to procure the reluctant visitor and held him for questioning.  I placed it under my shirt and close to my body to maintain body temperature and hurried to my car.  As I drove to the lab, I was hoping that I would find a close parking, I wouldn’t fall and I wouldn’t be pulled over.  Thankfully, none of those happened.

At the counter, it was awkward opening my jacket like a street peddler and extracting my ware.  I read the woman’s face as she took it from me.  Hmmm….so, where and how did you get this?  What dirty thoughts ran through your mind?  Did you use a magazine?  Did you think of Jennifer Aniston nude?   As she took it, I felt a bit sorry and apologetic for her, not sure why.

Maybe I’m a prude after all.  I am not a new-cummer or as they say, a Johnny Cum-Lately but that ordeal left me with a bad taste in my mouth.  Pardon the comparison. I didn’t relish being forced to play with myself to orgasm.  I felt raped but by my own hands.

Scent Of A Woman

Fasten your seatbelts folks, this ain’t no movie review.  To some, it might get downright disgusting.  So stop now if you are easily disgusted, especially by smelly parts.  Today, we are going to talk a bit about women and their smell.  Well to be more accurate, the smell of their womanhood.  Or ladyhood. Whatever.

I am not taking sole responsibility for waking up this topic.  No ma’am.  It wasn’t me.  I was minding my own business reading about the Boston bombing on the puter when I absent-mindedly clicked on a link that took me to a topic that read. ‘The answer to every woman’s question:  What is it supposed to smell like down there.’

Now before you ask, “Why were you reading it, you are not a woman.”  I know I am not a woman and don’t have a ‘down there’ but as I ‘eat’ down there, I figured that I should at least be interested in what and where I eat. (Sorry about the ‘eat’ thing.  I assumed we are all adults here).  So I basically wanted to find out what exactly my food should smell like so I dove right in.  No use beating around the bush.  (Again, I am sorry if I come off crude).

What did I learn?  I learned that Vaginas are not supposed to smell like roses.  But also not supposed to smell like rotten fish either.  Somewhere in between is where is should be.  So a rose with a faint fish smell should be ok. Or even a fish with a rosie smell is fine too.

Interestingly, there was a paragraph on how a woman can tell if she has an odor.  I was expecting it to be, ‘If your man refuses to put his lips close to your rose petals, even though you have a mistletoe hanging in front of it, you might have an odor problem’.  Or even, “If your man puts on a gas mask before he ventures down under, do a smell test.”

Women, did you know that you could and should measure your vagina’s ph level?  I didn’t either.  I wonder what color it turns the ph paper? Some overly eager guys have used their penis as a ph paper and test many a foul-smelling vagina and from what I have heard, it turns them red.  Don’t hate.  I said ‘so I heard.’

I will leave you girls to go read it yourself.  You might learn something.  Me, I am going to eat.  Food silly!

And hey, if you have a strong odor, don’t be too worried. Just leave it.  It makes it easier for the dogs to find you if you ever get lost in the woods.  See?  It’s not all doom and gloom.

Momma Said Keep Your Legs Closed Except For Maybe A Little Gap…

The much-coveted thigh gap

The much-coveted thigh gap

It is often said some girls are so tight that you have to pry their legs open with a crow bar.  Luckily for those men without crow bars or the strength to open up their women’s legs like oysters, women are simplifying things.  Men, say hello to the Thigh Gap! The latest trend among women and especially teen girls.

Girls whose thighs were once so close that they looked like mermaids, are now showing off thighs that are so far apart, you’d think they had a fight the night before.  You can see daylight through their legs now.  Easier access to the pearl.

On the serious side, our teenage daughters are starving themselves to acquire this ‘hot’ look!  Skinnier thighs equals thigh gaps.  An unhealthy practice to say the least.

I was never a fan of gap-toothed grin but a gap-thighed look? I dunno.  I have always been drawn to peep holes.  A thigh gap might be one of the best thing a wife could do for her husband also.  “Honey, you can stand in front of me if you want. I see the tv through your legs. It’s quite ok.”

So, do you have a thigh gap? Can I see forever through your thighs?  Is it naturally made or self-engineered?

An example where the before beats the after.

An example where the before beats the after.

I am not fat but my thighs sometimes rub together when I run.  This bothers me as it is a wee bit uncomfortable and stings.   Also, my ‘third thigh’ has to compete for space with two bigger and tougher muscle heads.  With a thigh gap, at least the little guy has some room to swing.  Yep, I think I need a thigh gap.

I’ll leave you with a little joke I heard way back.  At a young woman’s funeral, a man was overheard saying, “Finally they are both together.”  The person close to him asked, “Oh, her husband is dead?”  “No”, was the response, “I was talking about her legs.”

Accidental Porn

Deutsch: High-Key-Aktfoto

Deutsch: High-Key-Aktfoto (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This morning, I read one of the most interesting blogs I have read in a while.  It was from my new-best-blogger-friend Katie from sassandbalderdash.com.  (Keep this between us as she doesn’t know this yet).  Her post was about accidental catching a glimpse of another female’s posterior while in her gym’s locker room.  It was aptly called Accidental Ass Gazing.

From the topic and after the first paragraph, I was fully expecting to read about Katie’s eyes accidentally finding rest on a man’s behind.  I was pleasantly surprised and happy that it wasn’t.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that…but I wasn’t in the mood.

I am a self-confessed ass-man.  I love butts.  Female butts.  I worship butts.  I love them so much that I would gladly point out a guy with a great butt to my wife and she would do the same.  If my wife were to catch a glimpse of a perfectly shaped posterior, she would come home with, “I saw the best ass at the gym today.  You would have loved it.” And she would be right.  I would have loved it indeed.  It has nothing to do with sex although it does help something to do with sex.  I like nice butts and I cannot lie.

Anyways, Accidental Ass Gazing was so well written with vivid descriptions of a perfect ass, girl slowly stripping…that I felt a stirring in my loins.  Sorry Katie, it’s not you.  I just wanted to pee, that’s all. Unlike some of the other guys who commented and told Katie that it sounded like it could very well have been the intro to a lesbian porn.  I didn’t think so at all.  Other than the stirring, I didn’t for one second harbor any sexual thoughts. Seriously!  Even when she wrote, “So I stripped to my tank top, and then I started to unbutton my pants…” I hardly reacted.  Hardly. My pulse didn’t quicken in eager anticipation and my breathing remained even.  I even read it a few times over to make sure.  Nope.   Nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Cold as a dead herring.

Katie seemed a bit rebuffed by the insinuations that her innocent gym blog was soft pornish in nature.  She said it was an insult as she could done a better job if she had intended it to be.  Still waiting Katie…how about ’50 shades of something’?