I’m tired of it. Totally caboodled and tired of it. What really yanks my nose hairs, is when I go to the grocery store and as soon as I get out of my car I start to get the “stares!” Hungry, wanting looks. Some women stare at me as if they just got off a prison bus. I feel like a piece of select tenderloin just waiting for some female to tenderize and stir-fry to ecstasy. I wish I knew how some of my macho-mates on thoughts handle it. I know Mike, Steve Hayes, Neighsayer, Tim, Toby, and the mysterious Hollowman all suffer the same public inquisition I must constantly endure of being visually stripped naked by so many lusting eyes. Eyes that follow my every movement with a perverted fixation on the gyration of my buttocks and the bulges of my nether region....I’m sickened to even discuss it.
Then I have to shop and pray that I don’t have to bend over, else a dozen iPhones will instantly start clicking trophy pics of my manly butt cleavage! The friggin humiliation of it all!! Then the long, agonizing wait as I stand in the checkout lane. Behind me I can hear the hoarse whispers of half a dozen panting breaths as they all compare their sick fantasies about me. Finally, I purchase my Depends and Bengay and leave this Sodom and Gomorra of retail and head to the sanctuary of my car. Eyes still follow me like lusting vultures. Finally, on the road, I feel safe until I stop at a red-light and a she-person pulls up next to me. I avoid her stare as I know she is most likely licking her lips like an angry lizard and stretching her neck like an ostrich in heat! The light turns green and I’m gone! Moments later I pull into my driveway and once I’m sure the school teacher dominatrix next door is not peeking out her tinted window, I make a dash for my front door.
I’m home and finally safe. Now, I go about doing retiree stuff until about 4 o’clock, when I start dinner. When it’s close to time for Wifey to come home from work, I sadly hang my head in submission and do one final thing. I coat my body with shimmer lotion, dab on extra cologne, wear a cowboy hat and then put on a CD with a lot of drum music. Then I sit and obediently wait for the moment she surges through the door in a state of moistened anticipation. It won’t be pretty....but, a man’s got to do....what a man’s got to do.