Today I want to write about dicks. Or cocks or penises or whatever you want to call them. I've had my share of good sex and know a lovely penis when I see one. I've seen bents ones, long ones, thick ones, short ones, fat ones, swords, poles and pathetic softies that no amount of sucking can wake from the dead.
My ex had a nice cock. Too bad he shared it after we were married. It was long and lean and I loved giving it a throaty test drive before the main event. He liked that too. A lot.
My most recent long term relationship, seven loving years, had a sports model cock. It was okay but not a limo, if ya know what I mean. There are advantages to having a sports model in your trousers. Ladies can do things with it they cannot do with a longer ones. It goes places that are snug and tight. It was not until after we separated that his owning a sporty, fast race car made sense. I suppose that old adage rings true. What you drive does indicate what you're lacking in other areas.
Now to Blake.
I could cry writing this.
See how close I am? I was on the edge of the stage at the Temecula Valley Balloon and Wine Festival when Blake Shelton was singing and playing. I saw everything, up close and personal. He shook my hand, pointed at me, smiled, sang awesome, rocked, played guitar, posed and the show was everything I had hoped it would be.
Then why I am ready to cry? I'll tell ya why. Blake Shelton's crotch was flatter than a Ken Doll.
He is six four or five, maybe 190lb. His inseam has got to be 36 inches. For goodness sakes, I was hoping for a small thrill, a bump where his package should be. It was absent. He must wear the tightest whities in the history of BVDs.
I think I should start a petition for him to pose naked so we can be sure we don't want to go loving on nobody but him.
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