Runaway Train

Just between you and me, I really hate the word horny. It lacks imagination. It suggests to me a state of hormonal overload that’s divorced from the most erotic tool that we have: our imaginations. I think of horny as a state of animal impulse that doesn’t necessarily even take pleasure in and of itself. It’s a drive that’s satisfied by emotionless physics and physiology: friction, blood flow, and the release of bodily fluids. The joy of eroticism for me is that it’s so much more than that. Still…

I’m so horny this morning! Holy shit, I’m ridiculously at the mercy of my libido. I can hardly type.

Is it the approach of Spring? Is it the cycles of the moon? Damn, I’m about absolutely nothing more than friction, blood flow and bodily fluids right now.

Before I blow a gasket, I’ll wrap this up with one final thought. Even at the mercy of my libido, I’m passionately drawn to the image of the erotic fighter. This runaway train isn’t about to stop for anything, but what seriously stokes the fire even at this moment is the muscled body poised for erotic combat. I’m always capable of taking care of these matters myself, which I will take my leave this morning to do. But tonight, my friends, I have a date with a musclehunk who has no idea that our regular grappling session is going to be supercharged.