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It wasn’t wise.   Late night lights in the business precinct, in the front office with no blinds.   But what a way to parade your conquest, right? – sweeping off your ceo desk sign and paperwork, putting the work space to a more – primal use.   She claws at your clothes and bites at your beard, and you reach up and rip out the neat elastic that keeps your old blonde rocker hair back in corporate gentility, and let the mane loose.   Shaggy is, of course, a practical adjective here, and there are mews of pleasure, and snarls of desire, and roars of triumph.   King of the company, man: coolest cat on the block.

When the heat dies down, the cougar gathers up her clothes and waves a skittish kitten paw at the door, and you and your virility are reassured that it only takes you to screw in a lightbulb, the sun does indeed shine out your ass, and getting some tail means you’re only to happy to stay in this kind of – rut.   Hakuna matata.

Shame there are scarier predators in the suburban savanna than you, my friend.   Waiting just now, in the dark of the underground carpark, behind your imitation Jaguar, for example.

It’s a jungle out there.

 

SIXTH SIGN…

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3 Comments

  1. oh you are on a roll my friend! great writing, loving these posts!!

  2. I’m sure the kind of hicky you gave him was not the kind that he had in mind.

    Very descriptive writing (insert applause)


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