cricket with balls

Caution: Satirical sex in blog, lock up your Mormons.

You would see Shane sitting at the bar.

He is the hottest man you have ever seen.

You make eye contact several times, but he doesn’t make any move, so you go over and tell him straight out “Now Keith Miller is dead, you are the sexiest man alive, do you want to go home with me”.

Shane has a mildly confused look on his face, but he jumps in a taxi with you, you try to kiss him on the way home, but he seems uncomfortable in his new environment.

Once home, you push him straight into your bedroom and strip him naked.

Just for a moment you stop and admire his amazingly toned physique.

You have never seen a fella this perfect.

But as you go to touch him something happens that you can’t explain, he does a Pele.

You are the pinnacle of womanly goodness, and most other men aspire to please you, but Shane wont salute.

He goes away that night, and you think, he is perfection, I am sure of it.

I am not willing to give up that easily, I can’t have misjudged him.

Over the next few years you call him up at random times, sometimes it does it’s job, but only briefly and never quite the way you wanted.

On the phone he often talks a good game, but that never lasts under the heat of battle.

Finally you decide to cut him loose, he will forever be a perfect specimen to look at, but that is all, you cannon spend any more time flogging a dead horse.

You continue to see other men, Jimmy Hopes is the pick, he may not be perfect to look at, but what he lacks in looks he makes up for in effort.

Jimmy more than satisfies you, even if it’s not in all facets of your life, like you believe Shane could.

But Jimmy is a battler, and he has earnt your respect.

Even so, from time to time you google Shane’s name, just out of curiosity.

On the cyber grapevine (Facebook) you see that one of your friends, (who is not as hot as you, but still hot, and loose, oh so very loose), has been shagging the house down with Shane.

At first you don’t believe it, you even call her to ask if it’s true, she says he is the best man she has ever been with.

You tell her your story.

She looks confused, her story is one full of lust and satisfaction, yours full of limpness and self love.

She says “all I know is when, where and however I need him, he performs, but I must say, it’s usually only short sharp sessions, for a few hours at a time he is my superman”.

Everything in you says contact him, but you’ve been burnt so many times.

Eventually the temptation is too much, you reach for your phone and start txting “Shane it’s me, are you free tonight?”