Wednesday 26 March 2008
Fact of the Day: Asparagus makes your wee smell all putrid. I learned this during a quick piss between Physics and Chem when Mr Questions, the very strange kid at the urinal next door, apologised for the smell he was emitting since he’d had asparagus for dinner. He seemed a little too surprised I didn’t know this, like I didn't know my own name or something; and even more surprised when I suggested it might actually be a little TMI.
He certainly is an odd one; annoying, too. He also has a punch-me face, like some unlucky people do. He's called Mr Questions because every time any lecturer asks “are there any questions?” he fucking has one, without fail, in addition to chirping and commenting and asking questions and trying waaaaaaaay too hard to be #1 throughout the lecture anyway; not always relevant or even related to the topic at hand, either, and usually not clever and neither deliberately comedic nor genuinely stupid and thus funny otherwise. He's also short and I'm guessing has a complex about it, hence the posturing.
And he wears stupid clothes. Not cheap'n'nasty, just ill-fitting and badly chosen, like he's an elaborate joke which we haven't all caught yet. Either that, or his parents hate him enough to not tell him he looks daft and acts like a tit.
And he has stupid hair.
Someone needs a kick in the balls, hard. Still, now I know about asparagus and urine – yay, I suppose, because let’s be honest, who knows when that might be the final question on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? On the plus side, since he stood half-side on, I got a look at him and my cock is bigger, and nicer, than his. Having a nice-looking cock is important, I think, and mine is incredibly photogenic.
I have a second session booked with Ian, the spunky physiotherapist I was assigned at the Sports Clinic on Monday. He seems like he knows his stuff; although if I’m honest he’s hot enough for me not to care how good he is. Theoretically, the worse he is the more times I’d need to see him and get massaged by his very firm hands – win-win, I thought. He’s short – well, shorter than me and I’m only 6’1” – and dark like me, but he’s pretty solidly built and is a little older than me; around 26 or so, I’d guess. I tried to act casual while he went through the examination, not easy when his hands are all over me, and I managed to not spring a boner, which is good.
He’s going to do another session at lunch today and take me through some stretches and exercises for me to do on my own in the meantime. Since he’s going to be around there loosening my lower back muscles like he was on Monday, I made sure to wear my new red undies. If I’m completely honest and a little boastful, they make my bum look incredible – I’d fuck me in them, and no mistake. I might have a tiny fantasy where he’s massaging my lower back and then completely accidentally my boxers come off – no idea how; I’m pretty sure that, outside of porn, the physics of undies conveniently magically accidentally falling off while you’re lying face down on a physiotherapy table is impossible, but hey – and to spare my blushes and make me feel more comfortable he gallantly strips off too, and then for no discernible reason I say something art-house, a real non-sequitur like “I’m not sure how much I like the shade of blue on these carpets, you know” and in response he rubs his chin thoughtfully, then grabs me and we fuck like rabbits.
Not exactly Mills and Boon, I know; and about as far from respectable Anais Nin-esque erotica as a Wayans Brothers film is from an Oscar. Anyway, I’m rather looking forward to it since this is the only action I can lay claim to having had at this stage of my life… not sure why – I’m in decent shape and I’m not a complete mutt looks-wise so surely at my age, all Barely Legal and all, I am as desirable as winning the lottery?
In other news, I clearly watch too much porn. Damn you, the Internet!
-C
