Tuesday, April 15, 2003

Spring

My pants have been a little tighter these past few days, and not just because my waist size continues its tradition of keeping pace with my age. No, spring is most definitely here, and this young man's fancy has turned to thoughts of — well, not love, but certainly some of my baser masculine instincts and desires.

In short, I'm gripped with a feral appetite to hump just about everything in sight.

Okay, okay, more of an appetite even than usual.

But of course I have an advantage over the lower orders — dogs, musk oxen, Republicans — granted to me by millions of years of evolution. I can manage my impulses. I have self-control. My brain can triumph in a titanic struggle with my cock and keep me from rampaging through the streets in a feast of utter carnality.

Except.

Except last week after a routine physical, my doctor announced I had a minor chemical imbalance and prescribed, to correct it, a drug that has, shall we say, a catalytic effect on the libido among its side-effects.

Catalytic, my ass! (Please!) The coming of spring notwithstanding, this little tube of gel is like concupiscence cream. Rub-on rapaciousness. It does not salve an itch, it creates one. And, I'll be honest here, I've been scratching that itch like crazy.

All of the foregoing is by way of explanation. If, over the next few weeks, you attempt to engage me in conversation and I seem distracted, inconscient, unheeding, unobservant, unglued or unzipped, I apologize. There's probably a curly-headed, auburn-locked boy in shorts I've spotted nearby. Or a UPS delivery guy. Or a loser I tricked with ten years ago and hoped never to see again but, dear me, has he been to the gym I mean just look at that ass maybe I'll just go over there and tear off that D&G monstrosity and gi—

What? Oh. I'm terribly sorry.

Anyway, if that happens, feel free to shake me, smack me, tie me up and—

Sorry. Sorry!

Just remind me that St. Louis spring is a capricious season. It'll be 40 degrees by the weekend and anyway, there's a long summer to slog through and plenty of time for frolicking ahead. You may also ask me, firmly but politely, to get off your leg.