The First Cut is the Deepest
It's been a long, hot summer of sin and perspicacity. I have revelled in the pleasures of the flesh, I have travelled thousands of miles, and used gallons and gallons of lube, all without leaving the sanctity of the West Wing (i.e. Living Room). I finally took it upon myself to get rid of some of these incompletes that have been dogging me, some of them since grade school. I plowed in, or perhaps it's more appropriate to say cleaved, and have made good progress, but several weeks ago my back finally rebelled and forced me to stay away from the taxi.
This of course caused me to fall into a deeper depression than I was in the first place, since as you know I both take pride in my work (transportational and sensual) and gain a large chunk of my own sense of identity through the self-definitional process of its execution. So all of a sudden, without the usual "johns", "tricks" or "fares" telling me "Gee, Roger, that was the best I've ever had!" or "I haven't been fucked like that since grade school!" I was spiralling down.
That, and the loss of income. I'm a large man, with large appetites. And these appetites need capital to sate them. So with no capital coming in, Rog was definitely hurting. And with my back, I couldn't service the landlady to pay the rent either! What was I going to do???
This is where my friends stepped in. Cooter, Skippy, Zornig, the Cap'N and Miss Meems all volunteered to do one cab shift a week for me to pay the bills. The fact that they all needed about 10 hours of community service a week from Cooter's Tornado Party /Orgy debacle was beside the point. It was truly endearing to see them driving the cab and pleasuring the customers for money which was going straight to me. Special Props to Cooter for the strict discipline she brought to the job, and Props as well to Miss Meems who approached the hand jobs with such gusto that she sprained her wrist. Been there, done that!
The back is still out, but now that I'm getting used to the new lifestyle I don't mind it so much at all, in fact, I kind of like the sound of
Gay Roger the Pimp.
This of course caused me to fall into a deeper depression than I was in the first place, since as you know I both take pride in my work (transportational and sensual) and gain a large chunk of my own sense of identity through the self-definitional process of its execution. So all of a sudden, without the usual "johns", "tricks" or "fares" telling me "Gee, Roger, that was the best I've ever had!" or "I haven't been fucked like that since grade school!" I was spiralling down.
That, and the loss of income. I'm a large man, with large appetites. And these appetites need capital to sate them. So with no capital coming in, Rog was definitely hurting. And with my back, I couldn't service the landlady to pay the rent either! What was I going to do???
This is where my friends stepped in. Cooter, Skippy, Zornig, the Cap'N and Miss Meems all volunteered to do one cab shift a week for me to pay the bills. The fact that they all needed about 10 hours of community service a week from Cooter's Tornado Party /Orgy debacle was beside the point. It was truly endearing to see them driving the cab and pleasuring the customers for money which was going straight to me. Special Props to Cooter for the strict discipline she brought to the job, and Props as well to Miss Meems who approached the hand jobs with such gusto that she sprained her wrist. Been there, done that!
The back is still out, but now that I'm getting used to the new lifestyle I don't mind it so much at all, in fact, I kind of like the sound of
Gay Roger the Pimp.
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