in or out of my clothes, i feel sexy
When people ask me what I do all day, the answer is always the same: "I feel sexy." From the moment my pet rooster cock-a-doodle-dos at sunrise until late at night when I don my nightshirt and beauty mask, I bask in the fulsome stench of my rawbone sexuality. I sniff my armpits and mutter aloud, "Hoo-wee! I smell a sexy, sexy man!" I look down at my wondrous peeny-ween and think to myself, "Not only is that a sex organ, it's a sexy, sexy, SEXY organ!" I've placed mirrors in every room with which to arouse myself. I snap endless photos of me and my body parts, e-mail them to myself, then jack myself raw while ogling the results.
I hate to wear clothes, but sometimes the pressures of our Victorian society demand it. Yet even then, my smoothly shaven testicles nudge up against my boxer briefs, and I'm turned on all over again. I could wear an astronaut outfit, and still my irresistible pheromones would pierce the vacuum-sealed armor and waft through the air like dandelion petals, delighting everyone they greet with the warm sensuality which I fortunately enjoy with every living breath.
Before you scoff, please note that I did not always feel sexy. But now that I do, I will never let you forget it.
