I’m introducing this new confessional segment as a mere means of confessing some of my own quarrels. I don’t know how many of these special editions there will be. Most probably there will only be one: this one! So here it goes…
The Olympics are my porn! Is that weird?
It all started when I was 15. With a few years of experience navigating the saucy world of hormones under my belt, (which found me noticing boys with mushroom cuts and wondering how to make my boobs look bigger,) I specifically remember the day I watched my first men’s diving competition.
You’re probably thinking: WHAT is this girl talking about?
Mmmhhhmmm, well, read on, read on!
His name was Dean Pullar* and let’s just say, my eyes being the little pervy things they are, were not centred on how big of a splash he made when he hit the water.
Instead, I watched how Dean’s (yes, we quickly moved to a first name basis and have spent many nights together since then,) muscles glistened in the light as he exited the pool. I watched streams of water trickled from his neck, then down his perfectly sculpted chest and over his hardened nipples, gripping on to every ripple of his iron solid 8-pack. And finally I watched the little streams of water curve, ever so seductively, around his pelvic muscles before disappearing into the abyss of the snug little Speedo that was supposed to conceal what was only to clearly being displayed…HIS SHLONG!
“DAAAAAAMMMMMMNNNN”, I thought (yes I was as gangster then as I am now), “I like this!”
But little did I know how much I actually liked it. No one prepared me for what happened next. To my amazement, while I was sitting at home, feeling overwhelmed by an intense flush of what I can only describe as a wave of erotic heat flowing through my whole body, this new and amazing sensation I was experiencing seemingly paled in comparison to what the camera guy was feeling. Mr. Perve-Cam proceeded to track ¬¬Dean as he walked, introducing me to what would go one to become one of my most favorite things in the whole entire universe of all things tangible: the man’s ass. It was perfect, round, smooth, meaty, juicy, plump and mesmerising. It bounced with every manly step he took, teasing me, intriguing me… almost patronizing me! I wanted it, but both of us knew that I couldn’t have it.
I felt a wave of confusing emotions come over me. It was an exciting and sexy sadness. It was an exhilarating and erotic depression. It was a frustrating but beautiful sorrow. Motha fuckahs, IT WAS LUST!
And let me just say, I loved every second of it. As it entered my life, I never knew it would follow me through all stages of my life, forever.
After this fateful and momentous event, a very strange, weird and unexpected thing started to occur. I started watching sports.
Now hold on, quit trippin’! I started watching sports, but I never really knew what sport I was actually watching. In my eyes, the competition wasn’t going on between the athletes or the teams playing. The competition was between myself and the camera angles. It was about who was quicker. Would it be the camera’s switch shot, or my invasive stare?
I must say, I have won many a battle with my competitor. My victories include lusting over Alexandre Despatie, Novak Djokovic, Hugo Parisi(licious), Becks, Usain Bolt and my newest conquest: The Cocky Lochte! I’d be more than happy to show him where he could flash his grills. Though I’m thinking of a place where there may not be a lot of sun for them to shine off of. (Oh no she didn’t? Oh yes I did!)
So there you have it. Judge all you want. I don’t care. I just know one thing… I ain’t spending no $19.95 on no 50 Shades of Grey when I got Summer Olympics 2012. Holller!
*Dean Pullar…..Oh my, oh my! (That’s some DiAngelo shit right there!)