Our last vacation did me in. Well, it was a work-vacation thingy. Basically, I tried to sneak as much work into the beginning of the week as possible and then on Saturday Wifesy arrived. Between Sunday and Tuesday we tried to vacation. By Sunday we had the hang of it.
By Monday, we were in paradise. Literally. And then by Tuesday we had to leave. Honestly, I don’t think I’m back yet…in my head.
But, as our bodies drove back to the city from paradise, I said to Wifesy, “You know, I always thought guys had bigger units on average.”
“What do you mean?” asked Wifesy without a degree of concern.
“Well, you know, I’ve never seen them all lined up like that and the status quo is small, if you ask me.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” she said. “There was only one guy that was slightly above average.”
“The blonde!” I yelled hitting the steering wheel.
“Yeah, he had long blonde hair…”
“And maybe a goatee…”
“Yep, that was him,” I smiled.
…which begs the question, just where, in the feck, did we vacation?
We went to a “spa” of sorts. You can only book the place last minute. So, once we decided to go for it, we were in for the full monty. Pun intended. (Hold your horses, I’m getting to the peckers part, ladies and gents. I know what you want. You want to hear about the chorizo, the snausage, the Johnson, the fluata, the disco stick, the compass…I get it, I get it.)
Well, we booked this last minute “spa” because I love internet research. I found a place that is a throw back to the hippie communities of the 50s and 60s, at least as I imagine them in and around California. This was a place about equidistant from San Francisco and LA. It’s a place meant to serve as an escape for city dwellers. It’s meant to look like paradise.
It does. However, I booked the thing for its amenities. There was the heated pool overlooking the Pacific ocean. There were three vegetarian meals cooked for you a day in the lodge. Then there were the rustic rooms also with a view out into the Pacific. And lastly, the hot springs. Sulfur springs set in a concrete building down a path from the main lawn. It was here that we saw the swizzle sticks in all their glory. The baths, all concrete, and looking out over the sea, were “clothing optional.” Now, Wifesy and I are the adventurous sort. So, we figured, let the hippies go naked. We can handle it. As long as we can wear bathing suits, as long as it’s not “naked mandatory,” who gives a feck what other people do.
Oddly, the women didn’t bother us. I mean, the naked ones, they barely registered. It felt like being in a health club locker room. A tit here, a vag there, as one reaches across the sinks to grab at the blow dryer, it’s all typical, normal stuff in a gym. But, the swinging night sticks. I don’t think we understood in the front part of our brains that they would also be dancing about on display. I think when we heard the term “clothing optional” the weeping willow branches seemed more like Snuffleupagus. More like something that was a theory as opposed to a reality. You’d know they existed, but you’d probably never catch sight of them.
Not true. Snuffleupagus – and his entire army of loosely held batons – seemed tired of being hidden out back by the garbage cans only to be seen by “Big Bird.” He was coming out. He was making himself known.
Now, everyone is very respectful in the baths. After a while, Wifesy and I even let a tit out here and a vag out there. What surprised me the most was this…without even staring, we noticed the length of their human-hems, so to speak. For the most part, they were all wearing the equivalent of fleshy, short-shorts, while Blondie (and Blondie alone) sported some longer, bolder, capris.
Okay, let’s cut the salami, we noticed their dick size! Good lawd, do I have to hit you over the head with a frying pan to make this point?
So, yes, fellas, women notice the size. I’m not saying it matters, especially to the lesbos, but it gets noted. Perhaps, back before we had language this is how we all spoke. Picture, the women handing out spears just before a big hunt. One woman nudges the other and says with her eyes, “Give the blonde one the bigger spear.” Her mother smacks her and says, “That one he has stick big enough already. Don’t be greedy.”
Maybe. I don’t know. And yes, this entire post was meant to lead up to one thing – a nickname for Richard. I am very proud. Tomorrow, I’ll talk about the lady part that rhymes with Madge. Just to make things even.
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