2000-07-07 | 04:20:12

lust.

sweet lust. sweet lust. sweet lust.

sweet, nothing-says-lovin'-like-baking-from-the-oven lust.

last week on a very special nictate, i regaled you with tales of horniness. have you tired of it yet? have you? because i haven't. can you humor me a little longer? be a pally?

sunday night marked a downturn my venture into the world's oldest obsession. a time of peace. a time of reflection. and, alas, a time of resignation. did i mention it was also a time of pizza?

wednesday marked a peak. the needle pegged, baby. one of my who's and i were having a heated...e-dalliance, if you will. hot damn. hot damn. hot damn.

thursday a return to reality and the who saying in the nicest, coolest, most maturish way possible, "this isn't a good idea." oh, he's right. damn right. damn right. damn right.

but is being right what it's all about? sure, less regrets. sure, less hassles. but avoiding regrets and hassles ain't what it's all about is it? hell no. hell no. hell no.

so i was bummed. bummed like a kid who wants a new bike, but his mom says, "no brand-new banana seat-toting, beribboned horn-honking ride for you." and me whining and stamping my feet: "i wanna bike! i wanna bike nooooooooowwwwwww!"

this is probably a good time to take prince's advice and act my age, not my shoe size. you would think. but i want to kick off my shoes and run barefoot. grass stains and dog poo land mines be damned. don't the waxy blades of lawn feel good? it's worth the risk of stubbed toes, ain't it? mmhow.

now if i can get some funny, cute, nice boy to run barefoot with me. barefoot. barefoot. barefoot. in the grass. or sand. or wall-to-wall carpeting.

bare feet, anyone?

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