Model Forum / General / Models / May 2008

And side effects of eating pomegranates from Greek mythology:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persephone
It would be interesting to know how this ties into the Eve/apple story,
considering that "pomme" is French for "apple", and "pomegranate" means
"seeded apple" in Latin: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pomegranate.
Recently, I bought a bottle of Pomegranate-flavored 7-Up...which taste a
lot like standard 7-Up although brownish in color.
We seem to be facing the opposite sides on the coin here.
Given the fact that the erectile tissue of the penis is anchored to the
pelvic bone, the once spectacular reach and diameter of my phallus has
been reduced to small proportions indeed as weight was put on, and
sitting down on the toilet to urinate seems far safer than trying to
stand up and do it, if you don't want to see the urine stream drifting
all over the place as you pee.
At age 25, I could write my name in the snow with the majesty and skill
of John Hancock...today, getting it all in the toilet bowl without
sitting on it seems like a major triumph that doesn't require stealing
your host's toilet paper to fix up any aberrations in aiming.
It's that damn scrotum - the penis gets shorter with increasing body
weight, but the scrotum keeps moving forward with weight, till the point
where you have to pull it out of the way so you can piss straight
without wetting your balls and whole vicinity down.
The long-vanished "Morning Wood" would be a distinct advantage after age
50, despite the fact that one may have to lean far forward over the
toilet bowl to get the urine to go where it is intended to go, like at
age 16.
One cannot help but pine for the teenage days of saying "Down boy,
down*", rather than the later days of saying "Up boy, up"; both of which
tend to occur at embarrassing moments.

* Which for me seemed to inevitably happen in mechanical drawing class
for some reason, as I was constantly looking at Deborah Hust's
incredibly sleek 34B-20-34 5'10" cat-like body, and trying to figure out
just exactly _how_ flexible she actually was, with all the possibilities
that implied.
Frickin' red-headed sex-cat, that's what Hust was.
She used to dress in tight green sweaters and pants that matched her
eyes, like some jungle feline hidden in the trees... then she'd hold her
hands together over her head and stretch into a backwards bowed arc as
lithe as a panther.
If the class's teacher had any sense of mercy, he would have stuck her
in the front seat of the middle row of drawing desks, so all the guys in
the class didn't have to figure out some reason to keep looking back at
her after "dropping" their erasers, # 4 pencils, or 30/60 degree drawing
triangles around once every ten minutes.
I don't know where you are today Deborah, but I thank you profoundly
from a 16-year-old male's point of view. :-D

Pat