The Loin King

I have a son.

God forbid he turned out like me but the signs are to the contrary. At an age when acne was the number one priority for most boys I was already an inexperienced member of the fleshpots. In this I believe the fruit of my loins is no different.

I have to say I’ve had a lot of fun, but a serious long term partnership has always escaped me. Although a bit early to tell I think the gods are offering him the same.

It’s not that I haven’t tried, or even that I might be capable, but long red fingernails, war paint and a stocking clad leg are where my loyalties lie. As soon as I see a housecoat and two boiled eggs being presented as the solution to my life I find a way of removing my attentions and seeking fresh challenges. Is this a pointless direction I ask myself, frequently!

Not so sure that there is any such thing any Mrs. Right for me. We may be right for each other for the time and date of the experiment but as to communal living, whether I care to admit it or not, it’s seems it’s just not my chosen path.

Does this make me a bad person? I hope so. Bad people are far more interesting.