New Project Idea

I have been wearing boxers since age 11 after I got made fun of for wearing tightie whities in 5th grade gym class, but I think I'm ready to branch out. Readers/friends/people who have nothing better to do should donate his/her/their underwear to me. I will wear whatever underwear you send me for a day/couple of days, and will write a review/my day(s) in the life in your underwear. One person is already down so don't be afraid. Please send a clean pair. If you can't, I guess I can do your laundry (even though one of the benefits of this project is saves me doing my own underwear laundry.) The more styles and pairs, the better. If I get enough, all of the reviews/day in the life accounts will be collected to form a larger piece. I'm also broke, need underwear, and scared to go commando after a close call with a zipper.

Interested?

email: crakpipefellatio@gmail.com or leave a comment fore more details.

Dream Description/Apology. (I Might Be Developing Crossdressing Tendencies.)

We were in bed half-clothed
with our legs locked together.
My face
was burried in
your shoulder notch,
while you skimmed
your fingertips
through the hairs
on the back of
my head.
I pulled away
to look at you,
tears start welling up
in the folds of
my eyes.
Your hand
raised, waving
back and forth
in front of
my face,
saying,
"No! Wait!, not yet."
before it wipes a tear
from of the corner of
my eye.
The tear
smeared on the outside of
your index finger.
Then you picked up a tube of mascara
off the bed stand,
and started applying it to
my eyes/eyelashes.
I didn't object.
Or try to stop you.
I just let it happen
because it seemed like
you knew what you
were doing.
"Boys/men don't know how
to cry because thevy've been
told not to their entire lives
because they're supposed
to be tough.
So fucking tough.
Even though you're
all a bunch of pussies,
yourself included."
You finished the last streak,
and kissed me on the forehead.
"Beautiful. You're ready to go
whenever you feel like it.
Your physical appearance
has to match
your inner appearance,
which is why
you have to look like a fucking mess
when you cry."
So I did.
I looked like a fucking mess.
Black watery lines started crisscrossing
across my cheeks down to my chin.
You drew abstract images with them.
I instanstly believed what you had to say
and felt better;
I didn't need a mirror
to see recovery.
"I should do your make-up more often.
I mean you have a lot to learn,
and I have a lot to teach.
Once you get this down,
we can move on to dresses,
lingerie, shoes, accessorizing,
and how to protect yourself from getting robbed
by kicking your assailent in the balls.
Plus, it'd be hot if we both made out in real glossy lipstick.
Hahaha"
We laughed, hugged, kissed,
and then i woke up in my bedroom alone
900 miles away from you
wondering if I am developing crossdressing tendencies.

"I'm sorry for being a shithead for the past week. I love you. And yeah, I'm in serious need of a makeover. How's Thursday sound?"

excuse me

Sitting on the toilet,
a teal pair boxers with pictures of little crocodiles on the tile floor
to the left; laptop
pressing weird shapes into
the skin on my thighs.

Woke up twenty-eight minutes ago.
Blew a ticket.
Seventeen minutes ago, got horny.
Took my teal crocodile boxers off, and sat on the toilet.
Fully hard watching a blonde with weird tits and a gap between her front teeth on an illegal video stream, fourteen minutes.
Precum, ten.
Climax, seven.
Shame coincided with wiping my sticky dick with pieces of toilet paper, and getting soft, six and a half to four.
Peeing while sitting down, too lazy to stand up, three to two and a half minutes.

Sitting on the toilet,
in the sweaty/heavy aftermath of masturbation.
Alone
reading European soccer gossip
on the internet.

Not for long.

My bathroom has three doors:
a normal door from the hallway, which can be locked,
and two sliding doors, one from my bedroom,
and the other from my uncle's office.

The door from my uncle's office slowly starts to creep open.
I can see his bald head looking into the bathroom,
me, still pantsless, laptop on my lap, sitting on the toilet.
Cum, piss, balled up toilet paper swirling underneath my balls and ass.

"excuse me."

He stands there.

"Excuse me."

Nothing.

"EXCUSE ME."

Unresponsive.

"Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. EXCUSE ME!"

Finally, movement.
His fingers ungrasp the edge of the door.

He mutters fast and low as he closes the door,
"I saw the light was on and I didn't know anybody was in here.
You know, I just don't want to waste electricity. Costs so much these days.
All these taxes, Obama....."
goes back into his office,
back down the stairs,
and everything fades back to silence.

I take the laptop off my lap
put it on the counter,
turn the shower on,
take the navy t-shirt I've been wearing
for the past three days off,
and flush the toilet.

I have work in thirty minutes.

honestly

decapitate me with an axe in one swing.

I don't deserve to live because the choices I make are so fucking stupid.

edit: actually make it last for as long as possible.

Flat On My Back At 5am In My Aunt's Driveway Feeling The Pressure Of Gravity Exerted Equally On All Parts Of My Body

Sorry for being allergic to dogs/cats/tree nuts.

Sorry for being fuck up.

Sorry to my college professors who believed in me and gave me a BFA in Writing and Literature for wasting my potential, and settling for day to day $8.05 life in the deli.

Sorry to David Buckley for kneeing him in the ass in fourth grade because my friends and I thought it was funny.

Sorry to my family for being an embarrassment who many of whom think is mentally unstable.
(Probably right.)

Sorry for being an hour late after I called twenty minutes earlier, and said, "Be over in five."

Sorry for coughing and having an asthma attack after we kissed.

Sorry for being a drug addict.

Sorry to James for making a pizza which I ate one piece of, and threw up immediately upon consumption, at his expense.

Sorry for taking acid instead of calling you in the midst of one of the hardest moments in your life,

(On a social caste system scale I am lower than dog cum on the side of a dumpster.)

Sorry for being to big of a pussy to commit suicide.

Sorry for being lazy.

Sorry for saying shitty things that make the people who care about me feel bad.

Sorry to my aunt and uncle for having to put up with my daily temper tantrums due to misplaced keys/drugs/cell phone/ work clothes.

Sorry for blowing my savings.

Sorry for being dependent.

Sorry for being depressed.

Sorry for hurting you the most.

Sorry for being myself.

Sorry for hating myself.

Sorry for being untrustworthy.

Sorry for making the people around me unhappy with my unhappiness.

Perpetual frowns 24/7.

Sorry for wasting your time.

Sorry that you had to read this piece of shit excuse for literature/apology.

Being online for 17 years, reading and observing other people's blog posts, news articles, I realize that I am not great at anything and have nothing original to say.

Looking up at the clouds swirl above in the opaque morning sky,
politely asking them to put the full force of their weight on my face
to help me stop breathing.

Sorry.

Might Be Getting Published

Submitted a used tampon to The New Yorker earlier this week.

Romantic Relationships/Love

I learned everything I needed know after watching two alley cats fuck on the roof outside my bedroom window at 3am.

The screams were beautiful.
The screams sounded painful.