I've had a little bit of a dry spell lately, largely due to my being confined to the house. Don't worry ladies, I'm not a creeper on house arrest or a socially clueless recluse.
Here's my deal: Because I manufacture a ridiculous amount of manly testosterone, I give off a smell similar to a freshly-seared, well-seasoned steak. I'm not ashamed. It's the price I have to pay for having a seductively low voice and a phallus the size of whiffle ball bat.
Anyway, my neighbor has two large wolves. He insists that he's domesticated them, but they seem feral to me! Whenever I leave my house, Apache and Jezabel (that's what he named them) come bursting through my neighbor's shoddily fashioned fence (Bob Vila, this guy is NOT) or straight through his front screen door and try to devour me in all my beefy, savory glory.
Long story short, ladies: Instead of sustaining numerous bite and claw related injuries, I choose to stay in most of the time.
However: for the right woman, I am willing to suffer at the hands -- or paws I guess! -- of Apache and Jezabel. Not even a wolf's bloodlust can stop true love. That's what my grandma always used to say.
I am made to make love, set to sex you wild, and willing to wank