Summer Lovin': Summer of C. Moore

Today's slice of Summer Lovin' is brought to you by none other than our long-time irregular contributor, and one-time temporary editor Mr. C. Moore Glootz.



IT'S HOT



It really is. Temps climbing to high 20s now heading for the mid 30s. Even at night C. Moore tosses and sweats. Day time sojourns out into the bright light have been risky to say the least. On the one hand, C. Moore is nothing less than ecstatic to see the ladies of London showing off toned bodies. On the other, temptation all around is not good for C. Moore. Never has been. Self-control has been set to maximum at all times.



Well, maybe not all times.

LASTING DAMAGE



Armed with shaky phone video of some tight cheeks in shorts so short they hardly qualified as such, C. Moore stumbles through the front door and hooks the phone up to his big (worship) screen. Moments later - literally, I only shot about 15 seconds worth of footage and never made it halfway - it's all over. Barely got it into my hand before the eruption began. A climax, yes, but a bit of an anti-climax all the same.



This has turned out to be a recurring issue.

THE EDGE OF THE MADNESS I



All that flesh out there + all the images in here (on the big worship screen - slideshows running on those rare occasions when I absolutely have to get out of my (big worship) chair) means C. Moore is never getting a break so C. Moore is always on edge.



Consequently, C. Moore has been locked and loaded at all times, and has lacked the pleasure of a good long session in the (big worship) chair recently. Either he's come back from outside all worked up (and possibly armed with images still and/or moving that he really shouldn't be armed with), or he's heading out all worked up from indulging too much in his hobby and needs to release quick so as to minimise the risk of the kind of incident all too characteristic of his past occurring again.

THE EDGE OF THE MADNESS II



C. Moore has not been aided in his quest for restraint by the fact that after six long years of trying and failing, a gym - not a very local one, but reasonably near to home - has granted him membership, although technically membership has been granted to a "Mr. Phil Butt". C. Moore has not yet dared to enter its confines as yet, but it's left his imagination running wild regarding what glooteal delights may await within.



When I do go, I'm taping it down and taking a diazepam first.

SUMMER LOVIN'



Still, C. Moore should not complain. Long, hot summer nights fly by with - to name but two of my most recent favourites - Joanna Jean at the pool, intimidating the women, tentpoling the men; and Krista Dunn's unnaturally tight, contest ready rear.



JBW may not be showing much actual gloot flesh, but it's hardly covered. C. Moore can't help but imagine himself following as she sashays up those stairs, pausing to strip a little more every other step. In the fantasy, C. Moore lasts all night. Reality, more's the pity, little C. Moore blows even before the fantasy reaches the bedroom.

GAZE UPON THE FACE OF GOD (OR SOMETHING)

And if you make it to the end, you're a stronger man than C. Moore!



Tape and diazepam, definitely.

Normal service resumes tomorrow.