Dear motW forum,
I never thought I'd write to your magazine because such things don't happen to people like me. It was during a break between my library literacy course and remedial writing that the government employee of my dreams entered into the lounge. He had the scent of a man who survived a laughing red faced woman about him and the sprint that comes from a starfish-esque sphincter. With great hope, I began seductively brushing my long brown mullet, the sun bouncing off every greasy lock making me glow with a light so bright he could not help but come to me.
"Excuse me sir," he breathed hard "where is the nearest lavatory?"
"You can just piss on me, champ" I said flicking my nipples lightly through the 1987 Posion "strokin' the snake" world tour shirt.
His eyes bugged out and I knew he was mine. I took his hand and lead him into the dingy hole that is the janitors closet by his manly broomhandle.
[bit removed because I am actually typing this during my "obvious tenets of business communication" course and sending man pr0n in the back of a computer lab is bad, m'kay?)
So out of the closet I walked, a smile on my face, urine in my beard, and a special new friend's fudge upon my loins.
xoxoxo
-k-