Anonymous Confessions, volume 2: The old man's troubles

Anonymous Confessions, volume 2: The old man's troubles

This monologue was recorded with a tape recorder in the basement of an anonymous old man and written down for publishing with permission. Names have been changed.


''Well, I ran into old Nelly Biggles at the church bake sale today. Bought some, uh, nut butter crispies, there. Won't be able to chew 'em up too good less I dip 'em in my coffee. That's the way I like 'em. . .You like cookies? Here. Have one. You probably got yourself your original good teeth. Oh, old Nelly Biggles. . . Boy was she a piece O' tail back in the day. Breasts so perky her nipples would get hard enough to cut glass, like the diamonds do. Bottom so squeezable it was like a firm, uh, uh, uh, thing, I suppose. Now, she's just a dried up old windbag for Jesus. Jesus this and Jesus that.

She didn't never used to talk no Jesus when she was talkin' 'bout sexin' and sinnin'. No, sir! Ah, well. Good times is gone now. No, why, she just looks like a slinky with eyes, now. Nobody wants her talkin' 'bout no sexin' anymore, that's for sure. But, she could talk 'bout Jesus a little less. The man was humble; wouldn't want to be the center of attention every dadblamed minute! ''EHHH, buy these nut butter crispies for the Lord!'' she says. Shut up, woman. You've got yourself a problem.

The Lord don't want no nothing from cookie sales. He's fine. You're the one who ain't fine. You probably still goin' ta Hell with all that sinnin' we did back up on old Bushmill Hill. Why even through the war, I never encountered such a slut. Was a great girl, then anyway. Ah, I'm not complainin'.

Now, why, I'm limper than a rubber noodle on a Tuesday dinner plate just tryin' to compete with the buttered ear of corn, if ya catch my drift. So, it's not like I'm runnin' her down for bein' older. No, I don't have the sex anymore. Truthfully, I'm glad I don't.

I stopped likin' sex around my eightieth, as it can go with a bad back and a bad hip...well, and a limp noodle, too...I suppose. Not much in it for me anymore. That's why I got a dog. Dogs don't want no sexin', just food.

Well, I suppose they is some dogs that are perverts and do want sexin' from people but then again, they is some people that is perverts who want the sexin' from dogs but I ain't talkin' 'bout those ones. No, I'm talkin' of normal dogs, you see. They is good, not perverts.

Why, I'm a normal, non-perverted man, myself. I don't want nothin' from my dog but somebody to talk to. Somebody that don't ramble on 'bout Jesus all the time.

Anyway, I guess that's my confession- That I'm all jelly in the under shorts and I used to get sinful with old man Biggles' daughter, Nelly and I only talk to my dog.

Just so we're clear, it's just talk, once again. Neither of us is perverts or nothin'. . . Okay, you boys better leave now. It's time for the Wheel of Fortune and I've got to take my fish oil or I won't be able to get my second movement in before I go to sleep.''

*This edition of Anonymous Confessions is brought to you by Johnson's Bottles.

Johnson's Bottles: Bottles for your Johnson.

Anonymous Confessions: Volume 1

Anonymous Confessions: Volume 1

Sometime after purchasing a 'members only' jacket at a garage sale, I converted to an alternative lifestyle. It was after I was accosted by a man outside the local Wal-Mart. He said '' 'Members Only' jackets are for queers, MARY!'' and walked on. Though I'd never thought of the intimate company of another man before, I immediately knew that I was in fact one of those said queers. A Mary, as the case may be. Gayer than Liberace's left nut.

The man who had accosted me was unlocking his car door when I ran up to him and grabbed his arm. Spinning him around to face me, I yelled ''Only those afraid of their own desires feel the need to make random observations about others' sexuality with a negative connotation, Homo!''. A brawl ensued.

We're now considered a legitimate married couple in Macedonia. It's been nine years. Last Tuesday, while watching an old movie from the eighties, I saw Emilio Estevez was wearing the same jacket I had been so long ago-my ''coming out'' jacket. He was making out with a lovely young lady. It was then I realized, the last phase of my life had been a lie.

Because, if Emilio Estevez was wearing a Members Only jacket, I knew not only gay men wore them. In fact, those permeating with masculinity and man-on-woman sex mojo must be able to wear those jackets if Emilio Estevez ever did! I then realized that all those times I have been rollicking down the Hershey highway, I wasn't even turned on.

I wasn't gay! Steve was wrong all those years ago. I was wrong for even considering his supposition. I don't have the balls or the heart to tell Steve, though. So, I'm just going to keep gaying it up with him, living straight in my mind, in secret. We're going antiquing tomorrow, then to a Coldplay concert. ...Damn it.


This anonymous confession has been brought to you by: McCain's Maverick Butt Plugs. Butt Plugs that stay the course, never pull out and drill for oil when prompted.