The scene: mrpeenee’s tasteful boudoir in the teeny tiny wee hours of the morning. Mrpeenee hangs in that sweet nether just before actual sleep when suddenly his legs start to jerk and shudder. Once again, Restless Leg Syndrome has attacked our hero.
This syndrome is a real thing, not just some huckster medical problem dreamed up to fill late night ads with questionable remedies and modern day snake oil. Oh yeah baby, I am here to testify that is really a real thing. A few years ago it started out as a weird sensation in the soles of my feet and an undeniable urge to jiggle my legs. No amount of jiggling was ever sufficient, eventually I always have to get up and move around. Dr. Google admits there is no effective treatment, but suggests mild exercise, stretches, or soaking in a nice warm bath. I don’t have any particular problem with any of those, and in fact, they usually do help. The problem is the get-out-of-bed portion of the program, As I mentioned, these episodes always occur when I am all tucked in, cozy and sleepy bye bound; leaping to my feet in order to knock out a quick round of yoga is so very not welcome. So I resist, lying there and twitching and trying to talk sense into my feet.
I honestly think the exercise or bath is extraneous, all I really need is to drag myself out of bed and move around some. Often just getting a cookie is enough, and if it isn’t, at least I have a cookie. But usually simply leaving my bed does it. My feet feel victorious, they have once again shown me who is the late night boss. But just to keep things interesting, they have raised the ante of late; now I get the thrill of involuntary muscle movements on top of my feet issuing non-negotiable demands. My legs jerk and shudder and flail, sometimes my shoulders get in on the action and sometimes (my personal favorite) my whole body will lurch and manage to achieve a brief liftoff before crashing back to bed. I don’t know how that is possible. When I’ve tried to recreate it consciously all I manage is to irritate Saki.
I know it’s just one more stop on the down hill journey of aging and I have a long list of complaints that are worse (looking at you, prostate.) At least it’s not constant, I haven’t had any attacks in several days and I’m grateful for it. So my lower limbs have decided to try tap dancing as a new hobby? This is where I’m supposed put in some sappy remark about how it could be worse. Fuck that. I DON’T WANT TO GET OUT OF BED.
Boys who it would be nice to be in bed with:
My, what lovely clear skin. Especially the bit covering those luscious butt chops.
Yeah, he’s beautiful and muscley, but I was mostly struck when I ran across this picture on Tumblr by the long list of comments swooning over his black support stockings. Cause you can never be too freaky for Tumblr.
Fat dicks on parade.
“I’m a lumberjack and I’m okay. I sleep all night and I work all day.”