Experience my animalistic version of man on woman sensuality

Preparing for a meeting this afternoon with high government officials and a powerful DC lobbying group. I’m in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. My medallion of a Buddha Vitarka Mudra flanked by a couple of Bodhisattvas bounces off my rock hard pecs as I type. My head bouncing in rhythm to music that only I can hear. I was in the gym earlier today. A couple of days now into my new fitness regime. My SuperFreak Workout for Juiced-Up Psychos. I can still feel the pump. I can still feel the burn. I’m contemplating what I want to eat for lunch. I’m thinking, Piccola Scimmia con Vino Rosso. Spider monkey is best served con Aceto, braised in vinegar and maybe rosemary, but our cafeteria is a bit limited.

My commute this morning was quite dull. I had to drop off rent for my Adams Morgan compound, which left me closer to the green line. Columbia Heights to Gallery Place to Metro Center to Dunn Loring. Not to be disrespectful, but the red line ladies are of a different class altogether. I soldiered on and gave a flex wink point with a trigger-finger to a few and gave them a series of poses that drove them nuts: Front Double Biceps, Front Lat Spread, Side Chest, Back Double Biceps, and signature Back Lat Spread. They are impressed with my physique and mien -- muscle mass, density, ripped definition, intensity, stamina, endurance, mental focus, dignity, flair, humility.

Me you ask? Eating bush meat. Posing for ladies attractive and not. Taking advantage of public transportation. Humility. That is what I am about. And to the Hill staffer who questioned whether or not I had a job: if you really want to experience my powerful and animalistic version of man on woman sensuality just drop an email. That goes for the rest of you also.