Portions of this entry were written on Saturday April 5.
Another glorious Saturday morning near sunrise. The days are getting steadily longer and warmer. But there is that wintry chill in the air.
Last Sunday evening in the midst of lingering wintry chill and showers, the Washington Nationals played their inaugural baseball game in their stadium in Southeast DC near the waterfront. I think that Major League baseball players are the sexiest players here in the USA. Many players were raised in the heartland of America, many of them RIC'ed, I bet.
All this hearkens me back to my boyhood because my late dad was a baseball fan. The team he rooted for was the St Louis Cardinals. My dad was a Little League umpire in my hometown for many years. That is how fetish for jockstraps and athletic cups started. My dad wore a navy blue umpire's uniform, chest guard, face mask, and underneath an athletic supporter. His jockstrap was a men's large Johnson & Johnson Blue Ribbon athletic supporter.
My late dad, whom I love even now even though he has been deceased since December 26, 1990, had an athletic body even in his old age. He suffered hardening of the arteries the last five years of his life and attendant dementia, but even then his body, and would have to say his mind and soul, was ever youthful. I noticed this readily the last time I spent with him shortly before he was committed to a rest home, due to the ravages of old age. I inherited both his athletic physique and his sexual endowment. But it is much more than mere physiology because I also inherited his "soul" through our commonalities in religion, spiritual, love of nature and classical music. That is very important. By sexual endowment, I mean that our organs of generation are almost alike, even our bulbous, mushroom glans. Hint, hint!!! -:)
My late dad, I believe, would not be embarrassed or ashamed by the estimation of his loving son in the least in this post. Over the years many people have mentioned that I have taken after my dad in many, many ways. When I take my long walks here in Georgetown in the early mornings and admire the urban natural wonders, my dad comes to me in spirit. I think of his virile, athletic body, his unashamed buck nakedness when he would come home from work to change into his umpire uniform to officiate Little League baseball games in my hometown summer evenings. He was in a rush, dashing through the house, stark naked, his RIC penis and testicles flopping about to don his jockstrap and umpire's uniform. My dad was so free, so unashamed, though as a prepubescent, I wanted to hide for shame. But now, I shall always remember his RIC'ed penis, the organ of generation that brought me into the world.
My dad my entire life was a St Louis Cardinal's baseball fan. I found that odd because of the New York Yankees and the Boston Redsox, which teams baseball fans in Connecticut invariably rooted for. So dad, if you are looking down from heaven, know that you have a son who eternally loves you and esteems you. Know that you live on in your three sons, all RIC'ed, and who love you eternally in their special ways.
Thom. in DC