Little Squirrels Can Climb Tall Trees by Michael Murphy (namjoon book recommendations txt) 📕

age I could happily do without. As I listened to his message that morning, though, his voice reminded me of his lips, which reminded me of his face, which reminded me of his smile, which reminded me of his laugh… which made my dick start to get hard. No, not in the office, please. Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you later when you can come out to play. He wasn’t impressed. Men really were totally ruled by their crotches. It was a battle with an obvious winner every time.

Even though I’d been listening to Kyle’s recording and should have had some witty message all composed in my head, I’d been too sucked into the lust his voice stirred up in me. So when the beep sounded and I was on, I was at a complete loss for what to say. Great! Good way to make a first impression! I thought.

“Hi. Kyle. This is Joseph—from the gym yesterday. And coffee yesterday. And dinner last night. Wait, you know all that. You were there. Sorry. I had fun—really. It was the best time I’ve had in a long while.” Shut up! Don’t sound so fucking desperate, loser! “I would love to continue our conversation. Since we seem to be able to talk about just about any subject”—Desperate, try not to sound so desperate, idiot!—“I would love to get together and… talk some more.” Right, what you really want is to suck his brains out through his dick and then lick him into a coma. “I don’t know how your schedule looks for this week, but mine is really boring.” Wrong thing to say to a prospective date! “You’d really liven up an otherwise plain week if you have time for coffee or dessert or… breakfast”—or preferably all of the above!—“whatever your schedule permits. Give me a call and we’ll see when we can get together. I had a good time yesterday. Thanks.” It was all I could do to stop myself from ending my message with some smarmy remark like “Have a great day!” I silently said thanks to anyone who was listening, gods included, that I had stopped my mouth from uttering those utterly ridiculous pansy-ass words that everybody seemed to utter a thousand times a day.

I left my cell phone number before I hung up—it would have been really bad form to leave a message and then forget to leave him my number. That would mean I’d have to call him again, which would make me seem really desperate and a total loser. Thank God I didn’t make that mistake. Now all I had to worry about was whether or not he would be interested enough to call me back.

Even though he had pursued me yesterday in the gym, had shown me his body-by-God, had taken the world’s fastest shower to be able to go out with me to get coffee, had taken me to dinner and had given me some of the best conversation I’d ever had in my life, I was still anxious about whether he’d call me back. Maybe overnight he’d come to his senses and realized what a mistake he’d made. Maybe his girlfriend was just out of town and he was bored. Maybe it was a dare… or a bet. Or maybe I was just plain nuts. Probably the latter. No, definitely the latter. Most likely the result of too much testosterone rotting my brain.

I reopened my closed office door and made an attempt to get some work done. No matter how hard I tried, though, I was just not able to focus. Every time I tried to write a sentence or read a financial report or look up a fact, my mind returned to that glorious penis as it dangled within such easy reach, those luscious nipples, and that smile that could melt a Republican’s cold heart.

An hour later when I had to run to the rest room, I carried my cell phone with me, something I never did—I hated to feel so tethered to the thing and had a love/hate relationship with the “convenience.”

And wouldn’t you know. I was at the urinal, and I had just fished out my dick and started to pee when—you guessed it! My cell phone rang. I tugged it out of my pocket, in the process peeing all over myself. Way to go, slick!

“Hello?” I said, a little distracted. “Oh, crap!”

“Joseph?” I heard his laugh. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“What? No. Just peeing on my feet, that’s all.”

“Do I want to know?”

“I’m in the men’s room. I see guys standing here talking on their cell phones all the time. But somehow I didn’t seem to get the proper gene to be able to pee and answer my phone at the same time.”

“Oh, but you are talking on the phone, and you apparently just peed on yourself, so you can do both simultaneously—it’s the aim issue that gives you a little trouble. What I suspect is that guys who talk on their phones at the urinal secretly have very wet pants and shoes.”

“I’ve never checked, but I think that’s entirely possible. I’ll have to keep my eyes open. That’ll make me popular when I start studying men’s crotches in the men’s room. ‘Yo! Dude! Did you just pee on yourself? No, don’t worry, I’m not nuts. It’s all very scientific.’”

His wonderful, infectious laughter came through the phone and seemed to wrap itself around me, giving me a warm feeling—not just from peeing on myself. “Just think of the post-study paper you could write, though!”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I had been tempted to just race back to my office with my dick hanging out of my pants, but I knew that others might frown about that. Somehow I managed to get myself tucked back inside, zipped up, and brushed off enough to make a dash back to my office. With the door closed, I sat down at my desk. “Thanks for calling.”

“Thank you for