Double Pits to Chesty

My bike leaves the ramp and I become weightless and sublime.  Flashbulbs pop from around the arena as I go into my X-treme backflip.   Suddenly, as if in a dream, my jersey gently falls away from my body and I am magnificently nude in the night air, utterly alone with my bodacious hang-time.  I only have a second or two, but that’s all I’m gonna need, bro.  Now completely inverted, I whip out the can and spray my left man-pit.  The aerosol feels awesome as it coats my skin, each droplet of spray settling in my pores and transforming my sweat into an alluring nectar, my armpit now a sultry oasis where harems of pouty biker-babes will soon gather to fight for my attention.  Now I’m upright again but still insanely high.  This is going well.  I take aim on my right armpit and cast a serene but stern look of domination over my adorning fans.  Fuck you.  Fuck you all.  I am with the Gods above.  They have graced me with knowledge of their potions and perfumes.  Heed the majesty of my Godly pits you miserable fucks, smell them now I say!   A cloud of sweet spray blasts into pit number two, creating a dense fog of pheromones that slowly drifts down to the crowd below.  Everyone is now marked by my manly scent as it settles on their popcorn and pretzels, mixes with their beer and soda.  Fathers who only a moment ago sat placidly with their families watching the show must now restrain daughters driven mad by a lust that will not be denied, their limbs and lips straining toward me--the Adonis of axle-grease suspended on high in this cloud of magical vapor.  I descend.  But before I hit my landing, I make a final, definitive slash across my chest—testament to the ultimate extremity of my being and the totally wicked magnitude of my accomplishment.  I have fulfilled my destiny. I have completed the double pits to chesty.  

But what’s this?  Suddenly I’m back on the ground and once again wearing my jersey.  I raise my arms to the admiring crowd.  They go wild, unable to believe their good fortune in having witnessed this supreme triumph in person.  Wait, is that Ashley, the hot blond from my chemistry class?  Dressed in a sexy blue tank-top, she seems to have her own Motocross show now.  That’s awesome! I had no idea she was into Moto-X.  Apparently the act of outstretching my arms stimulates the magnetic allure of my pits.  Ashley is intrigued.  Shy at first, she moves in closer to better sniff my musky glaze.  Not wanting to appear too interested, too forward, she retreats demurely.  But my wafting man-scent lingers on her microphone.  It is too strong for her to resist, and so beautiful Ashley draws the mike tenderly to her nose for a final, naughty whiff.

Yes, I will have her now.  And with any luck, tomorrow night I will dream of Oahu—shaving my junk as I shred major tubage off the coast of Diamond Head.

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