There’s always another orgasm to reach, another body to touch, and another night in which to be lost. All lovely, but all the same.
Without guilt and shame, there would be nothing about sex worth remembering.
Category: Essays & Bad Ideas
An assortment of ramblings; some thoughtful, some thoughtless
I’m speaking to you from the belly of a coal mine, and you’re sucking me through a straw.
Fun Date Idea
Me and you in some dark corner of a club, getting high, while you grind on me and point out the girls who have it coming.
Your sex is a swamp, full of life and death. I seek you out to behold your beauty and smell your stink, and then stake a claim to the unsettled spaces within you. But I will not stay.
I will leave my mark, but I will not stay.
Cranky Old Man Shit: Aftercare
Aftercare isn’t about kindness, love, and that sort of goopy shit. It’s not a chore or a to-do item on a checklist that you need to tick off in order to Do The Right Thing. I know that’s how the kink community likes to frame it, and hey, that framing may work for you… awesome. But if it doesn’t, there are other ways to look at it.
For me? Aftercare is a decompression chamber for your humanity. It’s a space where two people who have just done something really strange can spend a few minutes coming to terms with what that strangeness says about them.
I want you to drown for me, I want you to burn. I want you to howl for me, as the screw starts to turn.
My Fetishes?
I’ve always been attracted to the sound women make when they’re feeling particularly small and ineffectual, but I didn’t have a name for it. MTV came to my rescue ten years ago, during a scene on Laguna Beach where two of the hotter, meaner girls were shopping, and one of them was making a kind of whimpering, whiny, squeak as she struggled to grasp an item on a high shelf.
“You’re making the Reaching Noise,” the other one noted.
I am all about the Reaching Noise.
Since it’s apparently necessary…
Dear minors:
You are undercooked, and have naught to offer me save gastric distress. Go find some age-appropriate mistakes to make.
My Fetishes?
Millennial girls who don’t know how to read analog clocks.
Actually, a Gen-X girl who couldn’t read an analog clock might be even hotter, but what are the chances someone that stupid lived into her forties?
My Fetishes?
You know that thing where a desperate, super-eager guy’s-girl wants to get into a play-scuffle, or try a chest bump or something, but she’s got half the body weight so she just bounces off of him, and lands in an awkward heap while everyone points and laughs?
That’s one.