HNT

It was as painful as it looks. I had stubbed my big toe a week earlier, but by the time I spanked her, it was already on the mend. It's all better now, thanks.

HNT

Footstool.

Feverish, Sad Drama

Two years ago today, Dacia immolated our friendship.

My ex wife had discovered my sex blog and was using it to sue for full custody of our children, claiming my sexuality put our children in immediate danger. Dacia was among the first friends I called with this news, hopeful that she would be familiar with resources that could help my impending legal battle. Dacia didn’t have any advice at hand, but offered to look into it. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you,” she said.

“Thanks,” I replied. “Me too.”

It was to be our final exchange. A few days later, Dacia launched a flame war against me in her blog. Dacia opined that the case wasn’t really about my sexuality. She hadn’t seen my ex’s motion, but she wondered: what if it was about something else, like alcoholism, maybe? Comments flowed into her blog, speculating about all manner of awful things that could be behind the case.

Tess and Dee watched with delight. Their gossip had been instrumental in fueling Dacia’s opinion, and their own voices, disguised behind various pseudonyms, kept her blog’s comments negative and flowing at a crisp pace. Tess and Dee saw great opportunities in encouraging gossip and speculation against me. For Dee, it was sweet vindication for her frustration that her love for me had proven unrequited. For Tess, it was an opportunity to promote herself by contributing to the downfall of a rival—in a rivalry of which I was fully unaware.

I’ve written about this at some length in this blog. At the request of those who want to follow the story in its entirety and to link it in their own blogs, I’ve complied the story at one site.

Feverish, Sad Drama

The site includes new chapters not published on this blog. These include revelations about the extraordinary efforts undertaken by Tess and Dee to accumulate fodder for their gossip—including, astonishingly, distributing correspondence hacked from a personal email account. Most of this draft focuses on Tess and Dee rather than Dacia—some stories need to be saved for the book, after all—but included is the story of how Dacia’s flame war was fueled, in part, by an ex boyfriend of hers who enjoyed pitting Dacia against her friends. Though Dacia was unaware of it, he played her, and he played her beautifully. Even he hadn’t anticipated that through his game, Dacia would behave with such ruthlessness.

As Dacia later wrote, the entire affair was a “feverish, sad drama” largely of her own creation. It showcased the worst behavior I’ve encountered online. Fortunately, it was limited to a small cohort—Dee, Tess and to a lesser extent, Dacia—who remain, to date, the only rotten apples I’ve encountered as a blogger. I’ve made great friends and lovers through this blog, for which I’m grateful. Blogging has been an overwhelming positive experience, and I’m glad to have this space in which to share my stories. Others who blog may take Feverish, Sad Drama as a cautionary tale—be very careful about your confidences. Some people are sharks.

HNT

Preparing to take the stage at the Highline Ballroom for last night's Moth GrandSlam, I was nervous that I had chosen a story too awful for the given theme, “the point of no return.”

This was my first time to make it to the Moth’s championship round of storytelling competition. Like the nine other storytellers on the bill, I had won a previous StorySlam before moving to the GrandSlam. Competitors had been provided with the evening’s theme about two weeks prior to the event. Given the five-minute time limit and what I’ve so far ascertained about the audience’s familiarity with subjects I generally address as “Jefferson,” I felt a keen awareness of the challenges in choosing a story and telling it well.

A few days prior to the GrandSlam, I scrapped the story I had chosen in favor of something much more raw. The story went back two decades and yet its new revelations were only days old. As I told my story, I found myself shaking with a mix of emotions—fear, rage, numbness—and the audience’s dead silence as my only feedback.

I came in second place.

It’s not a story I anticipate telling on this blog, so to those who heard it live, thanks for allowing me to share it even as I’m not sure what happens next.

Welcome to those who found me through the Moth. By way of introduction, be aware that my blog isn’t safe for work, as I write graphically about sex. I also write about parenting, dating and relationships—our secret, but these are the real subjects of my sex blog—and each Thursday, you’ll keep up with the ongoing adventures of my right foot.

If your heart aches for stories of love and loss, you might start by reading Old Roads. If hot sex is more to your liking, that all began with my first post nearly six years ago. To keep up with my day-to-day meanderings, follow me on Twitter.

Enjoy.

Training of O

Training of O

HNT

Remains of a spontaneous summer night: depleted condoms, shredded panties, leftover limes, empty tonic and one-third of the feet implicated.

Psychotherapy Live!

For several years, Lisa Levy has performed Psychotherapy Live!, in which guests are invited to take part in a therapy session before an audience. She also films sessions for broadcast.

I recently found myself on her couch. I talked about parenting, divorce, sexuality, BDSM and more. Because I’m not keen on having my face publicized, my identity is obscured. This put me in the interesting position of talking about being out while disguised.

Get mental with me by watching the broadcast, divided into three parts:

Part One



Part Two



Part Three

Moth GrandSlam

I recently told a story at The Moth, the competitive storytelling event you know from NPR and podcasts. And, as it happens, I won! That means I advance to the next Moth GrandSlam on July twenty-eighth.

Want to join my pervy pals in cheering me on? I have the inside skinny. Tickets are on sale now at the Highline Ballroom. This is an early announcement for the storytellers and their friends. Moth members will be notified this afternoon. The general public will be notified tomorrow. It will promptly sell out with the general announcement, so get your tickets now. You can save the online surcharge by buying them at the Highline.

HNT

Tan lines.

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Kay and I watching the sunset in advance of the fireworks display on Independence Day. The photo is a little blurry, but then, so were we.

Our search for a small town in which to celebrate the Fourth took us to the lovely harbor town of Port Jefferson—the friendliness of the village’s name being an additional lure. There, we saw fireworks, watched a parade and fucked in the back of a Hummer. I love this country.

Independence Day is a special holiday for me, in that it the anniversary of the end of my marriage. Following a disagreement about a business trip I made, and after months of bitter feuding and vast silences, my ex wife exiled me to an apartment owned by her father. He encouraged me to go, saying his daughter would never calm down until she had time to get over her rage. I moved out on Independence Day. That was seven years and two custody cases ago. Perhaps, one day, my ex wife get past her rage. Perhaps, by that time, she’ll see that it no longer impresses me.

Kay and I talked about this anniversary as the sun set. “I know the divorce was hard,” she said, “But I’m lucky your ex wife wasted your marriage.”

“Me too, honey,” I smiled. "Independence ain't bad."

Abby Wiinters

Nadja

I happen to like this photo. It's merely coincidence I spent the morning on the phone with blue-eyed, black-banged Madeline.

HNT

Not content merely to have sex at our parties, my friends and I recently put together a party at which our fellow orgy-enthusiasts could also make art. Amidst all the drawing, cutting and gluing, I took beautiful Kay outdoors to cover her in hot wax. This photo shows the lower part of her torso; that’s her bare pussy coated in layers of color.

I also built a structure from matt board, providing surfaces for others to paint and collage. Because our cohort includes many “burners” (those who attend the annual Burning Man festival), and because burners burn things, my sculpture was set to flames as we looked on.

HNT

Halo organized a photo shoot that involved painting on flesh, and recruited Ava Amnesia and me among her models. Her plan was to script our bodies with emotional and sexual words using the phonetic alphabet; you can see that my foot is labeled lasivies, or "lascivious." I'll cop to that.

Late in the shoot, smudges of paint accentuated the bruises already coloring Ava's breasts from bitings I'd given her over several days. Additional colors transferred to her body from mine when we, um, mixed paint.

The Upper Floor

Jessie Cox

All The Lovers

Scisssor Sisters

No One Cares About Your Blog

Last August, I participated in Kink for All, an unconference on sexuality founded by my friend Maymay. During last night’s broadcast of Kink on Tap—another brainchild of brainy Maymay—I learned that my presentation, which was recorded, is available online.

No One Cares About Your Blog

My tongue was somewhat in cheek when I entitled the presentation, which concerned the risks of putting one’s sex life online. I addressed my ex wife’s discovery of my blog and her subsequent (and unsuccessful) effort to use my sexuality to take my children from their father. I also talked about the flame wars and smear campaigns initiated by a team of three sex bloggers—Dacia and the brain trust she encouraged, Tess and Dee—as they outed me and otherwise sought to tarnish my reputation and affect the custody case then underway.

The title was in earnest, however, as the lessons drawn as these episodes overlapped. My ex wife cynically believed that the State of New York would concur that my writing endangered my children. In fact, the State of New York proved unconcerned with either my writing or my sex life. My ex learned that, like everyone else, the father of her children is allowed free speech and sexual freedom. The State of New York doesn’t care about my blog.

Further, in their slanderous gossip and malicious online attacks, Dacia, Tess and Dee seemed to believe their blogs were powerful engines to destroy reputations and damage people, including families. Their actions revealed wild delusions of import. Putting gossip into blogs doesn’t make it real or influential. Dacia later regretted this “feverish, sad drama” as a figment largely of her own creation. Their attacks were engineered by blog drama, not in reality, and in real life, no one cared about their blogs.

HNT

Footsies in the rose petals at Figment.

HNT

Making art is a fine advantage of having creative friends who enjoy getting naked for one another.

Tilda had an idea. She wanted to cull quotes on sexuality that had been important in her personal development and picture them on nude bodies. She wanted it to be hands-on; the texts would be imprinted on bodies and then photographed. She ran ideas by me and then decided to draft me as a calligrapher.

The models are our friends. Halo is my dear protégé. Leo is a fellow you recently read about.

The quote is from George Bataille’s The Story of The Eye. It reads:

“We did not lack modesty—on the contrary—but something urgently drove us to defy modesty together as immodestly as possible.”

. . . and so defy we did. My handiwork was primarily on Halo. I had many words to script on a small body, and as I painted, I stayed modest by contrast to Tilda’s bold proclamation of not lacking modesty.

Top photo courtesy Michael Meyer Photography.

HNT

Today, smalls dons cap and gown to seize her diploma. Congrats, grad.

Abby Winters

Jette and Navah