I was killing some time so I thought I’d check up on those websites that speculate about sex bloggers who should hook up.
Being a gambling man, I decided to go for the ones that play the odds.
Sure enough, there it was again: big payouts on Jefferson and Madeline living happily ever after. I placed a few bets and then thought, what the heck, I would check in on Madeline’s blog.
I try to do that now and then. As writers go, you know, she’s all right.
I found some nice stuff about me—blah, blah, blah—and then I saw a really hot Hanukkah photograph.
I dropped a line. Hey, how’s it going, long time, I wrote. Did you know I’m looking for sexy holiday-themed pictures from readers of my blog? I asked if she wanted to contribute something.
She said she might be persuaded, but she had a few conditions. I said I’d do my best to meet them. I mean, she’s always good for some hot snaps, so why not?
Here’s how it went down.
My darling Jefferson,
Should I grant you permission to use my ass on your blog, my conditions are thus:
The post shall include a link to my brilliant blog.
This would be her blog, her blog, her brilliant blog.
The text shall be the most exultant endorsement of my body and make reference to how hot I look in knee socks. Over-the-knee socks.
Let there be no question: Madeline is easy on the eyes, but man, you get your mitts on that bag of bones and you have joined a very happy bunch of boys and girls. A very happy bunch.
I think those are my socks, actually.
It shall be clear, to anyone who reads, that you prize that brilliant creature Madeline, about whom you have been silent these past eighteen months.
Has it really been so long since I wrote about Madeline? I hadn’t noticed, but I guess it has. Gee, how time flies. Well, I think I have some stories around here. Maybe I should dust off a few.
I shall review the post prior to publication. If it meets my approval, I shall allow you to publish it. Think of it as your gift to me.
Happy Hanukkah to us, Mad.
If these conditions are not met, I shall tell everyone how fat you are.
I’m built for comfort, baby, not for speed.