Frankly, readers, I’m underwhelmed by your response to my Amazon Wish List. I know, everyone is tapped out and exhausted from the holidays. But can I help it that my parents were so fond of sex in April? Am I to suffer for their long-ago Spring fling?
If you are so inclined, you can still send gifts my way. Better late than never, right? I’ve also set up an Amazon Honor System account that allows you to hurl dead presidents at Jefferson—even anonymously, if you so choose. You can do that via the button in my sidebar.
Now, with my birthday so close, my thoughts naturally turn to my annual birthday week of wall-to-wall sex. My friends and lovers have been coordinating schedules so that we can hit the ground fucking.
But as I think of how to share this week with you, readers, I must admit to being stymied.
First of all, there is the creative challenge. How do I make a week of wall-to-wall sex stand out in my life of wall-to-wall sex?
Then there is the question of timely reportage. It took me several months and twenty-one tales to relate my weekend at sex camp. If I try to do justice to a full week, I’ll still be talking about my birthday in August.
Finally, there is my life’s shifting cast of characters. I still need to give you back stories on some of the people I’ll be fucking next week. In fact, I’ve got stories waiting to be told that I would prefer not to bump in favor of birthday week.
As I said, it’s been a ponder.
Then, the other day, as I was having my cake and eating it, too, I had an epiphany.
I had been feted at a birthday orgy, where I celebrated my advancing years by fucking three women, blowing a couple of guys and getting a very fine blowjob from another fellow. As icing on the cake, I fucked beautiful Mmmmark, but good.
There was actually a cake, with sprinkles no less, lovingly baked and presented by the ever-so-sweet Callie.
As I blew out the cake’s single candle, surrounded by sexy naked people singing “Happy Birthday,” I mused on a slang term I once heard an old queen use. He referred to masturbation as “blowing out my own candle.”
Isn’t that an evocative expression?
Then, as I cut into the cake, it hit me. I realized how I would like to commemorate my forty-third year.
This month, I will get my dick sucked by forty-four different people.
That’s one person for every year of my life, plus one to grow on.
Now, you may think this would be a simple order to fill, but not so. I’m not seeking forty-four blowjobs. That would be too easy. I want blowjobs from forty-four separate individuals. Even I don’t have a retinue of forty-four cocksuckers.
Furthermore, I am off to a late start. January is half gone. I may allow myself a grace period of a few February days, but I would really like to pull this off in the month of my birth.
This is a very appealing idea to me for a couple of reasons. As you know, I went fifteen years without a blowjob during my marriage. That makes me very appreciative of good head.
But also, there are many people who subscribe to the notion that oral sex isn’t really sex. It follows that these people should be more than willing to blow me—I mean, why not? It’s not like it counts or anything.
To prepare for this undertaking, I took inventory and realized that since New Year’s Day, I have enjoyed blowjobs from thirteen cocksuckers—eight from women, five from men. That’s not at all a bad run, but if I am to pull this off, I really need to get cracking.
Readers, this is where I turn to you.
If you will be in the Tri-state area in the coming few weeks, I urge you to suck my dick.
If anyone you know will be in New York—friends, family, business associates, clergy—I urge you to encourage these people to suck my dick.
If you have already sucked my dick this month, I thank you—but I ask you to do more. Please, invite someone you know to suck my dick.
If you have not already sucked my dick this month, but you plan to do so, don’t hesitate—and please, bring a friend to suck my dick.
Readers, I believe that together, we can reach this goal. I know I will do my part. Will you?