This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot shines the klieg lights onto the red carpet to congratulate the winners of the Dirtyspoke 2006 Sex Blog Awards. Take a bow, friends!
(Really now, am I not the world’s most gracious loser?)
Speaking of winners, I think I’ve got an idea that just may put me in the lead for next year’s award. What if I had sex with all the 2006 winners, and then blogged it for 2007? There are only four of them; heck, I could knock that out in a weekend.
Let’s see, there’s Viviane . . . her? Had her.
Figleaf has been pining for a circle jerk . . . maybe I could invite him to join my Bukkake Social Club. That would take care of that lean, clean jerking machine.
Ilyana is a cinch. In advance of the competition, we entered into a friendly wager. If she won the contest, she would come to New York and she would fuck me. If she lost the contest, she would come to New York and I would fuck her. I’m not one to go back on a wager. Once we make good on our bet, I’m in the home stretch.
Chelsea Girl . . . damn, that’s a tough one. See, she’s in this committed relationship with a nice guy who is, incidentally, way hotter than me. Never mind that every time someone mentions having had sex with me, Chelsea makes that raspy sound in her throat, like a cat makes just before coughing up a hairball.
Damn, that’s not bloody likely, now is it? Never mind that by this point in our friendship, the thought of sex with Chelsea Girl is about as unsettling as the image of fucking one’s own sister.
Say, I wonder if Chelsea has a sister . . . ?
I’ll suss this out. Meanwhile, I’ll stick to my original plan of going about it the good old-fashioned way—by slutting myself to each and every one of the voters.
Oh, and speaking of voters, thanks to all those who cast your ballots for me, whether or not I’ve had a chance to get naked with you yet.
I would to extend a special word of thanks to the forty-four of you who made me a winner in my other undertaking this month. That’s right: together we achieved my goal of being blown by forty-four different people in the month of my birth—one for each year of my life, with one to grow on.
My friend Lily (who was gracious enough to participate and to bring a friend to assist) was so impressed by this accomplishment that she suggested I write a motivational book, to be entitled Forty-Four Blowjobs: How to Achieve Any Dream.
I don’t know if I’ll get around to that. But maybe this birthday blowjob bonanza will become a tradition. I mean, if forty-four blowjobs were this much fun, imagine the blast I’ll have when I hit ninety!
And the one to grow on? A Jersey girl. Can I call ‘em or what?
I’ll tell you all about that soon enough. But first, I’ve got to get Nicole out of my bedroom.