This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot plays peek-a-boo with sex bloggers who enjoy the unexpected. I would give you the lineup, but why ruin the surprise?
Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find my debut at Dominatrix Next Door. When Calico found me feeling shy at her first orgy, she came up with a solution—she put my dick in her. She showed similar ingenuity at a subsequent orgy in fending off the advances of a male model—she put my dick in him.
She’s a real problem solver, this one.
Elsewhere at the orgy, Adam and Emma had their plans for a quiet night foiled by the meeting of a lovely couple who simply insisted on being awesome.
Meanwhile, the somewhat shy and retiring Lily found a somewhat shy and retiring boy at the orgy and made a private date for another time. There, she learned his real name, met his pussy and saw his panties.
Speaking of alter egos, the footstool formerly known as Deidre has adopted a new name, Eden, and started her own sex blog. Visit her in The Garden; tell her Jefferson sent you.
Also let her know that my boots require lacing.
Speaking of surprises, I had an unpleasant one when my laptop died recently, taking with it every photograph I have made in the past year. Goodbye to Verdad’s cum shot screen test, farewell to the pinups of Nicole and Anna Smash, and sayanora to the smirk on Madeline’s face after a bukkake party.
Models to places, please. We need to reshoot.
I tend to follow the philosophy of Eeyore when things go wrong—things just go wrong, they always do—and turn my pinned-on tail to the whole mess. It’s technology. It’s supposed to screw up. I’ll learn my lesson (I know, Viviane, I know: back up!), acquire a new laptop, and await the next catastrophe.
I’ll just have to ask my friends to keep getting naked for my camera.
What I do regret most, though, is the loss of the pictures I made of my children. I’ll take more photographs of them, of course, but I can’t ask Jason to restage his first dives head first into a lake, or beg Collie to sing once more at his fourth-grade graduation, or entreat Lillie to remove the grown-up teeth she waited so long to grow.
For those moments, I’ll have to rely on my memory.
But this week, I found my memory shaken by the arrival of pictures from my Mom. She was going through some files on her computer and dug up pictures from seven summers ago Down South.
There was twelve-year-old Rachel, smiling with her still-crooked teeth, long before the braces she was wearing when she met her husband-to-be. There was six-year-old Jason, grinning as he held a basketball over his head, his eyebrows tucked behind his bangs. And there was three-year-old Collie, holding a ball and smiling with all the teeth he possessed, wearing tiny Baby Gap clothes I know I must still have someplace.
No pictures of Lillie, as she was deemed too young to travel that year by her mother, who clung to that as her own excuse to avoid a visit with my family.
I thanked Mom for the photographs. They made me smile in that panged, bittersweet way.
It’s bad enough that I miss my kids this week, as they vacation with their mother.
Now I find myself missing the kids in these photographs, the children they once were, and will never be again.
When my teenaged daughter announced her intentions to marry this summer, my friends elbowed me and teased, “Bet that makes you feel old, huh?”
“Not at all,” I said. “She’s marrying very young! That’s no reflection on my advancing years.”
But these photographs make me feel old. They make me feel the passing of time. I want to grab up those little babies I once knew, once more.
Ah, well. I’m sure to be a grandfather before you know it.