This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot takes a pass on fornication, thankyouverymuch, in favor of other pleasures, with just a few frustrations thrown in to keep things lively.
Those of you who enjoy stalking me will be busy, as I have been making up for the absence of my summer vacation.
Eileen enjoys the view as her beloved Maymay puts to the test all those practice sessions spent bending over for strap-ons and deep throating bottles.
Lily figures me among her regular lovers when accounting her sexual past and present to someone in her sexual future, and thinks twice about my advice on how to handle a flakey man, deciding along the way to give him her ass virginity.
Wendy proves more receptive to my words of wisdom when pondering what to do about a burning crush, even as she naturally does just as I recommended in regard to said flakey man, to varying results.
Welcome back to Rose, whose silence I so enjoyed when she lived in New York, but whose words I have missed since her blog went dark.
Finally, here’s a shout out to soul sister Selina, who celebrates her birthday today. May each year be more adventurous than the last—which, considering Selina’s annual output of adventure, is a tall order as blessings go.
Speaking of birthdays, my daughter Lillie shares Selina’s astrological sign (they are each Leos, hard as that may be to imagine of these shy, retiring types). This week, we celebrated the arrival of Lillie’s eighth year in accordance with her wishes—dinner with Bridget at “the Italian restaurant, the one with the chocolate cake,” and a party play date with her BFF, Harper.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Lillie instructed. “I want surprises and a piñata.” She giggled at that—Collie and Lillie utilize the word “piñata” as a top-secret euphemism for “penis.”
Nothing gets by me. Still, I recognize that sometimes a piñata is just a piñata.
Bridget volunteered to find a piñata as she went about her errands on the preceding weekend. “What else should I pick up? Do you need a dowel or something to hit it with?”
“Daddy has something to hit it with,” I replied.
“Oh God, please don’t let you daughter find out that you have a riding crop. Or that I do, for that matter.”
“I have a very suitable bamboo cane,” I assured her. VenusRopes had recently presented me a very nice assortment.
“I don’t want to know how you know it will work,” Bridget wrote. “I mean, of course I know how you know, but still . . . wait, do we need a blindfold?”
I paused. “Daddy has a blindfold.”
“I never thought about how kinky a piñata can be,” Bridget replied.
I think it must’ve been Lolita who introduced me to the word “pervertible,” which refers to any innocuous item that can be adapted to perverted ends. Common pervertibles include wooden spoons that double as paddles and clothespins that serve as nipple clamps.
The beating of this birthday piñata called for the adaptive use of “reverse pervertibles”: items used for kink that turn out to have vanilla applications.
Lillie, Harper and I returned from a walk to find Bridget and Collie waiting at home. While we were out, they had secretly decorated for a party. “Surprise!” they shouted. “Happy birthday to you . . .”
“No singing!” Lillie barked. She had already issued orders—no one was to sing “Happy Birthday” or take photographs without express permission. She took Harper by the hand and walked into the darkened dining room. There, she saw the display: a large red bull with gold horns, wearing a wide straw sombrero and a lei featuring a flashing plastic red pepper. This set piece sat atop a paper tablecloth decorated with festive letters spelling “fiesta.”
“That’s the piñata?” Lillie asked.
“Cool!” Harper admired.
Lillie glanced at her peer, then up at Bridget. “Yeah, cool!”
“Glad you like, sweetie.” Bridget turned to me. “You know, it was the only one that wasn’t SpongeBob or Bart Simpson or something that would’ve been just wrong.”
“Oh no, some things should be traditional,” I agreed. “Nice work.”
“Thanks.” She began to look around the room. “But where are we going to hang the thing? There’s a hook on its back, but I didn’t think to bring rope . . .” Bridget paused. “Oh, wait: Daddy has rope.”
“Of course Daddy has rope.”
I retrieved a coil of black nylon and tied the piñata to a broom handle with a few deft shank knots. “You’re getting very good at that,” Bridget admired. “Almost as good as Conrad.” Bridget’s other man is a former sailor; I appreciated the favorable comparison.
I smiled. “I pay attention in class. Now, let’s get this party started.”
I turned on some dance music—well, whattya know? Amy Winehouse was waiting when I hit “play”—and stepped onto a sturdy table. Jason picked up my go-go moves as he sang, “They tried to make me go to rehab, I said-uh no, no, no.”
Lillie was first up. She complained about the blindfold, but rules are rules. She made contact with every blow.
Harper was no less fortunate. Funny how that happens when Daddy’s behind the boom.
Collie attacked with considerable alacrity, tearing a crack across the bull’s midsection. “Another blow for genetics,” Bridget laughed.
I raised the piñata high for Jason, and tried to avoid his blow. Still, he connected each blow like Barry Bonds after a fresh injection. All that awaited was the coup de grâce. The honor fell in turn to the birthday girl.
Lillie brought down a rain of papier-mâché and candy. The children dove to the floor, shouting. I stepped down from the table and put aside the broom.
“Aw, how nice and greedy,” Bridget admired.
I put an arm on her shoulder and thought how like a piñata Bridget can be. Like a piñata, she is sweet inside and I would like to hit her with a stick.
Now, the floor is swept and the children are with their mother. Daddy’s cane, rope and blindfold are packed away and ready for Floating World. If you happen to be there, be sure to say hello.
And if you are sweet inside, please do let me know.