Friday, October 26, 2007

Fleshbot and Guest DJ

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot takes a deep breath, screws up its courage and knocks on the door for first dates. Some people dread them, but I’m rather fond of first dates. Perhaps that’s because my first dates tend to involve sex, but judging by this week’s roundup, this is not entirely anomalous.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me with lesbians and pizza, but alas, no beer.

Lily continues her adventures in lesbianism with sassy Anna Smash. In a round of musical beds, she winds up with Anna’s boyfriend after I blow him and inadvertently blow his gaskets.

Bridget dons her fluffsmut hat to once again confuse me concerning things we may or may not have done? Or did we?

Some of you have noticed that I’m posting less frequently. It’s not that I don’t care—now sugar, you know I care—it’s just that I’m busy trying to earn enough for us. If I’m not here, try me over at the Smut Turntable, where I whistle as I work.

This weekend, we try something new at the Smut Turntable as we hand the control room over to a guest DJ. Madeline is on deck, stacking the wax as she spins it old school—as in, junior high school.

Your DJ, age 13

More exciting guest DJs are booked for upcoming weekends, so cancel your autumn and put on your headphones.

Friday, October 19, 2007

Fleshbot and Laundry

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot rides the highs and lows, from the dream lover to the pick-up tossed aside like used tissue.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me fulfilling a desire, haunting a memory and learning a secret.

Jocasta leaves me apple strudel for breakfast, lasagna for lunch, and a pile of canes to tidy.

Elle recalls a souvenir she took home from her tour of New York.

Don’t forget to tune into Smut Turntable, where your requests are always playing. If you ain’t making a mess of Matt and Kim, you’re wasting food.

Speaking of messes, Lillie and I washed laundry the other afternoon. The kids were out of socks again—this happens every month or two, it seems—so we knew it was time to spin some suds.

She sat on the center of the folding table, precisely in my way, folding washcloths and talking about her new BFF, Mindy.

“Okay, Dad, so . . . you have a lot of these little towels, Dad.”

I folded a pink t-shirt against my chest. “Uh huh. So go ahead with your story, sweet.”

“Okay, so, Dad, so Mindy and I have started a store at school, at the playground. We sell things like stuffed animals and jewelry.”

“That’s fun, playing store,” I said, tossing loose socks into a growing pile.

Lillie dropped her arms and sighed. “Dad, we don’t play store. It’s a real store. We sell things for real money.”

“Wuh-oh,” I stopped. “Where do kids get real money?”

“From lunch and things.” Lillie hummed as she reached for her favorite pair of “camel flossed” pants.

“Do the teachers know? I’m not sure it’s a good idea to sell things for real money at school.”

“Of course they know, Dad. It’s in the yard.” I waited for the “duh” this explanation seemed to require, making a mental note to check with her teacher in the morning.

I refolded Lillie’s washcloths.

I pulled a colorful print from the cart. “Look, it’s your new dress. Want to wear it to school tomorrow?”

Lillie shook her head. “I can’t wear it to school.”

“You can, you know.”

We’ve had this conversation a few times.

The dress was a spontaneous acquisition while shopping with Bridget. We were looking for slip-on Converses to augment Lillie’s black lace-up Converses when a dress caught my daughter’s eye. It tapered at the waist, with a nice drop to the knee. The pattern swirled with browns, greens and golds against cream.

“Whoa, that’s so cool!” she said. She walked to rack to touch the material.

“Oh, that is nice,” Bridget agreed.

“You like that?” I asked. “Really?”

Bridget elbowed me. “Shhh. Girl time.”

I lowered my voice. “She has never voluntarily worn a dress in her life.”

“She’s a fashionista, baby. Now shush.” Bridget joined Lillie at the rack. “Oh, that material is so soft. Rub it on your cheek.”

Lillie raised it to her face. “Wow, what is that?”

“It’s not denim, that’s what it is. It’s a dress.”

Lillie looked up. “Is it fancy?”

Bridget shook her head. “This? Nah. You can wear this any day—school, play, whatever.” She looked at the price tag. “Seventeen dollars. Okay, we’re trying this on.” Bridget dropped her eyes over Lillie’s body and reached back into the rack. “And this one, and this one, and this one.”

“Wow, cool!” Lillie laughed.

“Wait, four dresses?” I said. “But she doesn’t wear . . .”

“Shush.” Bridget took Lillie’s hand. “Come on, we’re finding the dressing room.”

I tagged along. I sat outside the dressing room in the “husband chair,” the seat provided for unfortunate men who tag along on shopping excursions.

Shortly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Dad?”

I turned and gasped. “Lillie!”

She grinned and looked down at the dress. “Isn’t it pretty?” She looked up. Her red hair fell back across her shoulders. Her grin broke into a smile.

I pushed back her hair. “It’s very pretty, Lillie. Now, walk down that aisle so I can get a better look.”

She walked a few steps in her Converses. “No, baby,” I called. “Work it.”

Lillie raised her shoulder to her chin. “Ooh, babycakes,” she purred. She gave herself a backbeat—mouthing “oonce, oonce, oonce”—and turned to sashay away.

“She is so getting that dress.” I looked up to see Bridget standing behind me.

“Oh, yes,” I agreed.

She put on the dress when we returned home and wore it until bedtime. Her brothers were taken aback by the sight of their sister dressed like a girl.

“Are you really going to wear that to school?” Collie asked.

“Yes,” Lillie said. “It looks pretty, like me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please.”

At bedtime, Lillie’s brow furrowed as I tucked her in. “Dad, I have gym tomorrow. I can’t wear my new dress to gym.”

“You can’t, huh?” I sat on the bed. “Well, you also go home to your mother’s house tomorrow after school. So how about you wear the dress to school when you are back here in a few days.”

She smiled. “Okay, that’s a good idea.”

“Good.” I kissed her cheek. “Good night, sweet.”


As I turned out the light, she added. “I need new shoes.”

“Good night,” I repeated.

“For the dress!” she laughed.

“Good night,” I repeated, closing the door.

When I tucked her in a few nights later, I reminded her that the dress was ready for school the next morning.

“I can’t wear a dress to school,” she said flatly.

“Sure you can. You don’t have gym tomorrow.”

“It’s not allowed. Dresses aren’t allowed.”

I sat on the bed. “I’m pretty sure that dresses are allowed in school.”

“No, they aren’t.” She reached for a stuffed puppy. “Only pants. Mindy said so.”

“Well, sugar, Mindy doesn’t make those decisions.”

Lillie looked at me and scowled. “No dresses in school.”

“You may wear it it, but you don’t have to wear it.” I kissed her forehead. “That’s your decision. Good night.”

That afternoon, Lillie came home from school and changed into her dress.

The next afternoon, she wore the dress again. She likes to wear her dress, look in the mirror and brush her hair. But only at home.

She’s an after-school transvestite. The girl needs her glam fix.

She took the dress as we folded clothes the other day. “I’m putting this on when we get home.”

“I think that’s splendid,” I said.

Our conversation lulled as we concentrated on folding clothes. My mind wandered to things I might make for dinner.

“Um, Dad, whose are those?” I looked up to see Lillie pointing into the laundry cart. On top of the pile was a pair of very short cut-off jeans. “Are they yours?”

“Maybe,” I hemmed, reaching for a towel that would obscure the shorts.

Lillie picked up a shirt to fold. “Dad, those look so old.”

“I think they are pretty old. I should toss them.” I began to unload a dryer onto the cart, hoping to bury the evidence. The first item to land on the pile was a t-shirt belonging to Cody. Please, I thought, no panties now.

Lillie carefully folded her shirt into a wad. “Well, don’t wear them outside, then. They are too old.”

“Good idea.” I tucked Cody’s shirt and my Daisy Dukes under folded towels.

She doesn’t need to know that Daddy also needs a glam fix now and then.

When we returned home, Lillie marshaled her brothers to put away laundry. I made dinner. Every now and then, she would come into the kitchen with some new items that she wanted to offer at the playground store. I approved three NeoPets, one Canadian penny and a “Bee Movie” spoon she got from a box of Cocoa Puffs.

“Kids will want this,” she said of the spoon. “Everyone wants to see ‘Bee Movie.’”

She sat at the table and drew paper signs for the store. Yes, We Are Open. Sorry, We Are Closed. Each sign was made in rainbow colors and decorated with the appropriate happy or sad face. The signage and stock were assembled in a pink bag she found in a cabinet.

“Look, Dad!” She held up the bag and grinned. "Look at all the pretty pluses and minuses on my special bag."

“Oh, that’s very nice,” I said, stirring sautéed apples and corn. “Tell you what, put that on the couch so we don’t forget it in the morning.”

That night, after I tucked in the children, I looked through a cabinet and found another pink gift bag. I transferred Lillie's stock to the new bag, and threw away the one with the Babeland logo.

Abby Winters


Day Tripper

A few days ago, a suburban mother came to the city to see what all the fuss was about. When she returned home, she dropped me a line.

Fuck me skirt: $75
Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon: $45
Train ride: $23
Cab fare: $30

Being Fucked by Jefferson: PRICELESS

The bourbon goes down as smooth as a Connecticut lady.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Training of O

Julie Night

Fleshbot and Spinning

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot keeps things Fresh! Bold! New! with those inventive folks who keep sex novel. One never knows what to expect, do one?

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me running a blowjob contest, pushing edges and putting sex on display.

Jocasta divvies up the spoils after a live sex show and learns that I simply can’t fuck to Madonna. Or can I?

Eden reflects on her occasional need to push sex and pain to the limits.

Bridget learns to mind her manners by keeping her hands to self at mealtime.

Desire X says kind words about me, which was especially warm considering we haven’t had sex yet—emphasis on the “yet.”

Please keep dancing over to Smut Turntable, where your requests are always spinning.

Speaking of spinning, that’s what my head is now doing, as so many readers—new and old—have lately been coming out of the shadows to write. Thanks for that.

More true-life smut to come.

Sunday, October 07, 2007

Abby Winters

Karmen and Kendall

Fleshbot and Smut Turntable

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot sets the alarm for morning sex, no matter at which side of bedtime the dawn may find us.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me wielding flogs, holding hands and fending off an attack.

Wendy fears she is the ugly duckling of the dungeon before remembering that she’s blessed with caring friends. I may be biased (okay, so I am biased), but I think it’s Wendy’s most affecting post to date.

Cody and I share a tender moment and find that we can count to nine.

Lily and I have a few drinks before her first lesbian experience. Later, she loses sleep as the force majeure that is Marcus blows into town.

Speaking of sleepless nights, here’s something to keep you dancing until the wee hours. A number of you wrote to say you enjoyed the videos I recently posted on a lark. I took the cue to fire up a new blog mixing music, dirty pictures and the occasional story.

Smut Turntable

Some of these songs have spun on my turntable for years. Others have wafted in more recently. A few have been suggested by friends and readers. Take a listen and leave comments to let me know what moves you.

As you’ll read, I do take requests.



Friday, October 05, 2007

Time Out New York

The annual sex issue of Time Out New York is out, and within you will find many of my friends, along with yours truly.

Tess reveals to her lover a recurring desire for forced sex. Together, they bring her fantasies to life, although at some cost to her wardrobe.

Audacia Ray cites my expertise in double penetration. To put my know-how to the test, she takes my Madeline off for a threesome with another man. Hey, now wait a minute . . .

With the womenfolk thus preoccupied, I trade my street clothes for a towel to cruise gay bathhouses. Applying the time-honored codes for steamy pickups, I encounter a situation that wasn’t in the game books.

I Want . . . Gay Bathhouse Sex

Among many other features, there’s also a handy Pick-a-Fetish Megachart, for those looking to get started in such activities as breath control, spanking, fisting, or squirting. There, you’ll find advice from pals including Sinclair, Selina, Boymeat, and Lolita Wolf. I’m there too, lurking at the masturbation parties.

Now on newsstands and nightstands in New York; online everywhere.

Welcome to those of you tuning in for the first time. Please feel free to peruse the Archive, located in the sidebar at left, for more tales of parenting and perversion. Also visit my friends via the links in the left sidebar. Many of us get naked together. You may come to know us all rather intimately.


Tuesday, October 02, 2007

Abby Winters



Elle wrote to introduce herself. She had corresponded with Madeline and long read my blog. Now she wanted to say hello. Perhaps we could meet when she and her boyfriend came New York for a music festival?

I checked the dates and replied that it would be great to meet. Perhaps we could have drinks?

That would be really nice, she agreed. Perhaps they could bring a bottle of bourbon to my place?

Now, there are many reasons people bring bottles of bourbon to my place, but one reason frequently rises above others. So I asked: were we planning a date for drinks or sex?

Sex, she wrote, would be a very nice possibility.

Elle and her boyfriend, Brian, were graduate students at a Southern university. Both were bisexual and nurtured the hope of finding male and female partners to bring into their relationship.

However, this wasn’t easy. Neither could risk exposure in their small college town, so they kept their sexuality behind closed doors. When they were lucky enough to find a potential date, there was always a problem. The women were primarily interested in sex with Brian. The men they met were primarily interested in sex with Elle. No one seemed to understand that Elle and Brian wanted to date as a couple, not to bring in someone else for one or the other.

“Does it sound jaded,” I wrote, “to say that this sounds pretty typical?”

I asked Madeline about her impressions of Elle. “She’s perfectly nice,” Madeline wrote. “What brand is she bringing?”

Now that sex was on the agenda, Elle and I traded photos. I sent a picture of my smiling face. She sent me a portrait, followed by a series of nudes. She was a pretty, voluptuous twenty-three-year old, with curly hair. She also sent a photograph of her boyfriend.

He wasn’t my type.

That might be a problem, as I was accepting a date with them as a couple, not with her alone. I looked at the photograph again. Why wasn’t I attracted to him?

He was tall and fine looking. He had piercing blue eyes and dark wavy hair. I couldn’t place my objection . . . oh, right. He had a beard. I’m not really one for facial hair.

“Brian looks like a pleasant fellow,” I wrote. “So, does he still have the beard?”

“It comes and goes,” she replied. “Practically daily.”

I scratched my chin. I decided to buck up. If they were nice, I could put aside an aversion to scratchy cheeks.

As their trip approached, we honed in on dates. Elle checked her concert calendar. I looked at my schedule of work and parenting. We realized that bourbon at my place wasn’t feasible. Instead, I would crawl into their hotel bed one morning after they had spent a late night at shows.

That morning, I took the kids to school and took a subway downtown. They were staying at a funky old hotel I liked. They buzzed me upstairs.

Elle greeted me at the door in her underwear. I kissed her good morning.

“Jefferson, come here. I want you to meet Brian.”

Elle led me to the bed. Brian was propped up on pillows, his eyes puffy, his hair tousled by sleep. The sheets were pulled up to the chest of his t-shirt.

“Hey, Jefferson,” Brian said, reaching for his glasses. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” I grinned, leaning forward to kiss his smooth cheek.

He looked cute in glasses.

“Jefferson, I feel like we owe you bourbon,” Elle apologized. “But it’s morning, so we got champagne instead. Is that okay?”

“I like champagne just fine, thanks,” I smiled, sitting in a chair. “That was very thoughtful.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me if it’s any good,” she said, reaching for a bottle on a counter. “I don’t know anything about it.”

“We picked it up last night,” Brian nodded. “Elle remembered, thankfully.”

“It’s very thoughtful,” I repeated. I watched as Elle unraveled the gold foil and twisted off the wire encasement. She put her thumbs under the cork, winced and pointed the bottle away. “Oh,” I raised a hand. “May I?”

She laughed. “Yes, you’d better. I’ll kill someone.”

I twisted the cork from the bottle. I poured warm champagne into plastic cups. Elle declined, explaining that she doesn’t drink.

“Cheers.” I raised my cup to Brian.

“Cheers,” he replied.

I asked about their trip and the concerts they had seen at the festival. Elle spoke at a rapid pace, taking me through the events of the past few days. Brian listened quietly, nodding now and then. I got the sense he could’ve used a few hours more sleep.

The conversation turned to their opportunities to meet other partners at home.

“Brian actually had a promising date last week,” Elle said, turning to her boyfriend.

“Eh, I don’t know,” he said. He put his empty cup on a nightstand. I reached for the bottle to refill it. “I really got the idea that she was, you know, into dating me. She just wasn’t listening—oh, thanks, Jefferson—she wasn’t listening when I told her about being in an open relationship.”

Elle wriggled on her hips. “She’s cute, though.”

“Cute she is,” Brian agreed, raising the cup to his lips. Soft, full lips, I noticed.

I crossed my legs. The couple continued to talk about the frustrations of dating others. Elle confessed to a crush on a professor. I poured more champagne.

I listened, waiting.

Eventually, Elle looked at me. “Oh, I’m talking a mile a minute. We’re going to bore you.”

“Not at all,” I smiled. “It’s great to get to know you both. I’m enjoying it a lot. Still, I know you are on a tight schedule . . .”

“Yeah, I’m glad you could come over,” Brian said. “Sorry we couldn’t make it to your place.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said. “But perhaps we should . . .”

Elle nodded. “Oh yes, we should.”

Brian laughed, a little nervously.

I stood. “Here. How about I undress?”

Elle nodded again. “Oh yes, you should.” She leaned over to cuddle with her boyfriend.

They watched as I pulled off my sweater. I looked down to unbutton my shirt, kicking off my shoes as I did so. They watched as I lowered my jeans, adding them to the pile of clothes on my chair.

I sat on the bed, nude, leaning back on my arms. My shoulders rose to my ears. “So,” I said. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Brian glanced down my body. He leaned forward, bringing his lips to mine. Soft, full lips.

I parted my lips to his. His fingertips lightly grazed my thigh. I moaned into his mouth, growing hard as his fingers traced my leg.

“Oh God, that’s so hot,” Elle said, her voice somewhere in the world beyond Brian’s mouth. I cupped my hand to his neck and pulled him closer. My other hand tugged at his shirt. Our kiss broke as the shirt past our faces. Our lips found one another’s fast as the shirt landed on the floor.

I moved forward, pushing him back. I crouched over him, running my hands through his hair.

Elle moved aside to give us room. My fingers ran down to the hair on his chest. I began to will his beard to grow back, right now, this instant.

Brian pushed me back. I fell to the side of the bed Elle had just vacated. He stood and kicked his way out of sweat pants. He folded his glasses and carefully placed them on the nightstand before falling to take my cock in his mouth.

“Oh, shit, Brian,” I sighed. He snorted, swallowing me and pulling back to swallow me again. “Elle, Elle, come here,” I gestured. I patted the bed next to me. Elle crawled forward to sit beside me. “You have to kiss me, now,” I directed, breathless. “Your boyfriend is so fucking hot.”

“He’s so fucking hot,” she agreed, kissing me. She took my mouth as hungrily as her lover took my cock. I ran my hand to her bare breasts, wondering when she had undressed.

Given what they had told me, I intended to focus on Brian at first. I wanted to differentiate myself from the run-of-the-mill men who were fine with letting Brian blow them if that was the price for fucking Elle. I was not one of those bisexuals, not at all. I wanted them to feel I was in this for both of them.

“Fuck,” I groaned, taking my face from Elle’s. “God, look at him. He’s devouring me.”

Elle rested a hand on my chest. “He’s so fucking hot,” she repeated, her voice raspy. Brian looked up to her eyes, gurgling his response into my cock. His drool collected on my body.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. My body was theirs.

Elle ran her hands down my torso, bringing her lips to my nipples. I twitched as the ran her tongue along my skin, her movements as soft as her boyfriend’s were urgent. I curled and bucked as she found her way to my belly.

I sat up, taking Brian’s head in my hand. “Brian, man, you’re so great. But now I need to get my dick in your girlfriend.”

He panted, smiling. “Yeah, yeah . . .” he managed.

I sat up on my knees, holding out my hands. “C’mere, Elle. I want to kiss you.”

She took my hands and crawled on her knees to me. I wrapped my arms around her. Her kiss was supple and giving. As we kissed, I could imagine her receptive lips meeting Brian’s omnivorous mouth.

I pulled back and stood from the bed. I fumbled in the pocket of my jeans for a condom, tossing another on nightstand.

She sighed as I entered her. Brian lay on the bed, his arms on Elle’s torso as he watched me fuck his girlfriend. Her head rolled back as she twitched and breathed. “Oh fuck, oh fuck . . . “ she groaned. “Oh fuck, Brian, he’s making me cum . . .”

“Do it,” he grinned. He stroked her cheek. “Cum for me.”

Elle wailed as she came on my cock for her boyfriend.

“So fucking hot,” I said, pulling out. I nodded at Brian. “You want to fuck her?”

He grinned. “Sure. Thanks.”

“No problem.” I tugged the latex from my cock. I nodded at the nightstand. “Spare condom if you want.”

Brian positioned himself between her thighs. “No need,” he said, guiding his bare dick into her.

“Nice.” I moved to the other side of the bed. “Here, let me get in a good position to watch.” I put my hands on Elle’s cheek. She opened her mouth to my cock.

Brian struggled to push into her, raising her legs to his shoulders. I reached forward to take her ankles in my hands. He caught my eye. “Thanks, man.”

“I’m here to help,” I noted, easing my cock into his girlfriend’s throat. She gurgled.

Brian fucked her with quick strokes then fell back. “Shit.”

“What?” I asked.

“I’m not hard.” He stroked himself self-consciously.

“You want me to blow you?” I asked, continuing to fuck Elle’s face.

“No, it’s cool,” he said. He sounded disappointed.

I didn’t want him to fret about performance. If he grew anxious about that, his thoughts might run to wondering if she was enjoying me more than she enjoyed him, to wondering if I preferred her to him, to wondering if this had been a bad idea.

We needed to change tactics. I lowered Elle’s legs and pulled away from her face. She gasped for air.

“Hmmm, thank you,” I said. I crouched to kiss her. “Catch your breath. I won’t be far.”

I stepped on the bed, standing over her torso. “Brian?”

He looked up from his flaccid dick. “Yeah?”

I looked down. “Suck my dick, boy.”

He smiled. “Sure.”

Still breathing heavily, Elle watched as he took my cock again. “Brian . . .” she whispered. “So hot.”

He moved furiously on my cock. I reached up to steady myself on the ceiling. “Fuck, man,” I said, echoing Elle. “You suck that cock.”

Brian’s cock responded immediately. Elle took him in her hand and pulled him back into her body.

Brian thrust with his hips. I echoed his thrusts into his face. We were fucking full on.

He pulled away from me suddenly, dropping drool on Elle’s torso. “Oh, God, oh God . . . ,” he whispered.

“Baby, baby . . . ,” Elle answered.

Brian pulled back, taking his cock in hand. He sprayed on his girlfriend’s body. “Unh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah, boy, give it to her,” I called.

Elle reached to her clit and groaned herself to climax.

I stepped aside. Brian fell next to Elle. They laughed, refilling their lungs. I lay next to him, kissing his forehead.

“So,” he said. “You coming Down South soon?”

“Not soon enough,” I grinned. “Ya’ll damned hot, ya’ll is.”

After a while, I made some noise about the clock. I wanted to give them some time to be alone together.

“What are your plans for the afternoon?” I asked, reaching for my pants.

“I’m not sure,” Elle said, reaching for a guidebook. “I was thinking we’d go for cupcakes. Not Magnolia, but another place . . .”

“And a deli,” Brian said.

“Oh yeah, a deli. I wanted to take Brian to a real deli. It’s a shame that the Second Avenue Deli is gone.”

“I know.” I buttoned my shirt. “That whole thing—the unsolved murder, the closing—was a real tragedy.”

“Murder?” Brian asked.

“The owner was killed a few years ago. The place never recovered.” I tucked in my shirt. “Sorry, that was dark. Have you tried Katz’s, down on Houston Street?”

“No.” Elle looked up from her book. “Is it good?”

“Only the best.” I took my jacket in my arm. “Okay, well, this was lovely. Thanks so much; it was great to finally meet.”

Elle stood and we kissed. I leaned over the bed to kiss Brian.

“Next time,” I smiled as I closed the door behind me.

As I hit the sidewalk, I reflected on the many roles I have played in this life. Son. Brother. Friend. Lover. Husband. Father. Now, it seemed I could add another:

Tourist attraction.