This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot puts on smiles as we head off to the happy places sex bloggers go. Merrily, merrily, y’all.
Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me compared to other men, biting kittens, and helping with your homework.
Fed up with poor grammar in sex blogs, Chelsea Girl shows that proper punctuation can be to smut what lube is to anal sex, which is to say, painful when absent. She uses me in one of her examples, finding a teaching moment in one of my deepest regrets.
Lynsey passes notes in class, but I’m watching.
Eris writes that in the coming year, she would like to fuck me or to be tied up by Monk. Only “or,” Eris? Why not “and?” Dream large, girlfriend.
Eden remembers a forgettable boy while pissing at my orgy.
Cody breaks up with a boyfriend and feels frustrated that the intimacy with him is gone, while the intimacy with me is mitigated by what she reads on other blogs.
Wendy tries topping from the bottom, which only gets her smacked around.
Jocasta has a tight pussy, and you can quote me on that. In fact, she has done just that.
You know what else is hot? Bookshelves. A friend encouraged me to sign up for Goodreads, an online social network that links you to other readers. You can join me using the link on the upper right hand side of this blog, under “Contact,” or simply by clicking here. I’m not adding titles retroactively—it’s tempting, but seriously, I’d rather be reading—but you can keep track of what I’m reading now. My eyes are currently straining to Saul Bellow, Charlie Brown and chick lit.
My birthday project of getting off forty-five people is entering its final week. If there’s something I can do to get you off, drop a line; I can’t get you off if you don’t take the first step. Thanks to the lurkers who have come forward in the past few weeks. A submissive man served me and a girlfriend. Public sex was had. Lesbianism was forced. And then, there was mud. So much mud.
Here’s a joke. What the difference between broccoli and boogers?
Kids don’t eat broccoli.
Funny, right? I saved this joke to tell Lillie when I picked her up from school one day. I thought she might like telling it to her friends.
She scrunched her nose. “Why is that funny?
“Because kids don’t eat broccoli. Get it?”
“Dad, I eat broccoli. All my friends eat broccoli. Every girl in school likes broccoli.” She rolled her eyes at my ignorance.
“Hmm, well, how about if we changed the joke? Like, ‘what’s the difference between liver and boogers?’ Do your friends like liver?”
“I don’t know.” She thought for a moment. “Do I like liver? What is it?”
“It’s a kind of meat. I think it tastes like lint.”
“Oh, that’s what is left in the dryer when you do the laundry.”
She grimaced. “Why did you eat laundry, Dad?”
“I didn’t eat laundry. I’ve never really eaten lint, but I’ve imagined . . . anyway, back to the joke. What’s a food you don’t like?”
I slapped my forehead. “Will you please stop pretending you don’t like burritos? You do like them.”
“No, I hate them. And tacos. I hate them, too.”
“Honey, come on. Nobody hates tacos. Tacos are, like, perfect food.”
“I do. I hate tacos and burritos.”
“But that won’t work in the joke, because normal kids like tacos and burritos.” I poked her shoulder. “Why can’t you be a normal kid? Huh? Why?”
“Dad, I am normal. You’re just . . . bald.” She laughed at her own brand of insult comedy.
“Oh, no you didn’t!” I said.
“And fat,” she giggled.
“Ugh, I give up. You’re just a mean, mean girl.”
“All the girls at school are mean. It’s funny.”
When we got home, Lillie dropped her book bag, took off her coat and ran to find her brother.
“Hey, Jason,” she called. “Why aren’t boogers the same thing that broccoli is?”
Jason looked up. “Um, why?”
“Because kids eat boogers.” She waited for him to laugh.
Jason shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“Me either,” she shrugged. “Dad thinks it’s funny. Whatever.”
That night, I made broccoli for dinner.