This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot is for those who resolve to keep it fresh in the new year. It ain’t necessarily the same old same old.
Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me disturbing breath, taking in waifs and watching Letterman.
Lily writes me with the news that we’ll no longer be having sex, and I am thrilled for her.
Tilda finds that telling me a few things goes a long way, as her breath is taken away after letting me know her interest in erotic breath play.
Janie spends time in her new comfort zones of deep throat cocksucking and submission on her way to losing another virginity.
Lynsey resolves to have more sex, has an awesome dream, and learns when that when it comes to advice, it is sometimes better to receive than to give.
Bianca misses a train and enjoys a rare peek at a day in the life of the man behind the curtain. She finds that it’s all tuna sandwiches, writing and late night television.
Bridget doesn’t mention me at all in this post, but since it concerns a blonde, daisy dukes and white trash, let’s just pretend it does so I can link it.
Cody gives me credit for saving her life tonight, but don’t cue up the Elton John so quickly. I mean, that’s what friends are for. (It will get better, Cody, as will my song references.)
Your requests are playing at Smut Turntable. But I warn you, do not listen the Dresden Dolls’ Shores of California. It’s an earwig! If you listen just once, it will course in your bloodstream like . . . like . . . the protozoa that first climbed onto the shores of California . . . or Aristophanes and Homer . . . or tease, or sleaze, or escort agencies . . . fuck, now I have to hear it again. Just once more. I can quit anytime.
Speaking of traps, by passing “Go” on the new year, we collect two hundred dollars and enter the low-rent month of my birth. But baby, don’t you know I’ve got hot-sheets hotels on Mediterranean and Baltic Avenues? Book a room, because you’ll need it.
On the first birthday following the dissolution of my marriage, I turned forty. I found I had drawn three losing cards—middle aged, divorced and broke. My new girlfriend May suggested that we commemorate survival by getting out of the apartment and taking a room at a fancy hotel on Central Park South. There, we fucked and lounged nude. At one point, she blindfolded me, tied me to the bed and began to kiss my body. I felt her lips on my neck, my cock, my toes . . . and then, my cock and toes at the same time, and then my cock and toes and chest, all at once. “Hey, what gives?” I asked. She took off the blindfold. She smiled as I gasped, looking at Marcus, up from Washington, and his friend Daniel, who had flown in from San Francisco. Both were also nude. Our private retreat became a surprise party—or rather, a surprise orgy—arranged by friends who had left their lives behind to be with me on my birthday.
May and I were skidding by my next birthday. By that time, my sex parties had taken off, I had started a sex blog, and I was falling fast for a woman half my age, Shelby. That year, I decided to commemorate my birthday with a week of wall-to-wall sex that began with an all-male gangbang that cost me my bed.
By my next birthday, my annual week of wall-to-wall sex had left me exhausted. I got together with a dozen women, half as many men, and rolled from threesome to threesome before crashing and feeling dissolute. Last year, my most recent birthday week of wall-to-wall sex expanded to a month, I was inspired in the final two weeks of January to call for blowjobs from forty-four people: one for every year of my life, with one to grow on. Incredibly, that goal was reached by month’s end.
Now, of course, my friends want to know—how will I celebrate my birthday this year? Another broken bed? Another month of sex? Forty-five blowjobs?
I’ve got a different idea. This year, I want to get you off.
I really appreciate hearing from readers who’ve enjoyed getting off to this blog. For some, it’s been a fun diversion. For others, it’s opened doors to trying new things. For still others, the blog has let them know that they aren’t alone. That’s all good stuff, and it has much to do with why I write as “Jefferson.” It gives me joy.
So give me more joy for my birthday. Tell me how I can get you off. Maybe you want to have sex with me, trade oral sex, or find your g spot. Maybe you’ve dreamed of spankings or getting your virgin ass fucked. I can have sex with your lover, watch you masturbate, or teach you to deep throat.
Or maybe you would get off on having someone listen to the things you can’t tell people. Maybe there’s a picture you want someone to see, or a desire you want to share. There are many ways to get you off, and we don’t even have to meet for many of them.
This month, I'm going to get off forty-five people. One for every year of my life, plus one to grow on.
If you’re interested in participating, drop me a line at email@example.com to tell me what you have in mind.