This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot takes a deep breath and goes for broke, consequences be damned. You may wake up with regrets, but for now, your id is in the driver’s seat.
Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me bedding sticks, standing up to stubborn holes, and overhearing comments made behind my back.
Among the resolutions listed by Lynsey is a threesome with me and another bi boy. Any takers? Or do drawn sticks draw straws?
Eden ponders the ways that sex can impact our lives while she fucks my ass and holds my hand.
Janie finally joins the cool kids who get their bungholes plugged in one of the funniest devirginities I’ve read.
Joy perpetuates legends of our circle, praising my fingers and the famed blowjobs of Avah and Wendy.
Okie Ace speaks my name out loud for the first time, and Marcus is there to hear it.
Gay activist Bill Samuels takes this blog to task for purporting to illuminate “the bisexual lifestyle” when it seems primarily concerned with my relationships with women. He doubts the veracity of even these accounts—and yet, dear friends, they are all true. I might say pish-posh to some of his complaints, but I do think he’s right in one respect: other duties of late have kept me from writing as much blog smut as I would like. A superficial reading might overlook my Archives, and thus miss all the fine cocksucking, ass-fucking, male orgies and adolescent longing recounted within. Not that I owe apologies for not being satisfactorily queer in my bedroom, but I do regret that reviewers looking for queer content in my blog may need to actually read the blog to find it.
And what have I been busy with, you ask? I’ll tell you soon, just not yet.
For now—let’s visit the countdown from forty-five!
Thanks to Molly for creating a graphic for my Jack U Off project.
My goal of getting off forty-five people this month is off to a rollicking good start, with some folks already made happy even as others ready for their money shots. If you’d like to be among the forty-five, drop me a line to let me know how I can help to get you off.
Here are a few reports of progress to date.
Flogs and the Aging
A grey-bearded gent lamented that the medicines that keep him healthy have robbed him of his erection. Yet he perseveres and has discovered that while his orgasm may be retired, his sexuality has taken new turns. He has realized that his long attraction to giving pleasure extends to men as well as women, and he has been drawn to new physical sensations, such as deep tissue massages.
I had him over for a live sex show with Avah. As he described new turns in his sex life, I turned to her. “Flogging.”
“Yes,” she nodded.
He looked confused. “What’s that?”
I retrieved a flogger and explained how its thud impact on certain muscle groups can be compared to a deep massage. We talked about how Avah and I have integrated flogging and BDSM into sex. Lights flashed in his mind. We offered to demonstrate after he watched us fuck.
An hour or so of sex later, I beat Avah as he observed, rapt. Afterwards, she and I lay wrapped in each other’s limbs as he interviewed her about her sensations.
After we said our goodbyes, I walked him to the door. “I’m going to think about flogging,” he said.
I kissed his beard. “Whenever you’re ready,” I smiled.
A bi-curious woman contacted me to talk about her growing desire to be with other women. At first, we spoke in general ways about first steps into bisexuality. Gradually, it dawned on me that she may have hoped that I would help to arrange her first experiences. She was glad I offered. And then, just like that, she branched out on her own, finding other bisexual women. One date led to another, and then another.
“Look at you,” I said. “You’re quite the ladykiller!”
She replied with a sexy photograph of herself imitating James Bond, shooting the camera with her fingers.
A beautiful woman doesn’t need my help in finding other beautiful women, but still, she had a place for me in her new life. She needed someone to share all this with, someone who could help her to process things. She didn’t feel she could go to her husband with this; their sex life was routine and besides, this was her own. And so she took me as a lover. We talk, have sex, and commiserate about marriage, parenting and the women she’s meeting.
A woman with a wicked sense of humor told me that she intended to kiss a pervert, and that pervert was me. Apparently, she had heard the rumor that I’m a passable kisser and an easy mark. If it got her off, I said, I’m game for a kiss. She replied by sending me a photograph of her pussy. Well, well, thought I.
Our date was scuttled, however, when her husband discovered our correspondence. He was understandably angry to learn that his wife was flirting with a pervert. They talked, and she opened up to him. She wasn’t satisfied, she explained. They had allowed the routines of life to interfere with their sexual relationship, and she missed being with him. He agreed—they needed to renew the passion that brought them together.
“Remember that pussy?” she later told me. “It’s sore. We can’t stop fucking. And it’s thanks to your blog and our notes. So . . . thanks!”
I smiled at that. With her consent, I added both husband and wife to the people I got off this month. And look at that, I didn’t have to do a thing.
My previous post about a college freshman engendered predictable judgments concerning vulnerable girls and predatory men. Never mind that the date was reported by the woman who fell victim to my . . . doing as she wanted. It can be a mighty bother when the victimized decline to be victims, though such bothers scarcely give hesitation to those intent on donning wigs and robes.
Sex and sexuality are routinely judged by absolutes, whether the judge is identified by clerical vestments, Tantric chants, gay activism or any rubric that posits a right or wrong that denies the value of lived experience.
If you are looking for a direction in this “Jack U Off” project, you’ll find it right there in the name. See, it centers on U.
When I consider a sex partner, I rarely dismiss someone out of hand based on bias. No consenting adult is too young, too old, too fat, too thin, too married, too inexperienced, too straight, too distant or too whatever to be taken at face value. I strive to take people as they are and to understand their circumstances.
I have little patience for views hemmed in by certainty and absolutism. If I did, I suppose I would send away the young woman who wants experience, the married woman who craves a lover and friend, or the older man whose sexuality is newly in flux. I would sign on for prevailing notions that young women are hapless, adultery is always wrong, and aging sexuality is unseemly.
But life, it seems, prepared me to act differently.
I spent most of my adult life locked into a contract to live as one is supposed to live. I took on the mantle of monogamy and marriage, and in return, I lived an essentially celibate existence knowing that should I break the standard rules, the state would side with my wife in claiming me a villain. That contract was ultimately rendered null and void on my wife’s whim, and there was little to be done but to accept the inevitable destruction of the marriage we had built up over fifteen years. I played fairly and lost to unfair circumstances, but them’s the breaks in the marriage game.
Now, I am suspicious of absolutes in sexuality. Better to embrace the ambiguity of reality and to apprehend the world as it is, rather than to take refuge in the certainty of smug prejudice.