This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot ties down submissives to get an earful from the bottom. Ball gags off, please.
Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me with some of the birthday girls—and still one to go!—wondering what’s with all the Aries in my life?
Tilda decided she would like a gangbang for her birthday, and asked me to invite one man for every year of her life. Did I mention she turned thirty-six?
A little while ago, Sinclair of Sugarbutch Chronicles asked me to participate in a contest. She invited eleven bloggers to submit erotic scenarios that she would elaborate into salacious sex tales. (I was the only biological male she asked, more evidence in support of my contention that I’m the last stop on the road to lesbian, and the first exit on the return.)
Now that Sinclair has concluded her series, it’s time for readers to vote—who will be the next Sugarbutch Star? This button will take you to a page where you can vote for your choice. You can also read the complete series.
Here’s an update on my family crisis: it seems to be coming to a resolution, as this weekend, I signed a lease on a new place. I’ve certainly learned a good deal about New York real estate in the process of searching for a home. I can’t wait to forget it all. Thanks so much to those of you who helped to make this possible, and who have inquired after my family. Stay tuned for more.
Speaking of tuned, my daughter Lillie enjoys tuning in on anything any girls are doing anywhere. She’s surrounded herself with a clique of girls in school, anointing one her BFF and the rest her “special friends.” The gang allows one boy to be around, she tells me, “but only because it’s fun to rub your hands on his hair.”
One afternoon, as we rode the bus home after school, Lillie fell quiet and eavesdropped on two teenage girls gossiping in the seat behind us.
“Yeah, but she was already with that one guy and then she hooked up with that other guy. She’s a slut, if you ask me.”
“No, she’s not,” her friend said, her voice rising in disagreement. “That dude was gone. He didn’t even live anywhere near her. That shit was over.”
“I don’t care about that,” the first teen argued. “If you say you’re with somebody, you don’t just go off and hook up with someone else. That’s just two timing.”
“What was she supposed to do? Just sit around, doing nothing? When it’s over, it’s over. End of story. She got herself a new man.” She sat back. “I’d have done the same damn thing.”
“Oh yeah?” her friend laughed. “What, would you get knocked up, too, like she did?”
“No! I’m not stupid. I’d use protection. But no way am I sitting around waiting on some boy to call.”
“Yeah, me too,” the first girl agreed. “She just should’ve told him it was over before she hooked up with the other guy. That’s what she should’ve done.”
“Yeah,” her friend nodded. “That shit’s fucked up.”
The girls paused, looking out the window. Lillie smiled up at me, excited to have been privy to such salacious adolescent gossip. I bobbed my head, pretending we weren’t listening.
“Anyway,” the first said. “What’s up with her name?”
“I know!” her friend laughed. “She’s got such an old lady name.”
“’Hester.’ Who names anyone that?”
“It’s like an old lady name.”
“It makes me think of a rat.”
“A baggy old lady with wrinkles.”
“A baggy old lady rat with wrinkles.” The girls giggled.
“Seriously.” The first girl stared out the window. “’Hester Prynne.’ What an effed-up name.”
After we left the bus, Lillie watched the teens walk off in another direction. “Those girls are so mean to their friend,” she said, almost admiringly.
I took her hand as we crossed the street. “Sweetie, I think they were talking about a character in a book, not a real person.”
She look up and rolled her eyes. “Dad, that was real.” She looked over her shoulder at the teenagers. “That’s what girls talk about—real stuff.”