Fleshbot and Fritz

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot finds those turning points that set us off in new directions. Sometimes it’s as simple as wearing something different; sometimes it’s all about treating the same old lover in entirely new ways.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me watching the clock, wondering after the arrival of Tilda’s second gangbang of the day. What finally arrives proves worth the wait.

There’s also a new blog to stalk. You may recall the young woman who wrote to Time Out New York to thank the magazine for leading her to someone who could help her to orgasm. Now Alice has gone off to start her own sex blog. You can read about our first encounter and stick around for more, as the girl gets around.

Speaking of new things, this is my last week in my current apartment. Next week will find me in different digs and, more than likely, offline for a few days.

This week the kids enjoyed spring break, which included their last night in the apartment. While they are at their mother’s home, I’ll finish packing and move. When they next come home to Dad’s place, it will be at a new address.

It was the last time we will all live in the place in which each of the three children was conceived. I didn’t put too fine a point on that fact—though, I confess, it had me feeling sentimental. We declared our final night to be a party. We ordered in pesto pizza drizzled in corn, mozzarella sticks and Greek salads, poured rivers of fruit punch, and remembered some of our favorite moments in the place we know so well. The kids say they are happy to be moving on; I’m crossing my fingers and hoping for a smooth transition.

This being a busy time, of course things are bound to go wrong. First my camera went on the fritz. I suppose it must’ve been jostled or dropped as the kids documented Bridget’s wedding, or maybe it just grew weary of the weekly sight of my feet. Alas, the move will go undocumented in photographs.

Then, on the morning after our family farewell party, I awoke to find Lillie passed out on my bed. On my way to make coffee, I found my desk littered by two empty water bottles, a wad of paper towels and a keyboard that no longer worked. That’s funny, I thought. Everything was just fine when the boys and I gathered to watch “Lost,” leaving the computer to Lillie.

I can’t do without a keyboard, so when the boys awoke, I made a quick trip to pick up a replacement. I junked the old keyboard, installed the new one and downloaded its software, all before Lillie rustled from her slumber.

When I heard her giggling with the boys, I joined the kids. “Good morning, Lillie,” I smiled. “You must’ve been up late last night. Did you sneak to the computer when I was asleep?”

“Yes,” she giggled. “It’s spring break.”

“I know!” I nodded. “So, did anything unusual happen with the computer?”

Her brow furrowed. “No . . .” she began, before catching my drift. She giggled again. “Um, okay, yes.”

I bit my lip. “Something to do with water, maybe?”

“Dad, you already know!” she laughed. She paused and asked, “Is it broken?”

I nodded. “I’m afraid so. Computers don’t like water. But luckily, it was just the keyboard and I’ve got a new one now. But can we have a rule? No more drinking at the desk.”

She agreed. Later, as she visited her favorite websites, she kept a cup of water on a table across the room. She would type, leave the desk to take a sip, and return to the computer. I thanked her for obeying the rule. She told me she liked the new keyboard much better than the older one. “That’s a nice spin,” I said, “But let’s try to make this one last.”

Now, only Daddy is allowed to drink as he writes. Such are the vagaries of the bourbon-sipping smut monger.

Back to packing.