Fleshbot and Summer Vacation

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot gets it up for cock. Reading these stories, you realize that dick is not always a simple animal.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me imitated, inspirational and frustrating.

Sakura and I enjoy being girls on a date that soon has our feet in the air.

Janie and I want to share a submissive boy. Candidates may apply to either blog.

Lynsey wakes up with a hangover and fewer cherries than when I last left her side.

Eden looks up from her sidewalk whipping post to smile at me.

Mariella polishes off her first knob polishing. I’m more of a blowjob man myself, so I brought in an extra cock for the occasion.

Bridget keeps it real.

Adam gives me a blowjob, or rather, he sends one my way. It was interrupted and remains unfinished, come to think of it, with a raincheck pending.

Reversing earlier denials, Avah comes clean to admit that she anonymously harassed another woman for over six months, and regrets that this adversely affected our relationship. She chalks it up to her youth, and there may be something to that—though I’ve seen people twice her age acting out no less viciously, with no more cause. I’m chalking it up to the consequences of living one’s intimate life in so public a forum as blogging. It’s just too easy to gain momentary satisfaction by venting anxieties better addressed in private, and neglecting how such actions may harm real people.

Not to dangle meat over the sharks who stalk, but that’s pretty much all you’ll read about it here. There’ll be no brutal tit-for-tat, no excruciating he-said-she-said, as our relationship is dissected for your entertainment. This may disappoint the hens who use my life and blog for gossip, as well as the bottom feeders who troll my life and blog for sex partners. Over on this side of the screen, there are two real people who blog as Avah and Jefferson. They care about each other, and they want to take care of that offline.

But for now, they are each on vacation. Avah is off on a long-anticipated month in France. I’m down south for my annual visit with family, collecting freckles and reminding my folks what their Yankee grandchildren look like.

Today my father asked, “Now, what are you going to do down here for all this time, with no women anywhere around?”

“You’ll never manage,” my brother agreed.

“Frankly,” I said, “I can use the vacation from that.”

My father laughed. My brother said, “Tell me all about it. I want to live vicariously through you.” He doesn’t know about this blog, of course, so I didn’t add that I think I’ll also enjoy the vacation from being vicariously lived through. For now, I’ll just live, and enjoy a fresh breath away from drama.

If life cooperates.

By the end of my first day back home, I’ve learned the following.

My mother’s empty nest has been filled with Maltese dogs. Nine of them.

My seventeen-year-old nephew is planning a shotgun wedding with the eighteen-year-old girlfriend he knocked up. He also wants to adopt her first baby by another man—boy?—even as he seeks visitation rights with the son he had last year with his sixteen-year-old ex-girlfriend.

My daughter, the teenage bride, hasn’t spoken with her husband in two months.

Already, New York is looking much more relaxing.