HNT

By Tuesday of this week, I had made great progress in settling into my new apartment. As a reward for my efforts, I ventured downtown to celebrate the release of Tristan Taormino’s new book on polyamory, Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships. She interviewed me for the book, so I thought I should show up and get a copy if only to, you know, flip through the pages to see if I’m in it.

Never mind that Tristan is to sex writing as Hannah Montana is to backless gowns. Which is to say, a bigger deal than we remember to remember.

I was uncharacteristically early, and found a long line waiting to get into the event. Gift bags were promised to the first two hundred attendees. The event was so well attended that even by queuing for a nice long while, I didn’t score freebies—no surprise, I guess, for a party celebrating a poly book. Everyone who came was sure to bring a few dates.

I settled into a banquette with friends. Not long afterwards, a burlesque performer danced until she was well past naked. I gave her a dollar and she shoved her discarded panties under my nose. They smelled like lavender. I didn’t get her name more than once or twice. I remember asking and being grateful each time she said it.

I caught up with friends. The bar, Happy Endings Lounge, was established on the site of a former massage parlor. A sauna was converted into a sitting area. As the evening went on and rounds were exchanged, Tilda decided she really, really liked my leather belt. Lynsey liked how much Tilda liked my belt. So as Lynsey perched on a tile bench to watch, I removed my belt to beat Tilda. A crowd formed, as might happen when you thrash someone in public as a stick artist grows googly eyes.

Tilda took a solid whooping. Lynsey took a solid eyeful.

I wouldn’t know beans about beating if Lolita didn’t take care in educating me. That night, Lolita took this photo of my foot out in public. Ace of Hearts likes to tickle, so here, he gives my sole a soulful wiggle. Not so much into the boys, our Ace, but as you see, soul brothers is soul brothers.

Fleshbot and Mothers

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot picks a handful of flowers for the MILFs on their special day. You know how sentimental these hot mamas can be—our flowers are sure to be pressed into the pages of their well-thumbed copies of Tristan Taormino’s Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women. Right alongside the baby pictures.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me having sex with a new girlfriend, the ex-girlfriend of the boyfriend of my girlfriend Lily. The ex-girlfriend was rebounding from a recent breakup from her ex-boyfriend, even as Lily made an ex-boyfriend of her other boyfriend. (You also learn that the ex-girlfriend had sex with her ex-boyfriend, Lily’s now-ex-boyfriend, around the time my girlfriend Lily had her first threesome with me and her not-yet-ex-boyfriend. Of course, this was before I met the other ex-girlfriend.)

You’ll also find Always Aroused Girl writing my number on bathroom walls.

Speaking of Mother’s Day, my kids are with their mother this weekend. It’s a custom enshrined in the custody arrangement; they’ll be with me for Father’s Day.

Next month and every June for the next eleven years.

A couple of years ago, Lucy refused to take them for Mother’s Day, which fell on a weekend they were to be with me.

“I think they’ll want to be with you,” I said.

“That’s ridiculous,” she replied. “It’s just a weekend.”

I had the kids call their mother on that Sunday. Then, at Collie's request, we ate Mother’s Day pancakes.

This year, Lucy is in a different frame of mind. The kids were excited about being with her on the big day.

“Are we making breakfasts in bed?” Lillie asked, holding the shredded remains of her Boo-Boo blanket to her face.

“Yes, we are,” Jason answered, his voice drifting to baby talk. “We will make scrambled eggs and toast for Mommy.”

Lillie sucked her thumb, listening. “And coffee? Mommy likes coffee.”

Jason shook his head. “No coffee, baby. Jason doesn’t know how to make coffee.”

Lillie made a face. “Waaa.” She cracked up at her fake crying.

“There, there,” Jason consoled. “We will make orange juice.”

Lillie looked at her brother. “Goo goo, gaa gaa.” They laughed.

As the children were off to their mother on Friday, I took them shopping for gifts on Thursday evening.

Collie had recently broken one of his mother’s plants by accident, so he wanted to replace it. We went to a local florist. I steered him away from the delicate potted orchids the saleslady was pushing—“These are perfect for Mother’s Day,” she insisted. “And only fifty dollars.”—in favor of something orange that cost a mere twenty-five dollars.

Jason opted for a pot of tulips. “She can plant them in the yard after,” he reasoned.

Lillie chose a box of chocolates. She drew a card with her markers, featuring a three-tiered birthday cake and confetti scribbles.

“Very festive,” I smiled.

“Is that good?” she asked.

Since the kids were being picked up today by their mother, there was no way to keep everything hidden until Sunday morning. They decided to give her the presents when they saw her.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” Lillie shouted, running to her.

“Here,” Collie said, holding out his orange flowers. “You have to water it every three or four days. Or four or five? Dad, do you remember?”

“Just keep it wet,” Jason suggested.

“Thank you!” Lucy grinned, hugging Lillie. “And thank you, Jefferson, for your part of it.”

“Of course,” I smiled. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

I waved goodbye as the kids headed off with their mother.