During the last couple of weeks that I was moving house, I managed to miss a milestone that’s usually pretty important to me—the fourth anniversary of my blog. (And the 750th installment, too!)
I’m not going to recap my motivations for starting this account of my sex life. I’ve talked about those before. What I’d like to address, briefly, is the primary reason I keep doing it.
It seems to me that when people engage in dialogue about sex, the conversation takes place either in the hushed tones of the forbidden, or the loud shrieks of the outraged. There’s a lot of allure to both extremes, admittedly—it’s fun to wear either the scarlet hues of the slut and the pure white robes of the saint. So wherever I turn, there’s always a lot of talk about sexual behavior that borders on the fantastical. It’s either extreme and pornographic to an extent that one wonders whether any of the acts within could actually take place, physiologically . . . or it’s so shrill in its denial that humans of all ages engage in sexual behavior and desire sex that it’s equally as dubious.
Simply put, there’s not an awful lot of honest talk out there about people’s real sex lives. So few people share anything genuine. People hide away their desires and indulge in them only in fantasy, and even then feel morbid guilt afterward. Men and women alike engage in furtive encounters and hope they’re erased from time and memory even before the body warmth has faded from the sheets. Meek little mice in real life engage in braggadocio on the internet, hoping to get a slice of the action they’ve always craved, while brazen sluts whore under cover of dark and hope they’re never discovered.
I’m perfectly aware that people assume because I have a lot of sex in a lot of unusual circumstances, that what I write in my blog is fiction. It isn’t. I keep myself honest when I write here. I think it’s important for people to realize that one doesn’t have to be compartmentalized and secretive about sex. I think it’s important for people to know that sometimes sex is more than just one body part spurting excretions into another body part, and that there are actual, genuine human beings involved. That sometimes those human beings bring their hearts and hopes and disappointments and joys into the bed with them.
And of course, sometimes sex can be nothing but sheer heat, hard body parts, and slick skin. That’s okay too.
2013 was rough for me in a number of ways—stalkers and a patch of poor health discouraged me from writing during a few months of the year. There are still days, I admit, when I’ll get a rash of hate mail or death threats and wonder what the use of it all might be. But I keep stubbornly plugging along because I think what I do is important.
Important in a very very small way, of course. A bee pollenates only one flower at a time, though—but think of all the blooms it makes possible later in a season. I like to think of myself as one of those little invisible bees, doing little bits of good with my work.
In the past I’ve celebrated my anniversaries with contests. So let’s have another one! While I was packing up earlier last month, I ran across a favorite pair of old socks that I used to love. I can’t really say why I liked them so much other than that the tops of them looked good sticking up over a pair of leather boots when I was naked and fucking. (Isn’t that enough?)
Anyway, they were old and worn out and unsuitable for wear anymore, but I put them aside. During the month of February, I used one as my exclusive cum rag. I wiped up my semen with it when I masturbated. I wiped up the Runt’s sperm with it when he’d shoot his loads all over the place. I mopped up with it the semen of a couple of other guys who came on their bellies when I fucked them. But mostly it’s my sperm that’s made it crusty.
And as I did once before with some underwear in probably my most popular contest, I’m giving away this glorious cum-soaked footwear to another lucky winner!
Here’s what you do to enter.
1. Write a comment on this entry before the deadline. It doesn’t have to be elaborate. Even ‘Enter me!’ will do. But most important of all, GIVE ME A NAME so that I can announce who won, later on. It doesn’t have to be your real name. It can be a made-up handle. You don’t have to use a Google account to comment . . . you may still do so anonymously as long you identify yourself with a name of some sort. (And if your name is common, make it a little less so with an initial or something, wouldya?)
2. Alternately, if you are absolutely adverse to commenting on this entry, send me an email telling me you want to enter the contest, before the deadline. But again, GIVE ME A NAME so that when I announce the winner here, you can respond.
3. BE PREPARED TO SHARE YOUR MAILING ADDRESS WITH ME LATER. LATER, I TELL YOU. This is vital. I can’t email you this DNA-soaked sock if you don’t give me your mailing address. If you don’t feel you can trust me with your mailing address . . . well, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not going to send seventy-five pizzas to your house or anything.
4. And again, DON’T SHARE YOUR ADDRESS RIGHT AWAY. I will announce a winner and then give that winner a few days to respond with his or her address at that point.
5. I’ll take entries until MIDNIGHT, MARCH 17. That’s Monday. St. Patrick’s Day. Enter by then if ye want t’ be after me lucky charms.
If you do win, I thoroughly encourage you to tell me (or send me photographs!) of what you’ll be doing with my cast-off cum rag. Such a course of action is not, however, required.
(And if your answer is “I’ll be washing that nasty thing in Lysol, thank you very much,” I know you’re my grandmother on my mother’s side.)
Enter today! What’re you waiting for? Do it now!