Any lovely ladies in Texas who want to come over and crawl under the covers and help generate some warmth come on over and we will survive this nastiness together.
???
???
These are some of the funniest things I have ever overheard in grocery stores, on busses, just random places. Some might have made perfect sense in context but, luckily for me, right place/right time:
- "You know those times when you wake up and your breath is so bad that you really should go brush your teeth, but you're too tired to get out of bed so you figure fuck it I'll just live with the breath?"
- "Then when it's nice and warm you can eat it."
- "That's usually where I go when I want to get a facial."
- "And I didn't even notice my sock was wet until I got back into bed."
- "Remember that time that I shoved your nose in my ass and held it there for like 10 seconds?"
"Yeah, that was fucking awesome!"
- "Ok, fine, Elvis sucked but that didn't make him gay."
"But how do you know for sure?"
"Because if he was he probably wouldn't have died on the toilet."
- "If it was meant to go in there then the end would be bigger."
- "Have you ever noticed how many different kinds of sex there are in the dairy section?"
(the rest of the conversation was hilarious but I'm not including it here because it could be seen by some as insensitive.)
Those are the ones I can recall. Please put yours in your comments.
I meant to post this last week.
But in lieu of anything actually interesting today:
100% Dominant
100% Sadist
100% Master/Mistress
100% Degrader
100% Rigger
95% Owner
94% Daddy/Mommy
89% Voyeur
79% Brat tamer
77% Non-monogamist
75% Experimentalist
32% Primal (Hunter)
16% Vanilla
12% Exhibitionist
0% Ageplayer
0% Brat
0% Pet
0% Primal (Prey)
0% Masochist
0% Rope bunny
0% Boy/Girl
0% Slave
0% Submissive
0% Switch
0% Degradee
A couple interesting changes:
Daddy went down a little.
Non-monogamist went up a little.
Hmmm..
Nope, sorry, my mistake. I should have said -
Laying in bed for two hours reading blogs instead a taking a nap time (yawwwn)
Statements like that tend to put me in a nibbling mood.
I have never before used the term "nibbling mood" but now that I have I believe it has demonstrated it's potential to enter my everyday dialog regarding tits in general, and nipples in particular.
To seek out new tits, and new nipple-izations.
Too boobly go where no mammary has gone before...
I shouldn't make light. I don't want to offend anyone, especially nipples, as they are very sensitive.
A bit out of context, thematically speaking, but it's the sentiment that counts.
That thing that sometimes happens when you are chatting with a few people at the same time -
And you're totally wet for one.
And you are comfortably satisfied with being a more or less casual fan of the second.
And you are being covertly stalked by impending flaccidity for the third.
- and you inadvertently send each one a message that was meant for one of the others!
My professional advice: don't do that!
I have been doing a little pre-2021 cagecleaning, glancing through old messages, and decided it would be quicker to blog Happy New Year to all my people! than to message everyone separately.
That's what this is.
So... yeah
I am frequently asked for advice about how one might move away from a life of debauchery and sin to a simpler, happier existence consisting only of chanting, grooming one's inner downward-facing dog, and burning gluten-free kale incense.
Now, I know I'm not the hardest nipple on the tit (if you take my meaning) but I don't like to disappoint my fans by telling them the truth - "You're asking the wrong guy. I don't know. I was sick the day they taught stupid question class. And anyway I have never dared attempt to unravel that nagging little mystery, primarily because I don't give a fuck about gluten."
I couldn't do that to them. It would break their hearts.
So, in lieu of the truth, I tell them this:
---
How might one make such a drastic life change? Well, when I was a kid...
(I'm allowed to say that because to a man of my age, maturity, intelligence, and palpable sex appeal, everyone under 35 is a damn kid.)
As I was saying, when I was a kid I did plenty of things that were pretty stupid.
Or, at the very least, they were highly unlikely not to have been stupid.
And they were probably generously, embarrassingly stupid.
Actually, due to the nature of those behaviors I can't be at all certain about the extent to which they were stupid, and in fact it could be argued that I was effectively absent during most of them. I just can't remember anymore. But I feel comfortable beginning at "poor decision making" ballparking somewhere near "where is the nearest ATM/late night burger joint" and rounding up to "why did I come into this room?"
Ah, those were the days. Young and stupid.
But as the years continued to pass, the memories started to dim.
Then one day I woke up in a makeshift tent under the highway, covered in my own vomit (at least I assumed it was mine. To quote Nigel Tufnel of Spinal Tap, "You cant really dust for vomit") wearing a stranger's soiled delicates, and sporting a painfully fresh tramp-stamp on my balls.
I found myself confronted by several disturbing questions: "whose unmentionables are these, how did I come to be wearing them, were they soiled before I put them on, or did I...?" and there are just no good answers to any of those.
Oh yes, and lets not forget "A tramp-stamp on my balls? On My Fucking Balls?? The ones I sex with???"
As usual I had zero recollection of the events leading up to the undergarments, and this time I was damn certain that I would prefer not to have. It is at that exact moment when I started freely distributing handjobs to all the Patron Saints of Juvenile Delinquency for giving me the strength to so thoroughly fuck my short-term memory capacity.
On the positive side the experience got me thinking that I needed to change my life. I gathered up my tent, vomit, panties, and tat-sack, and voluntarily checked myself into the nearest non-denominational Whole Foods. I dedicated my waking hours to spreading the Gospel of Quinoa, indulged only in sacramental almond milk, meditated daily about seriously considering yoga, and participated in all manner of silly hemp-related festivities.
I changed my life and my diet, and dramatically decreased my intake of stupid.
I still don't remember most of my misspent youth, and I'm only about 1/3 of the way through the process of scrotum ink removal, but how do I think one might make such a drastic life change?
Prayer and clean living.
And poor memory.
That's how.
--
(Of course, mostly none of that is actually true. But the fans keep asking so I stick with this ridiculous story because I can't seem to come up with anything better. Must be the whole soft nipple thing.)
There is no way I'm the first person to wonder.
I'm probably only the latest in a long line of people who have asked.
Earlier today I read a blog that was already a few months old but it was very interesting so I left a comment. Some well known and well respected friends did as well
I do not have the permission of the OP to put a link to it here but I will say that it was essentially about the classic dilemma: If I can't have both, would I be willing, or even able, to give up BDSM if an amazing vanilla person came along?
This is not that discussion.
But it did get me thinking. BDSM or vanilla. Kink or vanilla, Fetish or...
That last part stuck in my head, so I asked the sink (I was washing dishes at the time. Gettin' all domestic!) "sink, can vanilla be a fetish?"
Let's set aside for a moment the metaphysical dichotomy in the question "If the pleasure is in being denied, can it truly be considered denial?" and instead turn our attentions to this little head-scratcher:
Deprivation, restriction, and denial of all sorts of stuff is considered by some to be kinky - so then couldn't being disallowed from expressing your kinks be a fetish unto itself? Withholding BDSM? A sort of lifestyle chastity?
Surely wiser people than me have considered and even answered that question countless times before.
In fact I believe it was Shakespeare's Domme who said "What's in a name? That which we call a fetish by any other name would smell as sweet."
The sink never committed itself to one side of the argument or the other. I had made it through the wash, rinse, and dry phases of doing the dishes with little more than "Yeah. I suppose so. Sure." So I did what I always do with burning hot kinky weirdo fetish questions - I brought it here.
Thoughts?