Nov 222014

She reminds me just a bit of a bird. Tiny, fragile. I imagine I could crush her in my hand.

I don’t want to crush her.

Some women give off the sense that they can take whatever I might give them. Sofia gave me that at a distance. Whatever I asked, she did. Whatever I imagined doing, whatever I asked her to do, she went along with. Although I cared for her, took care of her, and was attentive to her needs, her boundaries, her limits, the truth is… there really weren’t very many. Had I spanked her in person, I know that her ass could have taken whatever I might have rained down on her. Had I choked her, her neck, though delicate, would have withstood my grip.

Other women give off the opposite sense. Audrey is that way.

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Nov 222014

I’ve written about it before. Several times, actually. (Also, here, and here.)

In very short form, it features a gazillion women and me, and nothing but oral, all night long.

I’m pretty sure I want to make it happen one of these days.

What do you think the chances are?

Just saying. Winking smile

Nov 212014

I just posted this “code of conduct” here. For archival purposes, I’m posting it here, as a post, on the blog as well. The page will change over time. This post won’t. It’s intended to show you my starting point.

Assurances I offer:

Data security:
I will do my best to keep anything you send me confidential. I will keep it at least as secure as I keep my own valuable, confidential information. Currently, that means that everything you send sits behind dual-authenticated logins. In other words, to log in to my accounts, one needs my usernames, my passwords, and my cell phone, or one of a small list of random codes that I change regularly. In short, I think it unlikely, but not impossible, that any of my accounts could be hacked. My wife has my logins, and so could, conceivably, see anything you share with me at any time.

A caution/warning: I do NOT promise to delete or destroy information you send me if asked. In the digital life I lead, trying to make stuff disappear, short of deleting entire accounts, is really fucking hard. I tried once to destroy information, and failed dismally. So please understand that a decision to trust me is effectively a decision to trust me forever.

Unless explicitly, expressly authorized by you, in writing – via e-mail, most likely – I will use the material you send me only for my own excitement, titillation, gratification, masturbation, fun, pleasure. If, at any time, you authorize me to use it for some other purpose – to post it, for example, on my blog – I may do so, but your authorization may be revoked at any time. If, after granting me such authorization, you change your mind and revoke that authorization, I will promptly (subject to the constraints of my schedule and my life) remove any requested materials.

My writing about you:
If I write about you, you may choose your name. I will ask you to. You may see anything I write about you in advance of my posting it, other than incidental references to you or allusions to things I’ve previously written. You may request changes in what I’ve written, or that I not write anything at all. I will not publish anything that primarily concerns you, your actions, your body, without your express approval, in advance. (Note: I’ve fucked this up on occasion, and I expect I will again. I’ve never fucked it up intentionally. If I should fuck it up, I apologize in advance, and the next sentence should offer some reassurance.) In the event you don’t like something I’ve written about you on my blog, if you ask me to change it or take it down I almost certainly will. (I can’t think of an instance in which I haven’t, or wouldn’t, but feel the need to hedge, slightly, just to guard against absolutes.)

This “code of conduct” is a work in process, and is subject to constant revision/improvement. I think it unlikely I will remove protections/assurances it offers, and instead, will only add additional such protections/assurances, but that might not be true. I might at some point discover some change I need to make for some reason I can’t anticipate today to a promise or assurance I’ve made, and I reserve the right to do so.

In short? I don’t intend this to be “binding,” but instead, is an attempt to show you how I think about these things.

At some point, after some iteration, maybe I’ll lock it down and commit in a hard and fast way to it, including committing to not revising it. You can help me reach that point by commenting and making suggestions.


Nov 212014

I’m in a position of responsibility and trust. I value this position, treasure it, even. And, I get off on it.

Over the last few years, a number of women have trusted me enough to let me use their bodies in person and virtually, knowing that, at any time, I could write anything I might like about them, that I could post, or distribute, anything they sent me.

And they’ve done much for me. Sucked my cock, allowed me to tie them up, to write on them, pose them for my pleasure. They’ve sent me photos, videos, sound files. They’ve made themselves enormously vulnerable to me, all while never learning my real name.

Continue reading »

Nov 202014

I’d like for you to feel a constant awareness of my hunger for more from you. I’d like for that to be somewhere between a tickle and a gentle tug.

I don’t want it to be overwhelming. I want it to be a comforting, warm presence.

If it becomes more, tell me.

Nov 202014

I had a series of interactions the other day with a lovely, gorgeous young lady on Tinder.

Very quickly, our chat escalated. She was sending me pictures of her gorgeous body, posed precisely as I requested. In a matter of hours, I was familiarized with every part of her. Not just her breasts, ass, thighs, hips, but her eyes, mouth, hair, her entire face. She seemed without modesty.

Best I can tell, she corresponded with me using her full, real name. And her location.

Our interactions were hot, promising. She promised me lots. And then? She was gone, in an instant. Our Tinder conversation disappeared, and the hourly flow of teasing she’d been sending stopped, without so much as a “Sorry – I changed my mind.” She was just gone.

I hate rejection and abandonment. It affects me in a profound, bodily way.

Just saying.

Nov 192014

In “Shame,” Michael Fassbender powerfully depicts the soulless misery of a driven existence.

The other day, I saw a man deep in the throes of this. He stood, leaning against a “down” stairway, his eyes furtively glancing up the stairs to see who would be coming down, what they would be wearing. Women in skirts and dresses got his full attention. I saw his head turn, as if pulled magnetically, whenever a woman between, say, 15 and 55 passed. His expression was unchanging, serious, even intent.

I saw myself in him. It’s not, at all, how I am now. I’m joyous, happy, generous, respectful. For the most part. You know, except when I’m not.

And I was struck by how easy it would be to judge him, to see him as a letch. And how much harder, but better, to see him as a soul.

Nov 182014

I’m hungry.

I want to see your body.

I want you to give me a tour of it, to show me how it looks from every angle.

I want to see your curves, the shapes of your breasts, your hips, your thighs, your calves.

I want subtlety, teasing. Don’t send me crass, crude, close-ups. Look at my Tumblr. Be inspired by the shots there.

You shouldn’t fill the shot, but neither should you be imperceptible in it.

Show me your thighs, your ass, your cleavage, your neck, your eyes. Show me your lips, your tongue, your back. Show me your calves, your hips.

Be dressed, or at least partially dressed. But slide your clothes to the side to give me glimpses of just a little more than most people see when they see you dressed.

And whatever you do, keep them coming.

Nov 172014

Apologies – this post is a bit scattered/unedited (more than most of mine are). It’s been sitting in my drafts folder for a while, and I figured I’d just post it…..

I don’t know anything about sex trafficking. The vast majority of women I’ve paid for sex, or for sexualized interactions, were born in the U.S., to middle-class families, engaged in their particular jobs no less voluntarily than your average waiters or waitresses.

I’ve had paid sexual interactions with women who came from other countries – mostly Russia and elsewhere in the former Soviet Union – but they mostly seemed to fit a similar socio-economic profile. Most credibly described themselves as students, undergrad or grad, making extra money in a way that some clearly thought was fun, that others clearly thought was awful. I never saw any in that latter category a second time.

Pause: is it possible that on occasion I was taken in, that a woman who hated her job was a good enough actress to appear to love it? Sure. I don’t mean to claim any sort of knowledge of anything. I’m reporting my experience and thoughts, for you to do with what you will.

I think I went to an Asian massage parlor in New York once. The women working there, the woman who saw me, seemed not so much miserable as dissociated, vacant, nearly absent. It struck me in that interaction that I had been in a workplace that was joyless, where the workers were at the mercy of the employers. At the time, I hadn’t thought much about sex trafficking, but I think I simply assumed that the women working in such places were prisoners, their passports held hostage, their wages horrific. I never went back. My dick barely got hard.

My assumptions about the place, about the conditions in which the women were working, may have been true. They may not have been. I have no way of knowing.

But I do know this:

That description I offered above – “a workplace that was joyless, where the workers were at the mercy of the employers” – could equally well be a description of a factory, a dentist’s office, a restaurant, a law firm, or an investment banking firm. The mere fact of working in a joyless enterprise, captive to the capricious whims of power-hungry bosses, is not actually particularly differentiating, sad to say.

There was an article in the “New Yorker” recently describing the fairly awful world of immigrant Chinese restaurant workers in the Eastern United States. Any resident of or visitor to New York knows that the ubiquitous Latin American workers in the ubiquitous Korean-owned markets (what has taken the place of what used to be called bodegas) can’t possibly enjoy professional existence characterized by choice or autonomy. Other than the binary choice of whether to show up on a given day (which presumably has a direct impact on whether that option will exist on the subsequent day). Cab drivers in New York work in a miserably competitive environment, having their lifeblood sucked out of them by the fleets for which they work. Uber, with its innovative approach both to customer and driver recruitment, has taken this worker exploitation to a new level.

I don’t mean this to be a Marxist rant against the evils of capitalism.

I mean, instead, to point out the structural similarities between sex work and “work.” People break laws, pay smugglers, take horrific risks, tear apart families, travel thousands of miles, all for the dream of making a better wage. This happens every day, from all sorts of countries, to all sorts of countries.

I have no idea about the prevalence of “human trafficking” or even its definition. Are coyotes on the U.S.’s southern border, smuggling hungry, scared Guatemalans, Mexicans, and others across the Rio Grande “human traffickers”? Does the line of work their cargo elect on the other side matter in answering this question? Does it matter if they had a sponsor before they left? Are there special “sex coyotes,” specializing in smuggling women?

Maggie McNeill, a (former?) prostitute, has written extensively on the question of human trafficking. Her position is absolute, theological even, and her writing is laden with jargon from the world of sex workers and sex workers’ right (“prohibitionists,” “the Swedish model,” etc.). If you read around in her, you’ll get a sense of what she’s talking about, but her writing – though fluent, and professional, and expressive – is not inviting, particularly to newbies, to people who aren’t familiar with the issues she’s discussing. She’s strident, opinionated. This isn’t criticism of her so much as warning to prospective new readers. There are some hurdles to get over in reading her, but she’s very rewarding to read.

The other day, she published this post, which sums up pretty neatly some of her arguments about sex trafficking, which boil down to these:

1) Surely, it happens. Because anything you can imagine happening that “doesn’t violate the laws of physics” happens in this great world of ours. But….

2) The cases we read about aren’t, in fact, instances of sex trafficking, almost invariably. Rather, they’re instances of economic migration, characterized as sex trafficking.

There’s more to her arguments, but I think this is a fair enough summary of them.

Meanwhile, my back-channel conversation with Cande on this subject has continued. She pointed me to this article, in favor of what’s been called the “Swedish model,” wherein sex work is decriminalized, but johns are prosecuted. The article’s interesting, but ultimately unsatisfying to me, as is the Swedish model, which seeks to “remedy” a problem that isn’t clearly a problem to me. (As I said in an e-mail to Cande, I’m confused by the criminalization of consensual behavior among adults.)

Anyway – some scattered, unedited thoughts. I’m eager to hear yours.

Nov 172014

My presumption: you are a slut who is going to do exactly as I say for the next couple of hours. Is that correct?


Good girl. So right now, I’d like you, while you sip your drink, to describe, in as graphic detail as possible, how you would suck my cock if my hands weren’t on your head, guiding you, pushing you down on it. Will you do that for me please?

Good girl.

I’m ready for you to finish your drink now. Will you do that for me?

Thank you.