Nov 292015

Stoya has tweeted that James Deen raped her, that he held her down and fucked her after she said “no,” after she used her safe word.

Well fuck.

I don’t have much to say on this except that I think both are great performers, each is insanely sexy. I believe women, always. I don’t question rape allegations, and I don’t second-guess anyone who’s been raped’s right to handle/communicate about her rape however she sees fit.

But gosh if this doesn’t just suck. All around.

Nov 282015

Nov 272015

I’ve been accused of being arrogant. I know that, from time to time (or maybe always) I write with a certain… authoritativeness. I’m definitely confident (you know, except when I’m not).

But recently, I’ve been thinking about certainty. About the tendency of people to believe they know things. The Buddha has occasionally been quoted (more or less accurately) as saying, “People with opinions just go around bothering one another.” (It seems likely what he said was something more like, “Those who cling to perceptions and views wander the world offending people,” but whatever – close enough.)

I’m struck by the certainty of others. About world events. About one another. About themselves. If there’s one characteristic of mine that I think (hope) is ubiquitous throughout what I write, it’s uncertainty. It’s curiosity, openness. The willingness to imagine that whatever I think might well be 180 degrees wrong.

I can’t always sustain the degree of uncertainty I’d like. Read my thoughts on creep shots, for example, where I think, even though I adjusted my behavior, and changed some of my thinking about it, I remain pretty resolutely inseparable from my view that a) people think magically about photography, and b) magical thinking doesn’t translate into a right to be protected from its implications.

But there’s no surer way to turn me off – sexually, sure, but intellectually, too – than to think you know something. The only thing I know, for sure, is that right now, my cock is hard. 😉

Nov 262015

In the run-up to Thanksgiving, there’s been the usual press about the value of gratitude, about the positive impact being grateful can have on our mental health, on our happiness.

I’m lucky. One thing for which I’m grateful is that I don’t need to be reminded to be grateful for all I have. Regular readers know that, While I’m not immune to whining, or sadness, or dissatisfaction, I am, for the most part, simply grateful.

Above all, I’m grateful for my family. My family of choice – T, our kid – a better, more loving, more generous, more accepting family than which I simply can’t imagine. And, my family of origin – my Dad. My Mom died years ago, during my adolescence, but I continue to be grateful for her as well. I am, as we all are, very much my parents’ kid, for better and worse, and while the worse parts often are very live to me, so are the better parts.

I’m also grateful for my material good fortune. We aren’t fabulously wealthy, we don’t actually have a lot of things. A simple home, no car (thank God), and the stuff we need (mainly things with CPUs). But we don’t, we never have had to, worry about where our next meal will come from, about whether we can have a roof over our head.

I’m grateful for my physical safety. For a variety of reasons, I simply don’t worry it all that much. I don’t drive much (and while I love driving, I’m fully aware that it is, by far, the most dangerous thing I do regularly). I don’t worry about muggings or assaults – I live in a remarkably safe city, in a remarkably safe country, in a remarkably safe time. I worry about global events and their impact on our collective security, a bit, but more than that, I simply mourn that my kid won’t enjoy the same freedom to explore that I enjoyed. (I spent quite a while as an adolescent traveling in parts of the world that, at the time, were poor, but today, look very different as possible venues for an American adolescent’s journey of self-discovery.) And even as I mourn the changes to which I’m alluding, I remain enormously grateful for my remarkable exposure.

I’m grateful for my friends, both the ones who know of this blog and those who don’t.

I’m grateful for this blog, for the venue for self-discovery and expression it provides me, and for the loyal, thoughtful, supportive and kind readers and friends I’ve found here.

I’m grateful for my health, which, though it hasn’t been great for the last year, hasn’t been awful. And I have several examples of what awful health looks like far closer to me than I might like.

In short, I’m thankful. Here’s hoping you had a lovely Thanksgiving.

Nov 252015

There’s a bar I frequent. Really, just one. Its primary virtue for me is that I often pass it, and have done for several years. There’s a male bartender I’ve befriended there (call him John), who’s tended bar there most of the time I’ve frequented the pace. He’s affable, intelligent, handsome. I like chatting with him, and he’s witnessed a few of my dates. He’s not my crush.

My crush is a striking blonde bartender, taller than I usually go for, bigger than I usually go for. But she’s smoking hot. Her lips – her most insane feature – are full, luscious, always perfectly painted a scarlet red, a striking contrast to her pale face. Her hair is lustrous and shoulder-length, lovely, but not especially striking. She has a full, round ass, and perfect C-cup breasts. She dresses sexy, but not trashy. Most recently, she was in black leggings/yoga pants and a nearly sheer (but not quite so) black top, with a black bra, the straps of which seductively emerged from her scoop neck. Enticingly, she wears a silver chain link choker, one that suggests, but doesn’t blare, “I like the sensation of (just a little?) pressure on my throat.”

Anyone looking at her would think her hot. But this isn’t what appeals to me about her. What I like is how friendly, accessible, genuine she is.

We haven’t had any substantive conversations, really – I know where she grew up, how she’s spending her Thanksgiving, a bit about her family structure, but not much more (and she knows the same about me).

We’ve made small talk two or three times as I’ve nursed a Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks. I’ve imagined telling her a bit more about me, who I am, what I do, what I might want from her, but honestly, our interactions have been so anodyne I haven’t dared.

Maybe one day….

Nov 222015

It’d been a while since the last time I fucked Isabel. Life had gotten in the way, for both of us. But on this evening, things conspired to make a date possible.

“Do you have any requests?” I asked her. “What do you want me to wear?” she replied. And, “May I request not too late a night.”

“Tights and a dress will work well for me. The rest is up to you,” I told her.

We met in a hotel bar – one in which we’d met previously. It works well for her. It’s filled with tourists. The only locals there are on missions similar to ours. It’s loud. It’s entertaining. As we discussed where I might come, given her preference that I not come in her mouth, three loud blondes stood behind us, arms in the air, swaying. We talked for two long drinks. About our lives. About Paris, and Beirut, and the devastating, heart-breaking Western (and American political) responses.


Well, she was looking hot. A black dress, long, over black tights, and her body was looking spectacular. I sent her upstairs, telling her to text me when she was on the bed, her fingers touching her clit.
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Nov 222015

Elust header
Photo courtesy of Charlie in the Pool

Welcome to Elust #76

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing,

relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #75? Start with the rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Sex and the post-birth vagina

Lonely Things

Just the two of us


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Tiny, shiny, bity snaps of steel…

I have fallen in and out of love with myself


~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

You really should consider adding your popular posts here too

I had An Abortion

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and

the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

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Nov 182015

There are aspects of my interactions with Ella which seem simply too good to be true.

She has a friend, Scarlett. Scarlett lives far from each of us, and she and Ella like to, in their words, “play.” Though I haven’t seen Scarlett, and can’t confirm she isn’t a fictional creation of Ella, whatever she is, she’s hot, and she takes my relationship with Ella to the next level.

She directs Ella, executing vague instructions of mine: take control of Ella’s orgasms for a week. Choose her panties. Pose her for pictures for us.

I wish to God I could make Scarlett more real for me in all this, but maybe it doesn’t matter. She, and Ella, are very, very good at making my cock hard.

Don’t look a gift pussy in the mouth?

Nov 182015

This is one of the funniest, most compelling things I’ve ever read.

Ron Jeremy is hysterical. The comments are even funnier. Don’t click the link unless you want to lose yourself for an hour or more in hysteria.


Nov 182015

I don’t often write of politics. Right now, I can’t not. Please don’t read further if you don’t want to read mine. I make no apology for them, but they may well piss you off, or change how (or whether) you read me.

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