N. Likes

If I were a healthy, undamaged human, I suppose I’d be quite a specimen. (Are there any?) The way my desire works baffles me. I’ve written a bit about the latest object of my attention, a kinky, slutty grad student…

Sometimes, my cock tingles. It’s not hard. It’s not aching. It’s just calling to me. “Attend to me,” it says. “Make me hard. Stimulate me.” It wants… touch, sure. Images, yes. It wants a reminder of what it can become,…

I want to watch as you perform for me. You wear a black minidress, black boyshorts, and a black, lacy, bra. You lower yourself down to a squat and spread your legs for me, so I can see your thighs,…

My cock isn’t hard. I’m not thinking about sex. I’m doing things that we all do, that bring us all pleasure, or pain. Cooking, cleaning, playing, reading, writing. Something that’s not about sex. Other times? Other times, sex is all…

Who am I? I am, as the tagline for this blog says, a husband, a father, a slut, a blogger. I have used a number of adjectives to describe myself over the now nearly two years I’ve been blogging, to…

Black, wavy hair. Olive skin. Distressed white t-shirt, white lacy bra, small breasts. Semitic nose. Brown eyes, big, clear whites. Full, animated lips with a wide, toothy smile. Black jeans. I can’t make out much beyond her slender figure on…

It ain’t what it was. Once upon a time, it was awesome – it let me stalk you, track you, monitor you. I could set it so I got an e-mail when you – yes, you – were here. It…

Sitting in a coffee shop, listening to OMD. [Press play on the video above to listen to the soundtrack for this post. The song has nothing to do with the post, but I love it, and it was what was…

Brown worn leather boots nearly reach her bare, pale knees. A blue and white dress – prim, proper, tight – glides over, clings to, her curves, stretched outward by her breasts. A gaudy, unappealing, turquoise necklace hangs just above those…

Now, please.