FSOG

I’m gonna get a tattoo. Yes I am.

Writing a sex blog as a dominant man can be lonely. Sure, I have lots of sex, and have made good friends through this, but still. I think I’m unique, and I would prefer not to be.

A is a conservative, anorgasmic college athlete who won’t type “pussy” but likes making me hard — and who’d rather model her submission on Fifty Shades than do any of the actual work.

I wanted it to be *Secretary*. It was more like a bad infomercial for bondage rope, starring a man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You don’t think I’m a “Dom”? I don’t give a fuck. Because chances are, you don’t make my dick hard, and I don’t make your pussy wet. So what’s the point?

I’ve seen the movie so you don’t have to.

Holidays disrupt everything — writing, playing, routine. But I took my Tinder on the road, and apparently I’m catnip west of the Hudson.

Watch this. Now.

If E.L. James was your gateway drug, let me be your heroin.

Noms de whatever: the evolution from hiding behind “Grey” to being liberated by “N. Likes.”