a sexy boy

Henry Cavill!

Since he's hotter than a fox in a forest fire, I'm willing to forgive the overabundant chest hair.

Look at that sweet face. Just. Look.

Unfortunately, there weren’t many photos of him half-naked (or even just shirtless, for goodness’ sake), as there often are with female stars, which made me all pouty for a few minutes before I finally decided to just go sip green tea with lemon and watch some gay porn.

On triggers: mine and everyone else’s.

Today, I went to an erotica-writing workshop; and another girl in the group shared her discomfort with writers who don’t disclose potential triggers¹ for readers. And while this isn’t something I’ve thought about in reference to my own writing, she’s completely right – if someone comes to this blog, they deserve to know whether they’ll click on a title and stumble into something that just might ruin their day.

RIDICULE.

Why is it that (almost) every single ‘dom’/'master’ posts the same photos of himself on fetlife all the time?

Point-by-point description of a generic, twue ‘dom’/'master’ photo:

• A bit of facial hair, preferably a goatee or perhaps a full beard.
• Baggy (preferably black) clothes that don’t reveal any skin or even a hint of sex – no muscled torso, no bulge in the pants, nothing.
• Cool, distant, ‘i m srs bsns’ expression that’s supposed to look stoic, but really just looks as though the guy is desperately trying to hold in a fart.
• Arms crossed defensively tight across the chest, discretely flexing to make his biceps look larger.

..and maybe some sunglasses, but this one is variable. Some men have apparently caught on to the fact that if you take a photo of yourself indoors next to your bookshelf full of moldy John Norman novels, wearing sunglasses just might make you look like a tool.

a frolicking good time

You’re such a beautiful boy – perching silent and ready in front of the open window, the setting sun bathing your skin in a honeyed liquid-velvet. You are bare and exposed, stripped down to a pair of navy blue briefs that lie snug against your narrow hips. I want to press my face against your chest and inhale, taking in your bittersweet boysmell until my nostrils sting. I want to taste you, winding my tongue around the soft ridges of your pink seashell ears; through the wisps of babysoft hair trailing down into your underwear.

Protected: No cunt(ry) for old men.

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musings

This blog is very tiny – I don’t have many posts (yet), and I haven’t distributed the blog widely online, yet you all still find me. I get quite a few hits every day (I’ve not managed to hit 100 hits per day yet, though I’ve come close), and lots of new readers will go through the entire blog, reading each post.

on straight porn

I can never resist the urge to vomit all over stupid pop psychology articles that promise to uncover The Eternal Truth^tm about the differences ‘between the sexes’¹; that simply recycle the same old tired bilge about why women just aren’t as visually aroused by male bodies as vice versa, why women will never want to have sex as much as men do, why women are just so alien. I read them and get angry, because they have nothing to do with me or any of the women I know.

on my ’sexual orientation’.

A few winters ago: I’m sitting with my friend G at the bus stop outside her apartment, waiting for the #6. It’s a very chilly day, so we’re both hunched over like old men, bundled in unflattering bubble coats. G starts furtively poking me in the side through the downy fabric, whispering, ‘Look..’ and cutting her eyes to the left.

I look in the direction she’s craning her neck, and see a gorgeous Latino boy waiting for a bus a few yards away from us. He’s lean and slender, with an angular, delicate face prettier than that of most girls I’ve seen. I immediately assume he’s gay, and I’m intrigued even more¹. G and I discretely (or maybe not) ogle this lovely, elfin boy creature for another few minutes until the #6 pulls up. The boy boards the bus just after us, and there’s a problem with his bus card. His card isn’t scanning properly, but the bus driver isn’t bothered and lets him board the bus, anyway. So he turns and thanks her before taking a seat a few rows ahead of G and I. And G is shocked.

I want a pet boy.

Seriously. I’m really imagining a ‘boy’ here – some wide-eyed, innocent thing with a cute face and a pretty body, like such^, but perhaps with a bit more melanin and inner spark/personality¹.

library fuck fantasy

You’re¹ kneeling several yards across the aisle from me, immersed in the bookstacks and your own thoughts. After scanning a few rows of books with a pensive expression, you pluck a thick red volume from the shelf and lay it across your bent knee. You gently spread it open, licking the tip of your thumb before running a finger along the creased spine and quickly flipping through the pages. My cunt warms with desire, and I want to be beneath your quick, wet fingers, feeling you knead my flesh with yours.