For the Orgasmically Controlled, Part II

It’s been a few days since I posted my writings to the orgasmically controlled asking about the various emotions and the waves of feelings that were foreign to me in the twenty four or so hours that it had been since Axel and I had our “moment”.

That was a bad day; however, in hindsight there were several other factors that I did not allow myself to really think about that played into things as well. I got some great responses that really did help me understand the ways other guys also have to process these feelings either during a long term denial period or when one is suddenly over and a new one begins. Several things stood out about those emotions and the sensitivities which I mentioned and, as I often do, after I wrote the post, I went to bed and woke up the next day in a much better place.

Thumper responded to the post with this ditty:

Orgasm after denial is heady stuff. Not to be trifled with. Lots of playing with brain chemistry that wasn’t necessarily designed to be played with that way. Not bad, necessarily, but worthy of respect.

With this, he absolutely nailed it for me, specifically about the brain chemistry. I am the kind of man who one might call a worrier. I am quite jovial, not depressed ever, and for anyone except myself, I can see great things on the silvery side of the cloud. However, when it comes to myself, I am, and always have been, a worse case scenario guy in my head and ONLY in my OWN head. I could close a huge deal at work and be the number one in revenue guy (which, fyi, I am) and if my phone were to ring out of the blue showing it was the lead partner of my firm calling, my immediate, almost instant thought is “fuck, is he calling to fire me?” That is a flash, an instant moment that goes away before I can say “hello XXX”, and doesn’t last for than that second – unless there is some prolonged work, life, or other drama that has me in a knot inside and out and, in those cases, I can screw myself into the ground over and over again creating wild stories in my head where I am always the loser. I know this about myself and how to focus myself, and I think this is something I will learn to do as well when I don’t have access to my penis and ejaculations.

That said, many years of therapy and one pill a day keeps that under check for me. It never makes it stop, because that is how I am wired, but I can shut it down now, almost, before it starts. I tell you all of this in a way to let you know that I now recognize the ejaculation as a release of hormones that can fuck with your brain, because, for me, it felt like I had missed a dose or two of my Zoloft.

Finally, this morning, Thumper and I were able to block an hour this morning and we had one of our video talks that, in some ways, helps clear my soul a bit even though we are just talking about stupid shit like earthquake insurance, people who drive Prius’ (or is it Pri-i??), or baseball ninety percent of the time – although we often talk about Belle, his kids and Axel and possible  impending job change (that he called me tonight to tell me he is going to do (another reason I am up at midnight).

And, of course,we talk about my crazy mother.

Now, be warned, somewhere in the snowy hinterlands where the rabbit is now reading this (unless it’s already Spring when he actually does read this one), he is going to roll his eyes and call me a 13 year old girl, but these type talks tend to ground me and make me appreciate the unique sexually active friendship he and I have. Today we had the talk I wish we could have had on Monday morning because everything he said to me about orgasm denial, his feelings, my acceptance or lack of acceptance of it, was just spot on and made me proud to have given Axel the (right now imaginary) key to my cock.

A particular phrase he chastised me about (see what I did there?) was about me using a line saying I felt less “manly” because I could not or did not have any say or feel in how I was allowed to come. He called me to task on that and, my phrasing was off, because nothing is more manly than ejaculation by default anyway. He helped explain to me why, in some ways, I was more than a typical man because I now knew not only what I wanted, but what I needed.

I believe he will be writing a post on this soon, or even attached to this one, so there will be more of this coming. – no pun intended.

So, bottom line, I am happy again and feeling proud to have taken this step with Axel and look forward to sharing it more with you as we evolve as a couple.

Freedom in Conversation – Drew had Dinner.

Tonight I met a great guy, which I say for many reasons, one of which is that he was one of my first followers of this blog and provides me almost daily twitter fun. I did not ask for his permission to write about him, so he is more than welcome to comment and remove his mask of anonymity, but meeting him was really a joy in a multitude of ways.

One, I met someone who knew the most intimate parts of me prior to actually knowing my last name (which I am not sure I really shared although I was wearing a very giant security card with my name on it to open the doors at the client site I am at this week) (oh, thanks for not reminding me it was there!) Our friendship and ease of banter was almost instant because I think the ice was broken long ago when he read Thumper write about my thick fingers inside his hot ass or through some other similar activity.

Two, I got to mix my worlds a bit, in a safe place, and I felt so at home showing him pictures of Axel, who he described in a way that was very flattering but in words about his face I can’t remember but loved. It was such a refreshing feeling to be as close to one hundred percent open as I can without having violated the many non-disclosures I work under daily professionally.

Three, it was just fun and he has a great view of things and told me things, or ways, Thumper and I have connected in his mind that surprised me while also making me proud. It made me feel good about the days I write and think to myself “this is stupid, why would anyone read it”

Four, I got to show off Thumper, just a bit (and I have his permission), but he’s a hot, smart, man and to be able to say “that ass is sometimes mine cause he’s my DILF slut” is just fun and makes me prideful, although the two men at the table next to us bristled a bit.

Five, and finally, I just like knowing that there are really good people in the world and it’s always nice to meet them.

I travel here a lot and hope we will share many a future meal.

A question for the orgasmically controlled

Today I have been in a foul mood. Foul actually does not even begin to describe it.

In reality, aside from the sudden death a friend’s mother which really kinda killed me, the day wasn’t awful.

It was a travel day. Everything was on time and I got upgraded twice.

But, today, I found myself “unsettled”. I put that in quotes because it meant different things to me all day. I got mad at some people for no reason. Got my feelings hurt by others for nothing more than what they typically do. Picked fights with those I love. And irritated others by just doing and saying stupid things to them.

I am out of sorts in an odd, unsettled way. It’s hormonally similar to when I went through menopause (see past post), but not nearly as strong.

Then, tonight it hit me. I think it’s because I had an orgasm last night that was out of my control.

Meaning, I had waited almost three weeks for it and, it only happened because Axel both allowed it and caused it. If you read the last post, you know that he got me off my his hand which has never happened in 17 years. This was amazing in one sense that it could happen and, at the moment, was also amazing because I shot like never before.

However, in hindsight, that moment actually hurt a bit and I did not get to enjoy it really. Also, it happened without my input. All that time and I also didn’t feel the same “events” that my left hand and I have felt for 40 something years. It was an absolutely foreign experience in sensation. Plus, today I have that, “fuck, now we start over” in an all encompassing feeling.

So, I ask, is this something you have felt too? Thumper and I just didn’t connect today for me to ask this, which apparently hurt my feelings or pissed me off or made HIM mad at me or caused complete ambivalence – at least in how my mind was processing today. It was something along the lines the way that the flight attendant not taking my drink order was all about her hating me in my mind; however,  tonight we briefly chatted and he thinks I am on to something. Hopefully we will talk talk in the next day or two, but, for lack of any better phrasing, it’s as if I feel less “manly” because my moment was controlled.

Yes, I know I want that. I know I need that. But, for those of you who have been there, am I off base with that?

Oddly, or perhaps out of mental compensation, I don’t know if I have ever been so horny. If I were with Axel now he’d be so serviced and pleased that he would be singing. If Thumper was here, there would be a steel tube shaped indention in the sheetrock of the hotel room wall.

Luckily I am somewhere where there is nobody pretty.

It’s a mental mess but not one I really want to change, just more understand and/or better protect myself for in advance next time.

So, for those of you who are in similar denied places, what are your thoughts?

My Mother asks about Thumper, maybe.

NOTE: Incredibly vanilla post which is more about me and life. Be warned.

Over the months that this blog has developed, I would hope that you have all realized that I am a true Momma’s boy. I adore my mother (and my Dad too) and for the last 15 years or so, have made it a habit of going to have breakfast with them on Sunday mornings. Actually, they have breakfast, I watch. What old people eat is rather disgusting and the tiny portions just drive me insane.

As you also know, my mother, who was once a brilliant English professor, has slipped a bit in her cognitive abilities and and while it pains me sometimes, it also has opened up a whole new world between us as well. For the record, she is technically fine and has most likely only slipped to the level of several of the other people in my life who I daily categorize as a coworker or controller, but that’s a whole other story. She has been at a stable place for years, so we are no longer using the A word and have replaced it with the softer sounding D word because there are so many more levels of dementia that are not nearly as cruel as the A one. So, while we used to spend Sunday mornings talking about how much she hated the Bush administration and what the Sunday New York Times said, we now talk about whether American Express has been paid and whether my I think my sister and her current husband are having good sex which is followed by whether the same American Express has been paid.

For many reasons, much like the one I am going to share now, the following pattern has been in position since around 1971.

I am her son and she is my hero.

I did not come out to my mother. I was outed to her.

It was not a mean outing as it was frankly my sister who “just thought it was time”; however, my mother was outraged. I had never seen her so angry and so hurt, but at my sister, not at me. While she was bitterly hurt that I had not told her earlier in life, she understood and was just angry that my sister had violated such a personal time and decision in my life, on my behalf. That anger lasted all of about 17 hours, when at a large St. Patrick’s Day party she attended with my father and almost everyone I had ever grown up with, a vile lesbian joke was told. Yes, her anger at my sister died that exact moment because she then accidentally outed me while telling the jokester at full volume what a fucker they were “on behalf of Drew and every other homosexual in the world”.

It was 8:07pm, on Monday, March 17, 1997 and I was suddenly out to everyone I had known my entire life.

Worse, I had not even been invited to the party.

Suffice it to say, that was an interesting week, but one that made me love that woman even more because she loved me for me and didn’t let the current thinking on gay sex in the South make her even blink. Coincidentally, I met Axel six months later. It was a good year.

Now, flash forward 17 years and we sat yesterday morning in the same room where most of that happened and we talked about the week ahead. This week, she was firing on all cylinders and it was so much fun and interesting at the same time.

Like every week, I sent a two week travel plan to her iPad to go over with her just to say where I will be (they have long given up on trying to figure out what I do). We went though this week and next week, which is the week of my birthday. See, in my family, we celebrate the week you were born versus the day which is a rather stupid tradition that means nothing yet everything as you get older. So, she noticed that I had one night and one and a half days in a familiar city to the north – Thumper’s city. She paused and smiled in that way that made my stomach twist and then we just went through the rest of the time (next week is multiple cities on both sides of the country).

A few minutes later she said, “Now Axel is not going with you to ____, right?”. I confirmed that which was followed by “Your father went to Washington a lot, do you remember that?” I do remember that but didn’t think much about it, but she followed it with “by the way, our microwave is not working right”, so I thought that was over. But, was she implying my Dad also has a locked submissive boyfriend in DC? Hmmmm.

A few minutes later, after examining the microwave, she said “Does (the city name) make you happy, Drew?” I said, “oh yes, very, it’s a great city” to which she then asked, “does it make Axel happy?” I said, “yeah, Mom, it does. It really does.” She closed the conversation by saying, “Great, I am glad that (city name) will be a part of your big birthday week”.

That was that and I am so confused. Axel says I should float the idea that I have a boyfriend there, but leave out how good he looks naked, collared, plugged, and that he has a metal penis. I disagree in that I think she should know everything except the plugged part – kidding.

I have no clue if we are on the same page as the other part of me thinks that they are worried that I am interviewing for a job and am hinting around about whether I might be moving, because they worry about that a great deal – mostly because they’d miss Stella.

The other part of me wants to thinks that she knows – something and is giving me her approval in an odd, cloistered fuck up way. The Momma’s boy in me really likes that idea and I think I am going to go with it.

If this continues, I may tell her, but if any of you have dealt with dementia before, you know it may never come up again. Ever. So, I am going to hang on to that 50 percent approval from my mother of my switch side who likes to spank bunnies, and just move on.

As a plus and continuing our inside joke, Thumper, you will have a friend at the funeral 🙂

Breaking News: Sex on Sunday Shoots a Seventeen Year Record

Welcome to Drew 2.0 – the one who promised to write about sex. I’ve never graphically written about my genitalia before, so let’s see how this goes.

This afternoon I was downstairs writing what will now be tomorrow’s blog post, when I heard Axel call me to come upstairs. I knew he was planning a TRX workout here this afternoon and I did find him the the spare room/office/dungeon/nursery/storage area where the TRX straps are hooked, but he was naked, hard, and had that “I’m going to so fucking fuck you” look in his eyes that I rather adore. He told me to strip and pointed to the floor where he had laid out the Mr. S Darlex Sleepsack and Hood – with the built in blindfold. After zipping and strapping me in properly, he told me that he was going to work out around me and then would be using me for his amusement when he finished. He had that look. Oh, that god damned hot look (just for a visual, he has an olive complexion, dark brown hair, and really pale brown eyes that can almost turn red at just the right moment).

He plugged his iPhone in to the dock set into the house speakers and proceeded to start working out for about 45 minutes like I was never there. He didn’t talk to me. Didn’t acknowledge me. I was just laying there (questioning, at times, why I loved this man based solely on his playlist of choice). It was rather hot.

Then the music stopped and before I realized it he was sitting on my chest and said, “I know your mind likes an agenda and THIS time I am going to give you one. So, for the record, we are going to talk about a few things which will be followed by me using you as a cum rag since you are limited in your abilities to please me (I still have 27 stitches in my mouth from a procedure earlier this week). I’m then going to leave you here while I shower with a punishment you are owed and then we will talk about whether you are going to come today.”

He knows me well and laying it out helped me relax because I am not a surprise guy. He then said things about the control he had, how he enjoyed it, and that he was going to set some further rules about the gym and how he wants me to workout – because he has that power. This reminder that I have no control during these moments is like catnip to me. Grrrrrr. While the conversation continued, he had unzipped the sack so that my chest was exposed and was playing with my nipples before, finally, ejaculating on my chest and neck.

Then, he zipped me back up, patted me really good on the chest which, well, you know, and stood up saying that he was going to go take a shower and that, since I was owed a punishment, he turned on Nickelback (I despise Nickelback as any non Canadian should) and left the room (for those safety minded folk, he could always see in).

It was a long shower and as I laid there with the smell and feel of him on me, it seemed like time had slowed down to a crawl. Finally, he came back, sat down on me and unzipped the bag so that only my cock was out before zipping everything back up. Then, he said, “so, this is how it is going to be. I will let you come today but ONLY if it’s by my hand (this is significant because in our 17 years together I have never been patient enough to let him stroke me to completion) which was huge in my brain. He said that I needed to concentrate to let him get me to that place and that if I couldn’t, then sorry for me, because I would be sent on my trip this week without being sated. My mind was racing. He then started stroking me which was like, well, nothing I can describe in such perfection only to stop suddenly.
At this point he stopped and said, “Oh, one more thing, you have Thumper and one of the things about you having a boyfriend is that I benefit because you have the chance to get better at a few things – both in giving and receiving.” This caused my sub mind toSWOON. He then continued with, “So,next week when you are with him, I want you to” – this is where he began to list a few things that he thinks I need to be taught how to do to please him and he thinks a bisexual tongue will show me exactly what he means and/or a few things I need to get better at by practicing on my/with my boyfriend, the afternoon object. I am being vague about these things because he asked that I not be specific and that I only reveal these to Thumper, although he would be free to write about anything after the fact.

So, as this continued, he began stroking me and basically putting pressure on me to come, because if I didn’t it would be my loss. That did NOTHING for me, and I think he sensed that but I didn’t say anything.

Then he switched as started focusing his hands on the PA telling me that it was his, and how it’s only there because he wanted it, and what did that make me but more and more his, etc. My mind did double takes.

This continued until his words and his rhythm started matching and I exploded in a way that I have never felt before, partly to the PA and mostly due to the fact my hands were still locked in the bag. Magic.

He told me he was proud of me and that I should focus on that for the next little bit while he left me in the bag to stew a bit.


#ThumperFanBoys and 47 Cats

The depth of our online relationships continue to fascinate me. I could likely do a lot of research on this and present facts and figures to you, but I have had a lazy week and I am certainly not going to alter that with a Friday afternoon post.

That said, this week in my laziness I have spent a lot of time thinking about how we present ourselves online and how the world gets to know us. I am actually speaking specifically of Twitter and what I have learned since I officially became DualDrew. My experience prior in the Land of Tweet was limited to my obligatory work account where once a week I would post “It’s a great day at XXXX” to brag about a client site. When Thumper hopped into my life, he helped me set up the online side of mine, and, through watching and learning from him, I have experienced a huge gain in knowledge about how I approach social media including my kinky Twitter, my muggle Twitter, and my muggle Facebook.

Switching now to strictly the kinky Twitter account, over the last few months I have begun to follow many accounts and have had many return the follow with me. There are some who, through our online banter or just general caring, I have deemed “the friends” and I tend to worry about them if I don’t see them online or wonder about how their days are going in never-neverland or in the enchanted forrest or wherever it is they actually live. You see, I don’t really know anything about them aside from what they choose to put out there, be it true or false or a mixture of both, nor do they know me. However, it’s the vision in our heads we have of each other now and this,I have come to realize, is how people view us and even feel the need to “protect” us.

What I mean by that is that yesterday I wrote what I intended to be a funny post about Thumper teaching me about lady parts. Simple. Quick. Easy. No drama. What I got back were two tweets and three emails (I have not shared with him) about “how dare I speak about him as a hole” or “how disrespectful” I was being to him, even though he had jokingly tweeted in response to the post at hand as well. I chose not to allow the comments on the blog and deleted the tweets because it just wasn’t worth more drama this time and I am tired of people bringing up the same arguments about my relationship with him. That said, last night I was chatting, actually chatting, with one of the Twitter people who I have felt a bond with since I “met” her, Ferns, and asked her, well, you will see.  What she sent back was brilliant:

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And, regarding Thumper, she is very right because, I think he may have confused the online world many times by being so open, so honest, so sensitive, so amazingly helpful that people have forgotten that he is a 40 something man who doesn’t really go by a rabbit’s name, with a wife, two kids, a big job, a gym, incredible running tights, and now a sometimes needy boyfriend too.  The man is busy.

I laugh, but I wonder if that might explain why he and I immediately started getting hateful comments and why it even continues now (mostly to me alone now). I wonder if me dropping into his world in both real and online time disrupted how people saw their “relationship” with him? I think I have said from day one that I too was a ThumperFanBoy. I used to wait on the posts, wait on glimpses of what the real him might be and wondered “how Belle was this week” because he had accidentally “reeled me in” over the years. It’s like how we all really wanted to see Mrs. Wolowitz just one time before she died even though we probably knew we were better off by just hearing her voice.

In fact, when you look at the blog responses he gets, in many ways, he is a chastity god to some people as they ask him not only which device, which size, what ring and more, but I have even seen people ask him what color they should get and medical questions about whether the device could be making their noses stuffy (I exaggerate, but there are medical questions). Really?  Thing is, I know he doesn’t mind any of these questions and I am only seeing them, like you, because he has answered them. However, I wonder if the man from the middle of Iowa emailing him at 3am about whether he should get a 45 or a 47mm ring based on a drawing of his testicles he sent ever realizes that the man who is answering him is stepping aside from real life to do so? Again, not that he minds, but if I were the man emailing, I would at least hope I would know when to stop or to not be impatient about getting an answer.

Just a thought really, specifically around the rude comments that have continued to grow old.

Now, moving along, we also have to deal with our expectations of people too, especially if there is every any chance of meeting them in person. Since I mentioned Ferns, she lives 9,000 miles away from me, but as luck will have it, I am going to be “in the neighborhood” next month and she and I are going to have lunch.  I am uber excited about this because she, well, she’s Ferns.

However, she had to warn me of something last night as well:

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See, I thought I had fallen in infatuation with a beautiful blonde blog domme, but in reality, I am having lunch with a 70 year old shut in with lots of cats. We are still going to have lunch, but evidently it will be bland and via Skype, but that’s okay too.

Kidding, kidding, that’s not the real Ferns, BUT, who knows who half of the people we talk to really are. I guess that’s why I get so frustrated with the bad comments because these people don’t know me any more than they know Ethel with the cats.

I think it goes to a wise point I heard earlier today about just thinking before you fall, or type or something like that.

I started this post without clear thought as to what I was writing so now I have no catchy ending.


Thumper’s Vagina Training Program

Welcome to Thumper’s Vagina Training Program (TVTP).

A place for fun. A place for knowledge.

Actually, this title started as an earlier response to a tweet I sent this morning when I woke up after a long night of dreams fueled by painkillers (I had oral surgery yesterday). One particular one was about Jerry and Elaine from Seinfeld having sex while George watched. I have no idea why my mind went here, but I laughed this morning when I realized that the “dream Jerry” had an incredible penis, a beautiful ass, and these amazing legs (unlike the real one) while “dream Elaine” had zero sex organs. Not even breasts. She was just like a plastic barbie doll. In my tweet I expressed regret at failing and Thumper responded with equal criticism:

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Now, as you know, one of the benefits of having a bipanflexible boyfriend on the side of one’s homosexual open marriage is that one has the ability to ask all of the questions one has ever wanted to ask about the working interiors of the other sex. – (and breathe) – As you also know, I am a proud Double Gold Star Gay, so I have never been in or out of a vagina and have been relying on Thumper to teach me things. He’s done a fine job, especially considering he only has a real live penis a few times a quarter. As an example of his teachings, just Monday night he posted a nice video on a private page we share together that had audio instructions and a perfectly shaped real live finger going in and out and in and out of what some, but not me, might call a pretty vagina. I was very proud of myself for watching it. Twice. This pride comes from personal growth as I now, thanks to Thumper, knew what holes were for what and where one’s h-spot might be. Wait, is it g-spot? It’s still so confusing.

Nevertheless, he’s taught me “real real good”.

In exchange I often used to fight my gag reflex (but now don’t) and post other pictures of lady sex parts and men sitting on them for him to enjoy even if I don’t know fully why. It’s this mutual respect thing that comes with the boyfriend agreement, page 73.

These things, combined with a trip with him vibrator shopping, made me feel very enlightened and very proud to share my new knowledge with my single and double gold starred friends. But not the silver ones. They are on their own.

Then, it happened. I FINALLY had a sex dream about a woman. A TV woman at that.

However, in my dream She. Had. No. Sex. Parts. – Why The Face?

What had we done wrong? Was I too busy admiring his bisexual bunny tongue and missed a lesson?

It’s bothered me all day because I do not like regression.

All morning, I have pondered, wondering if I was still worthy of my spot in the TVTP program. Have I been that bad of a student that I can’t even dream right?

And then it hit me (and frankly how these two things actually relate I am stretching), I really rarely even think about sex parts, talk about them, or face them (except on Axel’s birthday).

I think I am a prude.

Yes, a prude indeed when it comes to saying the words. I think about the man with the penis or the woman with the vagina, but I often stop myself from thinking about THE penis or THE vagina or, worse, THE ASS of either.

I blame my Mother. I grew up not being able to say these words. We did not even use the proper words for toilet functions. Fucking WASP family.

Ironically, I am blaming the woman who now, in her old age, can recite the oral sex scene from 50 Shades of Grey over breakfast without even blushing, or so I think since I technically didn’t see her from my balled up position underneath the table rocking back and forth while she used words like ball gag and whip.

As a further lesson, I have gone back and read some of Thumper’s posts about the dildos or plugs he has in his ass, his tongue in the pussy, or my finger deep in his ass with awe because he just says these things so openly and proudly. I mean, I know he’s from California and that’s what he grew up doing in the Land of Fast Sex, Farrah Faucet, and the Brady Bunch, so I give him extra points, but that stops now. Get this, he once even wrote about taking a plug out of his ass mid run and then putting it back in while in his driveway. His driveway. I have seen it and it’s not in a forrest or surrounded by 8 foot walls.

God damn I want to have that Thumper openness.

So, from here on, if I want to talk about something in or on my ass, I will.

If I want to talk about how I plan to insert my penis into Thumper’s ass after pulling a drippy, hot, slick plug out of his gaping hole, I will.

If I want to talk about exactly where I want the bisexual bunny tongue to go, I will do that too. Actually, I will do that now. In my ass, Thumper. In. My. Ass.

No more prudish thoughts or words from me. I might even use the word spunk – just because. Better yet, I might even tell you that when I create said spunk I will roughly wipe it all over Thumper while he is bound without a choice and because his penis is confined in its metal penile chamber. Who knows, although I do know that using the words roughly wiping, confined and chamber are whimper worthy, right?

So now I vow to dream about more women and give then pussies and titties (I am such a gay man that my Macbook just autocorrected that to “kitties” about 27 times) and in said dream I may even touch them with my tongue. It will be wild.

And, with that, I have now completed Chapter 14 of the Thumper Vagina Manual, soon to be on Amazon at a deeply discounted price.

Seriously, while I do naturally find myself drawn to Thumper’s writings, I want to actually commend him on being able to write all of these things in such a way that you don’t feel creepy reading it. I mean no disrespect to other authors, but as I now reside in the Twitter-verse and in WordPress-ville, some of what people write is just downright gross to the reader because they, while perhaps great writers, lack the ability to fine tune grossness into an informative, yet slightly erotic passage by finessing the tone in the manner that he is able to do so well.

So, rabbit, thank you for putting it all out there to teach other up and coming smut writers how to do it.

I’ll give you something extra special next time I see you.

Wait, wait, I promised I would make a step toward explicitness, so, how about, next time I see you I will place my fully erect penis inside your anal cavity? Grrrrrrrrrrr. Right?