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Apr 13, 2007 02:45 PM
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New York, 6:01 PM
Tue Feb 9
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We spend so much time in our heads around here that it's nice when we're reminded of all the good stuff below our necks—and everyone else's too. In today's roundup of some of our favorite sex writing on the interweb this week, we find sex bloggers in the throes of spring fever as they go on about their bodies: the joy of fecundity, the pleasure of self-pleasure, the limits of sensation, and the feel of a cool April breeze on a wide-open snatch.
Cozy up inside your skin with Jefferson after the jump.
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Sex Blog Roundup
by Jefferson
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I took the above photo of myself on Tuesday morning. Coincidentally, class that day centered on nudes in art history, the earliest of which were ancient fertility figures. In light of Tuesday's lecture, the milk jug prop which hides my breasts suddenly seems symbolic. This is my Self-Portrait as a 21st Century Fertility Figure.
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I write fantasy in my bedroom, the lights dulled and my lips quietly mouthing the dirty words that my feminine charm forbids me to utter out loud, my pen writing out a smooth scripture upon the page of my desires. I play with lovers (now only with my boyfriend) with an amazed wonder to find a fresh beat of light behind every sensation and burst of friction that my body joyfully succumbs to. I touch myself with the unbridled curiosity of a newly be-chested adolescent because it makes it more fun,"Look here what is this . . . oh my . . . MMMMM."
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So, even though I've never really been that into Brad Pitt, I've always kind of wondered about it. You know what I mean? I guess after all the fuss, and all the swooning (other people were doing), at some point, as a gay boy, and a gay boy who's predominately a bottom, the question arises . . . about anyone really . . ."Yeah, he's alright looking for sure . . . but does he have a big dick?"
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Last weekend was the first time in a long time that Eileen and I made it out to the club. I used to hang out there religiously every Friday and Saturday night, long before I knew her. I used to miss the club because it was the club, it was my hangout, where everyone knew my name. But for a while, I was missing it—we were missing it—because it meant play, the kind of play that works better in noisy dark spaces with (I'm almost ashamed to admit it) onlookers you know are watching because you can feel their eyes but you can't see their faces. There's something delicious about that space, so fun, so personal, so intimate, and yet so public.
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I had some nice new bedding down on my big bed, so I covered it with another duvet so it wouldn't get caught by any of my semen, then I fetched a nice big white fluffy towel and laid it down on the bed and then undressed completely. Lying myself down, getting settled atop the towel and bed and relaxing. Thinking of somebody undressing me again, carefully and sensually peeling away my clothing. Imagining lips pressing against mine, the flick of her tongue across mine. Her mouth moving down against my chest, kissing and licking my nipples, though soon at my neck, kissing and dragging teeth against the skin.
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He laid me on my back over the engine bonnet of his Ford van, my legs apart, the cool night air blew over my bare pussy, sending a shiver through me that quickly dissipated as he moved on top of me, his hard cock pressing against my willing cunny lips which opened to receive him.
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Thumbnail via cakeandcock.blogspot.com
Previously: Sex Blog Roundup Archive
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