Dear Mason the Dixon

Your comment shocks me. It shocks me that you think that an act so intimate as sex should cum with NO feelings, whatsoever.

Everyone I fuck is given the opportunity of becoming my friend. Indeed, anyone I meet is, also. I have many different types of friends. Some closer than others.

I feel very sorry for you and the life that you now lead. A life that does not include the love and respect of others… FRIENDS.

You think that because I’m a whore I don’t deserve friendship. That is outrageous to me. But it says so much about YOU.

Almost two weeks, after my surgery, I had quite a scare. It would have been my fourth kidney failure. I went immediately to the emergency room in Alabama to the hospital that performed my surgeries two years ago.

To my friends, Mason the Dixon, YOU ARE NOT INCLUDED, I have some good news. For the past two years I have been sweating the determination I was given December 2015.

At that time, I was given the diagnosis of Erdheim Chester Disease. Look it up. It scared the fuck out of me.

I’ve been concerned about my kidney function ever since. At the time that I left the hospital it was 13% function in one kidney and 83% in the other. In essence, my kidneys aren’t doing so fucking good.

The emergency room visit answered so many questions for me. They immediately rushed me back and checked my kidneys.

Greatest news ever, they aren’t that much worse than when I left the hospital, two years ago. In essence, I ain’t dying yet! And the likelihood that the prognosis given to me of two to three years, then death, most likely, was wrong.

Of course, I’ve changed my habits quite a bit, also. I’m proud to say that, I believe, I have improved my health by a great deal with nutritious eatin, lots of sleep, and exercise. In fact, I’m living better, now, than I ever have, in my life, at any other age.

Unfortunately, they did tell me that I’m missing a disc between the L2 and L3 vertebrae in my back. That means that the majority of the pain that I thought was radiating from my kidneys was actually my disc obliterating itself to pieces.

And I have gallstones. But who gives a fuck about that right now.?? I’M GOING TO LIVE! I’m going to live to see my babies have babies! Mason the Dumbass, you can’t take this joy away from me.




suck meter
After just having surgery, the lack of support has been amazing to me. Thanks, friends. I have received your hint and have, finally, turned my phone off. Guess I’ll get back to you when my services are available.

BTW: Thanks again…friends.

Sweet, Sweet, Sugar DATY

Well, well, well. Hello, there, and a happy, belated Halloween to all of you. Hope your treats were sweet and your tricks… Oh, so, sticky.

What an evening! What a day! It’s, absolutely, the only holiday I know of, when anyone and everyone has the ability and opportunity to do all sorts of CRAZY, AZZ SHIT, have a shitload of fun, all the while, free from guilt, judgement or shame. HALLOWEEN ROCKS, PEEPS!!

We can role-play any person we’ve ever known of, past or present, real or imagined. All, without, even, a single person finding it necessary to question the motives behind our final dress decision.

We could walk into a party sportin, just, a long, black, tail and these skinny, little whiskers drawn with a black Sharpie, thrice, along each cheek (meow), and, absolutely, NOTHING, FUCKIN, ELSE, and, still, be in the running for sexiest costume, rather than the sluttiest.

I almost forgot! You can frighten the shit out of WHOEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT on Halloween! Anybody at all! Just for fun! A chuckle to be shared amongst you and your buddies repeatedly throughout the years. Recited time and time, again, at parties, weddings, and reunions to lots of uproarious fun.

No doubt, on any OTHER day of the year, I’m sure such a thing could, still, be able to illicit a few half-hearted snickers, here and there. You know, just a few non-holiday laughes, that are, all too quickly, forgotten once the laughter has died down.

Shit! Just imagine that face. The distinct features, spontaneously, becoming panicked, and, suddenly, contorting in fear. Hold up. Now, draw a little face paint on him. Maybe, picture him wearing a cap or cape of monstrous size.

See him, now? Yup. Goofy lookin, huh? Lol. Only on Halloween, my dear friends. Only on THAT ONE SPECIAL DAY could such a similiar situation produce such an extremely different response.

Only All Hallow’s Eve, this fella you had, only moments before, made the “butt” of your spooky inspired joke, would, probably, just fall right in along with the rest of you lil scoundrels, laughing, far louder and much, more, hysterically. Even, just a bit, too insanely at such a ridiculous prank. Yea. That kinda shit is definitely a guy thang, for sure.

Then, finally… FINALLY! After dressin, walkin, and beggin, close to an hour and a half, it all, finally, culminates in… Well, just, the most euphoric high. I’m talkin, the most epic proportions of energy and enthusiasm, delivered to me, directly, by the tiniest of hands.

Oh, cum on! I’m talkin bout candy! OF COURSE, I’m talkin bout candy. Bout that sugar! I’m talkin bout sucrose, dextrose, and high-fructose corn syrup… Molded expertly into some of the strangest shapes and sizes imaginable, and ranging in a multitude of colors. It’s like a beacon to children of all ages. Even, mine. Damnit. Even, me.

This Halloween I planned on doing a little visiting. After walking with my daughter, her five siblings, and my bestie (her other mother) for, somewhere around an hour and a half in my lowest of heels and my “Little Red Riding Hoe” costume (minus the hoe)… Shit! I was beat!

Suddenly, there cums a great stampede through the screen door. Lil feet are hastening, skipping, suddenly, flat-out, RACING hurriedly in my direction. Each small person, absolutely, intent on being the very, first to offer me a grab inside their own goodie bag!

Then, gleaming back at the runners up with the most intense pride, as I shower down my lovin and huggin, and squeezing all over them, for all to witness. Shit. It’s what I love most about Halloween!

Those youngins love me. They do! Halloween, or any other holiday. In the past decade, they were the only reason I still celebrated the working holiday at all.

Damnit. Okay, truth is, by the time the day rolls around for festive, dress-up, fun, each and every one of them (including the wee, wittle, one year old) are all, quite, aware that X-mas is, just, around the corner and sneaking up pretty, fuckin fast.

Of course, Eh. I suppose that could be, in some part, due to my, repetitively, reminding them of that, ever, thinning gap in holidays, just, yet to cum. You damn right! I do this EVERY SINGLE TIME I visit. I told ya. HALLOWEEN KICKS AZZ! It is the beginning of my Christmas fun, if you can believe it. Lol.

What? Y’all don’t do that? Shit! Then y’all are missin one, of, only, two days out of each year, where children (any children) most, closely resemble… The sweetest, most thoughtful, most beautifully behaved lil angels, ever to walk this Earth.

I tell ya! Try it sometime. Talk about sugary sweet! Ooh-ee! That is, until the unfortunate time arrives, once again, for me to return to my own home. (God only knows, how them lil hoodlums act after I’ve left! Lol. I can only imagine. Argh!)

I guess, the short of it is, I’m talkin bout ALL THINGS SWEET! Look, every now and then, even, I get a bit of a sweet tooth. Sure, it doesn’t, really, happen that often, and it, certainly, doesn’t ever last for very long.

Still, I try to keep some candy corn, jolly ranchers, sometimes, even, a few dum-dums hidden somewhere nearby, always, around my home. You know. JUST IN CASE. Okay. Perhaps, that’s not, quite, 100% truthful.

The truth is, sometimes, I find myself hunting all over, finding nothing. Suddenly, I’ve located a single, most likely, stale, breath mint, loose, at the bottom of my purse. With a quick flip, my hand becomes a unweilding claw, scraping steadily within, then, miraculously, pulling the unwrapped candy piece, from the deepest regions inside.

Oh, cum on, people! IT WAS A LUDENS, for God’s sake! Look, Ludens Throat Lozenges are so, fuckin amazin that they remain preserved awaiting a single breath, hot and hard, and a simple swipe of my sleave… VOILA! Good as new! (Dude, those things are CRAZY DELICIOUS! Wish someone gave THEM out at Halloween.)

Recently, I discovered a whole, new, way to cure my candy-coated craving WITHOUT acquiring, even, a single toothache or cavity! Talk about fantasy fulfillment! Talk about the sweetest ecstasy! OMG!

I’m talkin, far, far, too much like an elegant pastry, flush to the brim with fresh fruit and cream cheese, almond slivers, and drowned in hot, gooey, white chocolate. The first taste, leaves you, immediately and hopelessy addicited. Now, could a dessert such as this just be titled “sugar snack”. God, no! There’s just no comparison.

The dark, rich, full- flavored fella I am, now, referring to could, never, don such a simple tag. No way! This gentleman was quite the delicacy.

Actually, I can think of no better comparison than the thickest of thick, that dense, syruppy goodness of, only, the purest of honey! Oh, so, natural, so very needed, and, an ABSOLUTE NECESSITY in my life. AND, the life of my lil Greedy!

He wasted no time. I mean, it was only moments later. I had opened the door of my home, welcoming this handsome, new stranger inside with a hug, a kiss, and flirty little wink.

Suddenly, I find myself jerking spastically above him, my Greedy’s nether lips were kissed and licked and nibbled. Then, forced wide by his own full set of lips and the curiousity of his thick, wet tongue. Hey, he asked me to sit on his face.

Shit! I was so gone with passion at that very moment that I could have just made that all up. Maybe it was all my idea. I, seriously, have NO CLUE how I ended up there, but, I, certainly, didn’t object.

He placed me above his hungry mouth… So, I fed the fucker. In fact, there were two very distinct moments that I’ll never forget. In both instances, I came so hard that I, practically, forget where the hell I was. One look down, and reality hit me hard, bringing with it, a wee bit of guilt.

I had killed him! I mean, he HAD to be dead. My first orgasm hit super hard, causing both of my hands to flail out, instinctively, as I was thrown from my stride and forced forward, mid-“OOOOOO”, just barely catching myself on the cool glass of the mirror next to my bed.

As my awareness, slowly, returned, suddenly, I became concerned. Well, there I was (a petite lil thing, by no means)… Rockin and resting, then rockin, and resting, momentarily, again. My weight being distributed consistently all over his skull, as I grinded up and down the coarse hair and features of his face, furiously.

Shit! My concern for his welfare melted swiftly and easily enough away, the very moment I felt his long, hot, tongue, delve unabashadly and fearlessly into the depthes of my channel hidden behind my delicate pussy lips. My feverish flesh within erupted like a volcano, more aggressive and blind in it’s search for another deliciously, ecstatic moment of bliss.


If, ever, a contest were to be held in the competition of pussy lovin and lickin, Sir Sugar Daty would have every judge blushing and crying out in vain, just as I did several times on that, our first date. Believe me, this handsome gentleman, ABSOLUTELY, LOVES to eat pussy, and IT, CERTAINLY, SHOWS.

I am humbled, even now, just, remembering those stolen moments perched above his masculine features, only moments before falling, clumsily forward, and catching myself, once again, against the mirror on my wall.

The skill of his silky tongue, had taken me by great surprise. This knowledge hit me hard and quick, causing the, usually, passionate and assured movements of my body to spasm most uncontrollably, startlingly me shitless.

This man was much, more potent that any trick or treat I’d ever received. The simplest flick of his lips, his tongue, even, just, the crinkling up of his nose along the delicate flesh between my legs… Suddenly, I was thrust, headfirst, into a most full and orgasmic stutter, ending in long wailing cries and a few unconscious thrusting of weakening limbs.

I had just overdosed on the sticky, sweet, full-bodied orgasms that responded so willingly to all of his own freakish desires. If I’m to be completely honest, I’d have to say that it’s possible… Wait, actually, it’s probable…

FUCK! The truth is, in about an hour, I’d become helplessly ADDICTED to the thick, rich, goodness of Daty, the man.

That sticky and, oh, so sweet, full body, orgasmic stutter and jerk, produced so quickly and easily with each skilled flick of his slightly rough, curious, and roving tongue, only, reinforced the weakness of my will and proved, loud and clear, that I still have a very addictive personality. Just a taste of his delicous candy, and I was, downright, hooked.

FYI: Someone who carries a name with as much presumption as “Masterhead” or “Sugar Daty”… Well, let’s just say, you’d do much better to just believe it. It takes a whole lotta confidence to wear such a descriptive name. Without the anonimity afforded by a simple mask or, just a bit face paint allowed only that one special day every year, all in the hopes of acquiring the sweetest of treats from strangers.

Besides, you gotta be tough to carry those titles. Trust me. It’s like wearing a challenge every single day of your life. God! I do, so, love a challenge!

Sweet Treats for ALL My Friends! Love y’all! See ya next slut day!

Oh, and thank you, Sugar Daty. The memories of our tryst, certainly, helped to curb the sweet tooth that was plaguing me that day. Unfortunately, it’s kinda common knowledge that my memory isn’t always so good. Just saying. Better not stay away too long. I might forget how amazing that shit really was.

Naaaaahhhhhh!!!! Sit on ya, soon!



Masterhead69 aka Laney Lixx just discovered the greatest beauty trick of the 21st century!!

Better than toothpaste, even.

Remove hair dye with




Followed by…

Lots of soap!

Tell em, I told ya!!

Damn it! Did I just pee on my dog, again??

I know. You’re thinkin, where else could this possibly go? What is this crazy, fuckin, bitch going on about this time? What the fuck did she just say??

Hold on. Lemme, just, stop laughing, first. Unfortunately, it’s, still, all, too true.

As everyone from my little corner of the world knows firsthand, we experienced a hurricane a few nights ago. It was only supposed to be a category 1, but, still, it managed to split one of the trees in my front yard forcefully, and took out a light pole on the opposite side of my fence at about 9:30p.m. that evening.

I recall wakin up, so, fuckin, hot. I have most of the windows in my house nailed shut, so, there was no chance of much of a breeze through my home without the help of the air conditioning. I slumbered onto the porch and out into the road with my small Chihuahua to check out the damage. Just as any good Floridian knows how to do.

The tattered limb lay, just above, the lip of the fence, instead, landing squarely in the center of my street. But, thankfully, just passed my home. Everyone else, however, were almost, completely, blocked off from theirs. Eek!

I called my daughter’s mother, my bestest of girlfriends. Within the hour, she arrived at my house with two of her sons in tow to help me clear out my fridge of all it’s cold inhabitants. We rushed back to their house, so, that she could head out to work.

About a week ago, my ex had a motorcycle accident and injured something in his shoulder, pretty, good. So, he’s been at home all week. I’d have to say, he, probably, wasn’t, completely, awake when I first got there. But, he sure got to movin, pretty, quickly once he realized that I had arrived.

He shuffled kids off to the left and off to the right, trying to get everything just to his satisfaction. Impossible. Within the very, first, ten minutes, my daughter had resigned herself to her room. He had, already, by that time, insulted her, quite, graciously and unfairly several times. After everything settled down, again, he called her back to us. We ended up spending the rest of the day sitting in front of the TV, watching Netflix, and last season’s, American Horror Story, with a few of the kids.

Hey! Don’t judge me! Just kidding! It was my daughter’s idea. She’s so much like her mother.

All in all, it ended up being a, pretty, fabulous day. I enjoyed everyone’s company, as always, and was filled with only love and enthusiasm when I, finally, left their home that evening.

However, upon arriving at my own, I realized my small pet had some new, very, large, black, friends hijacking on his back from my daughter’s, very large, dog, Buddy. Now, he needed to be thoroughly scrubbed clean. And, being that I, also, needed to wash up, we both hit the tub.

Ooh! No. No. No. I sat on the SIDE OF THE TUB, people! Jeesh! You freaks are so NASTY!

I doused us both in warm water from the sprayer, then, began scrubbing away at him with some flea shampoo. He didn’t like this very much. In fact, he doesn’t like bathes, altogether. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice. Those little black travelers had to go.

When he was rinsed and clean, and all bugs had cycled down the drain, it was my turn. Never once, did it occur to me that my dog, now, trembling and cold, would feel safest and warmest, just, under the shelter created by my legs, now, jutting out over the edge of the tub. Oh, come on! Should I have??

There I am, singin, loud as hell, to the music blaring from my speakers, warm water is flowing. I’m taking body wash onto a loofah and commenced to creating bubbles all over my prickly flesh. I shaved quickly, then finished up with the delightfully, citric-auromaed, pussy wash. The entire time, bubbles and suds, and, I suppose, dirt and grime, were, just, oozing down my baby’ back. Ooh.

You guessed it. It does get worse. I felt the need. So, then, I peed.

Oh, he must have been, oh,so, happy to feel that warm liquid, because he, suddenly, laid heavily into the back of my calf, jolting me to the realization of what had just occurred. I, ABSOLUTELY, COULD NOT STOP LAUGHING.

But, you wonder, I thought she said, “again”. Didn’t she say, she peed on her dog, AGAIN??

Aigh! You are right! And, I have an answer for you. I guess, I meant that figuratively. Truth is, it slipped out before I even realized I’d said it. So, it must have been meant to be. Or, perhaps…

A little foreshadowing of something to cum?? Doo doo doo doo. Doo doo doo doo. Poor Spaz.


A great, big, “hello”, to all of my friendly, fellow, fun-lovin, freaks. I do, so, love all of you, my comrads in kink. It’s a, truly, wonderful feeling to belong to such an amazingly, diverse group of individuals. You like me. You, really, like me. Despite, my many perversions…

Oh… Thank God, for that. Because… Well, I’ve, kinda, been a bad girl, recently. A bad girl.  A bad adult.  A bad mom… Just, plain, BAD! 

Okay. So, I suppose, it started, several days ago. One of the fellas on ECCIE posted a link in our SANDBOX to an amateur porn vid. And, not, just, ANY kinda porn, either. 

Nope. This one was starring… Dum, Dum, Dum, Dummmm… Vern Troyer. Oh, yes! Mini Me, himself!

Look. I’ve seen a lot of porn in my lifetime. I mean… A LOT of porn. I’ve, even, starred in a few (ahem) artistic pieces, myself, a time or two. But, this video was… Absolutely, mind-blowin, to say the least.

Hold on. I know what y’all must be thinking. In, NO WAY, was I, even, remotely, turned on by that teeny, tiny, little fellow. 

Intrigued?? Perhaps. Unable to turn away?? Indeed. Intensely fascinated in some obscene, slightly, grotesque way?? Yup. Yup. Yup. You know me, too well, my friends. 

But, turn me on?? Eek. Nah. That, it didn’t do. Well, not THAT video, in particular. NOT the wee, little man in that dark and grainy, homemade film.

Certainly, NOT the lil guy from the link posted, that had barely been recognizable, as he perched between the spread legs of an, absolutely, average-sized, lady. He used this, most intimate, of positions to pound away feverishly, at her sweetest of spots, laying, splayed, before him.

Man, he was just going at it with everything that he had, resembling, disturbingly enough, an infant throwing a very dedicated tantrum. Hilariously, enough, he, just, pumped and pumped away, furiously for moments on end. 

Then, suddenly, he would collapse into this small heap of naked flesh, right down, on the center of her flat stomach. Thoroughly, exhausted. 

You see, that’s, about, as far as his little arms COULD, even, reach in that position. He was standing (probably, on his little tiptoes), and perched at the, very, edge of her delicate, nether lips, poised to remain within her body. No matter what. 

From that vantage, his fingertips could, only, reach as far up her long, lean, female form, as his own body would allow. Then, no further. That spot was on her lower stomach. It was alarming to see him like that! What a sight! 

Surely, now, you can, clearly, see why I found it, so, difficult to turn away from the carnage of that video. When the screen, finally, did fall into darkness, there I sat. Stock still. Frozen in disbelief. I, just, couldn’t believe that I watched THE WHOLE FUCKIN THANG!

Oh, but, I, most definitely, did watch the whole dang thang. In fact, I, probably, would have watched it, at least, once or twice, more. If not, for the sheer abundance of EVERY, SINGLE PORN IMAGINABLE available, RIGHT NOW, and RIGHT HERE, on my, very, own phone. 

I do, so, love a short man. But, perhaps, a midget is, just, a little WAY, WAAAAYYYY, too small for me. Jesus, I would be far, too concerned for his safety to, ever, have a good time. True story. 

I didn’t spend, even, one more moment of my life thinking about that tiny movie star, again, without his clothes on. Although, admittedly, that image is, most likely, going to be burned into the back of my skull forever, more.

Surprisingly, as I turned away from the little man on screen, I noticed a bit of slickness had formed along the tender crease created by my closed thighs, hiding my swollen nether lips, and guarding the entrance to my body from prying eyes. Instantaneously, the faint buzz of a live, sexual, current began to creep, like static electricity, along my flesh. 

Now, how shocked are you to find out that I, immediately, felt the need to watch something as titillating, as it was disturbing?? Yup. Exactly as I thought. Y’all, truly, do know me, so, very, very, well. 

It was, only, after, about, three or four of these short, hardcore, porn videos that I realized, IT HAD BEGUN. My body was aflame with desire and need, and, just, the most intense craving to get off, began to overload my senses and begged for relief. I was desperate for that deeper satisfaction that has, always, accompanied my, truly, grandest of squirts.

There was only one problem. On THAT DAY, my son and his girlfriend were visiting. We had, already, enjoyed a good dinner, earlier, and, then, settled down onto my king size bed to watch a couple of new movies. Only, about halfway through the first one, I turned to find them snuggled down comfortably in my pillows and blankets and, were peacefully snoring, right away.

I left them behind me, and snuck out of the room, quietly, and retreated to my dining / office / laundry / family room to begin checking my messages and cruising the usual websites. 

ECCIE’s Panhandle Forum was, unusually, quiet as shit that day. Sundays, can, sometimes, be like that. But, there, in bold print, was a thread I’d been ignoring for the past several days. 

It was a link to an amateur porn tape of a, rather, famous, fella. I, really, wasn’t sure I wanted to watch it at all, considering…  Well, I was, almost, 100% positive that I WOULD NOT enjoy it.

Cum on. Y’all know me. It was a porno! Of course, I’ve GOTTA watch it! I mean, eventually. So, that’s exactly what I did. I watched THE ENTIRE FUCKIN VIDEO! 

Are you beginning to understand, yet, the depths of my perversion, my dear friends?? There I was, attempting to perform the duties of a kind, patient, understanding, loving, mother, all, in one moment. Watching midget porn, the next moment. Before I know it, I’ve become, completely, immersed in the, ever-rising, fever that I’ve cum to recognize as a side effect of my MANY, wild, porn marathons. 

This, my entire descent into the dirty and obscene world that is banned porn, all, took place while those two love birds, simply, slept the afternoon away in my bed, just, in the room, next door. I knew I shouldn’t, but, I, simply, couldn’t help myself. 

Okay. Perhaps you’ve picked up on the fact that I’m, really, not used to having friends sleepover. Or children. Or animals.  Or… You get it. 

So, you can imagine, I had, absolutely, NO basis for comparison in this type of situation. How long DO teenagers sleep for, during naps?? Argh. Naps! Must be nice! 

Under the, usual, circumstances, I, really, could have cared less. But, just… NOT THAT DAY. On THAT DAY, I found myself struggling against the magnetic force of my, very, own, unbridled lust. Suddenly, the answer became, so, very, very, clear. I was, desperately, in need of a good vibrator.

Unfortunately, every, last, one of my toys were tucked safely and discretely away… IN MY BEDROOM! Through the slight of the crack in the door, I could observe them, still, stretched, haphazardly, across the expanse of my large bed. 

I snuck, quietly, past them, again, and made my way into the bathroom, fully expecting to find my favorite toy, right, on the other side of the door. It would be plugged in, fully charged, and ready to go. Like, always.

Only, it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. As a matter of fact, not only was my massager missing, I didn’t, even, see the charger for it that had always hung, right there, next to the bathroom door. It was the, only, thing in my house capable of charging my beautiful, buzzing, buddy, so, I, never, ever, moved it anywhere else. 

It, just, wasn’t there. Not on the counter. Not on the floor. Not anywhere, that I saw, nearby.

I’m sure, I, probably, could have put forth, a bit, more effort in the search for my beloved friend, but, the truth was… Well, I was incapable of MUCH, by that time. 

I was aching to touch myself. Or, have something (OR SOMEONE ELSE), do that for me. Being, that, my toy bag lay, only, about three or four feet from my first born and his girlfriend’s entangled limbs, I was left with very few options.

NEVER, in my life, have I eyeballed appliances, OF ANY KIND, in, quite, the same, disturbingly, filthy way, that I did, on THAT DAY. Like, I was doing…  At that, very, moment. 

Sure. I have a big, ole, washing machine that vibrates and gyrates, and shudders, rhythmically, with each and every load interjected into it’s boring life. Oh, yeah. But, it is out on my back porch and shared by myself AND two of my neighbors. 

I could, just, picture myself sitting high, atop that jostling, beastly, machine. I’m interrupted, unexpectedly, by someone. Could be ANYONE. This person would, undoubtedly, never, fully, comprehend my true intentions, and, possibly, even, think me, some kinda, pervert. 

But, most likely, they would run from me. Run, just, far enough, away. They would share this, newfound, info with, just, about, anyone. Most likely, someone, like, my landlord. Just, for a good reason to chuckle, a bit. Great. 

It’s fucked up, really. I guess. But, I, just, needed something. Urgently! I, suddenly, caught sight of an old friend. 

There, on the bathroom counter, sat a boiling pin shaped, bottle of bath wash, that, somehow, I’ve managed to keep wth me for over 3 years, now. It was completely full, still. It’s contents, ALL, very much, intact. It swiftly disappeared inside my vagina, without any effort, at all. Sweet. 

Within, just, a few moments (And, I AM talking moments, NOT minutes), I heard the creaking of the door to my bedroom as it was pushed wide, slowly. Out, stumbles my son and his new girlfriend. One, right after, the other. 

Groggy, and with eyelids, half-shut, against the reality of the afternoon sun, now, beaming through my living room windows, they entered the room, slowly. Very, very slowly. 

Shuffling along, together, both, seemed, deeply enmeshed within a trance-like state, as they glided across my carpet. Their gait, very similar to that of the zombies, we’ve all become so accustomed to seeing on tv and in, so, many, movies, these days. 

No worries. Even the living dead, walkin, couldn’t frighten me away from the current mission, I found myself on. I had to soothe that beast of desire, right now. 

You know what I’m saying. That monster… The one, snarling and pacing, so deep, within me.  It HAD to be tamed! 

The young couple, just, seemed to appear in my living room, together. Dazed by slumber and semi-consciousness, they had left my bedroom standing vacant. I would bet, they weren’t, even, aware of my swift departure into it’s darkness, timed simultaneously, with their arrival. 

Indeed. They WERE, already, here! I, just, stood, motionless, as they excited my room. Then, I made a direct bee-line for that room. Now, the hunt, truly, was on.  The search for my, MOST FAVORITE, of ALL, my toys… 

I scanned the space, swiftly, from one side to the other. Then, back, again. And, then, once more. Nothing. Nothing, nowhere. Nada. No how. 

A few months ago, I, impulsively, purchased a vibrator from Walmart. AHA! Didn’t know they, even, sold them! Did you?? Me, either! 

It was the simplest of wands, only offered in the color, purple, and made by the Trojan brand. Even it’s $35 price tag, did nothing to persuade me that Mr. Sam Walton, or, ANY, other, Walmart employee, gave, even, two craps about me experiencing orgasms in this lifetime. But, I refused to be daunted. 

The bag, where I store my, most, personal of toys, leaned, heavily, against one of the legs at the foot of my bed. It’s sides bulged, greatly, beneath the sheer magnitude and weight of my, many, different, fake cocks, cock rings, and, countless, containers of lubricant.

I shifted several of the dildos and bottles of lube to one side of my naughty, toy bag, steadily searching for my, all-time, favorite, orgasm creator. You, simply, would not believe how distracting it can be to find a phallus when wading through a sea of phallic objects. Whew! Talk about WORK! What a mess! 

Suddenly, one of these objects began rattling from beneath the heap. I jumped, then, furiously, began taking down the pile, one rubber penis, at a time. Until, the bag was, practically, empty. As the culprit, finally, came into view, my Spidey senses began to tingle, alarmingly. 

Who shops for dildos at the 24 hour, corner store?? Of course, that was NEVER my intention. Well, not originally. 

I was, actually, in that aisle to purchase a new batch of condoms for my “JOB”. Seated, directly, beside the vast “Safe Sex” department in my local Wally World, there was an entire row of empty slots. Together, they formed a large, naked hole, at the center of the entire display. 

This wide, open, space was void of any stickers, tags, or merchandise. There were channels built into the shelf, capable of holding many, different, retail items. 

Only, it seems, someone must have forgotten to stock this area, because, absolutely, NOTHING was placed, there. NOTHING, except one, single box that stood, all alone, at the furthest edge of it all. 

You see, I had, previously, ordered the cutest, little, pink vibrator, about a week earlier. I’d been waiting, impatiently, ever since. Yeah. Well, I, definitely, do not, even, cum close to excelling in the patience department. NOT EVEN CLOSE.

So, on my trip to Walmart that week, I cruised the condoms aisle. Just, like, I always do. My anticipation for the brand new, pink stimulator, due to arrive in my mailbox, just, any day, had steadily grown into, the most, unavoidably, high fever pitch that, I feared, everyone else would, eventually, also, be able to hear it. 

It’s vibrating pulse mimicked a heartbeat, (the truest sign of life for a living being) by pumping away, increasingly, in response to the intensity of sexual frustration, actively, being emitted through the pores in my skin.

Like a beacon of hope bursting forth, amidst a sky of dark and angry storm clouds. Suddenly, the bright, purple base of a cylindrical object, violently, jerked it’s length across the open palm of my left hand. 

In fact, it shook, SO, FORCEFULLY in this small space, that EVERYTHING, laying ANYWHERE, nearby it, was, also, forced to move and jerk, ever, rearranging the terrain made up of sexy stimuli on the floor of my toy bag. 

Truthfully, I’m surprised I hadn’t used it more than I have. I mean, it’s small stature was the primary reason it had, recently, become my favorite when enjoying an afternoon snack of mutual masturbation with any of my friends. 

But, overall, it’s existence has been, quite easily, forgotten by me, as it sat quietly at the, very, bottom of my toys. It’s life’s purpose, totally empty and unfulfilled. 

I know. It sounds, as if, maybe, it, really, wasn’t much different from, most, of my other, adult, play-things. Lemme, just, assure you, though. That didn’t have ANYTHING to do with it’s ability to bring me pleasure OR give me satisfaction. 

Actually, it was, kinda, excellent at both. Rest assured, Trojan made this fella, one, powerful, little, mother fucker. Each of its five speeds were intense as fuck, and all were proficient at creating multiple orgasms for me, at any given time. This very, small machine was totally capable of thrusting me directly into the path of some of the, most, extremely explosive and, downright, delicious climaxes I’ve, ever, had the privilege of experiencing, firsthand.

Then, just, two days after it’s purchase, my pulsating, pink, princess vibrator arrived in the mail. Immediately, my tiny, Trojan friend, just, seemed to blend into the scenery of my life, and drop, steadily, closer and closer to the very bottom of my bag of tricks. 

I snatched up the purple wand, the word, “Trojan”, clearly engraved into the hard plastic of its handle. I didn’t, even think. I, simply, rushed for the bathroom door, and slung it shut behind me. 

After two more trips into the dining room, the living room, and the bedroom (AGAIN!), to check for batteries, it was, finally, up and running away. Or, rather… I had it Down and VIBRATING away… LIKE A DEMON. 

Now, picture this. There I am. My shorts have been yanked down, furiously, and, now, were, just, hanging there, just barely, around my ankles. My feet are perched, tenuously, on the edge of the tub, allowing my body to lean, even further, back against the seat and bathroom wall.  

Although, I was seated, the jerking motion of my new, purple friend, was swathing a path of pure pleasure across the entire landscape, now, exposed by my ditched clothing. And, I COULDN’T STOP.  I, simply, could NOT stop, and I, certainly, didn’t want to.

All of that day’s activities had, finally, culminated into this, one, act of self-love upon myself. My earlier, lofty expectations of being the best mother possible, were, also, ditched, at that, exact, same moment. 

You see, in that moment, there was nothing of concern to me. Only, one thing, truly, seemed to, matter. One thing. 

I WAS GONNA CUM. I was gonna cum. Not later, but, right, fuckin, NOW. I WAS GONNA CUM.

Despite my initial, natural, God-given, instinctive, reaction to turn on the tap, crumple up a paper wrapper, or cough, feverishly, I did nothing to disguise the buzzing echoing loudly along the tiny bathroom’s four walls. I didn’t, even, try to whisper the many pleas, now, spilling, unconsciously, and often, from my barely parted lips. 

And, when my climax had reached it’s highest apex, and, deliriously, I began to mutter the, single, word “no”, over and over, and over, again, repeatedly, with ever-increasing passion and, far more, volume… Well, I just went with it. I, finally, came. I came loud and proud. 

After reaching my second orgasmic, plateau, I didn’t, even, attempt to try to stop the operatic expletives, brought on by that blissful emotion. They, just, came, pouring freely, from my lips, ever louder, each and every time a wave of pleasure crashed along my throbbing and sensitive, exposed flesh. 

As I cleaned up, reality, finally, seeped back in. Oh, no. What had I done? I had to regain my composure. Quickly. I needed to exit that small, humid, space and face the confusion, I’d, most undoubtedly, left in my wake. 

My attempts to keep the kids from discovering my, purely, greedy and, completely, selfish intentions throughout, most, of that day had, just, been laid bare to everyone within earshot. I know. I, really, should have been embarrassed.

But, NOT THAT DAY. Certainly, NOT at that moment. It wasn’t, even, possible. Because… Well, there was, already, another one on it’s way. FUCK! 

“No.  No.  NO.  NO, NO…” 

“Oh, God! YES!!”

Fuckin Fantasies

Hello, everyone! Holy shit! Can you believe it? Well, here I am. Again. I can’t believe this is actually the third post I’ve made in the past seven days. I’ve set a few small goals, and it looks like I’m beginning to, actually, reach them. Yay for me.

I can honestly say that, hands-down, the best part about my job as an escort has to be the residual effect it has on my sex life. (What the hell is she jabbing about now??)

I’m a people person. Y’all know this. I love people. I love talking to people. I love picking the brains of, just about, everyone I meet. I use this information to help me to form better opinions about why people act like people when they’re around people. Just kidding. (I couldn’t resist.)

You would think that someone who enjoys meeting new people as much as I do would never get uncomfortable or nervous with a first date. Oh, how I wish that were true. Actually, usually, it is pretty true.

However, there are those times that it is apparent, almost immediately, that I have made some, kind of, a mistake, because the fella standing on the other side of my door and I are as mismatched as Hulk Hogan and Honey Boo Boo.

My whole 2017 “going with my gut” ideology has worked out pretty fuckin well, so far, but nothing is foolproof. Every now and then, I get a straggler of a date. Someone who is as different from me as one could get.

There’s no chemistry. There’s no attraction. And at this point, there’s not likely to be very good communication. Overall, there’s just nothing there.

If you think that I’m fixing to tell this fella that he has to go home, you’ve lost your damn mind. I didn’t get all gussied up for nothing. I’m here to hit on this man. Of course, at this point, I’m, probably, not holding out the highest of hopes when it cums to securing a second date, either.

How about if you look at it this way?? When you find that your enthusiasm has waned and your interest has turned, wouldn’t it be nice to have a little pick-me-up? Trust me, it is. Want to know how I change the mood from “wah,  wah” to “woo, hoo” ??

I dig down deep… Deep, deep down… Way down… Oh, so deep.

There’s a Cavern locked up so deep within my subconscious,  and it’s full, wall to wall, just, stuffed to overflowing with delicious honey flavored memories of previously experienced ecstasy. Here, I have stored orgasm upon orgasm, and they’re all splattered with a free-for-all worth of squirt. (Lol. I told you, I truly can’t help myself.)

It only takes one juicy little memory of pleasure fulfilled… Perhaps, a vision of a frightened little newbie after I’ve tied him to my bed… Or, just a simple flashback of several hours on end with my pink fleshy, pulsating wand, placed right between my clit and G-spot.

It doesn’t matter which memory I choose. These are all capable of serving the same purpose. By replaying the events of a better date, I begin to relive the excitement, as well. My body tunes in to the previously recorded frequency and feeds from this main line of sensation until my present form has finally acclimated to the same excitement.

Yes. In simpler terms, I just fantasize. Hey. Don’t fault me for it. Sometimes I do it, quite simply, because it, actually, works.

Here’s the interesting part. It doesn’t matter how I get my engine revved up, crossing ANY finish line still feels fuckin excellent. Never, once, have I questioned how the fuck I got there.

You can’t fake attraction. You, certainly, can’t force it. But, you CAN give it a little kick start, every, once in awhile.

My friendly advice for today:

Never waste another minute of your life worrying about what others think of you. If they wanted you to know, they’d tell you.

(True story!)

`Yes, please. ICEE! 

PicsArt_09-16-02.57.00I imagine that cummin to my home for the very first time must be a nerve-wrecking experience for fellas. Of course, I send my dates my address, directons, and a picture of my house to alleviate any concerns regarding the trip, itself. Still, it is completely understandable how meeting me, or any female, for a first date could, certainly, stress a guy out.

Gentlemen on first dates, almost always, arrive about ten to fifteen minutes early. Seriously. That’s, almost, every single time. In fact, it happens so frequently that, somewhere, in my first few years escorting, I came up with a method for working out time issues, without causing either of us too much grief. Of course, the entire process has, also, laid bare my own faults when it cums to being on time for a date.

You see, no matter how hard I try or how early I begin getting ready, I, still, ALWAYS cum up just a few minutes shy of being considered “available” on time. SO UNPROFESSIONAL!

I, suppose, it all began way back, when I used to live in hotels. Back then, I wouldn’t even commence getting ready until my date had informed me that he was drawing within ten to fifteen minutes of me. In fact, contacting me in that particular time frame WAS the system I used to help me be ready on time for several years. (Not that it ever worked all that well.)

I’d spend the first ten minutes rushing around, lighting the candles, making my bed, and straightening up the floor. Then, I’d jump under the water and administer a quick shave from the side of the tub. The same towel I used to dry my azz, would end up wrapped around it as I approached the door. All, before I could, finally, usher in my new guest. I was in need of a simpler solution; a better system.

There is nothing sweeter, on God’s green earth, than a man on his way to get some pussy. IT’S THE TRUTH. They will move Heaven, Hell, and St. Peter, himself, to complete their mission of planting that seed.

(Ooh. She’s sooo nasty! Yeah, right. We all know how this really works.)

During that short window of time, no matter how outrageous the request, I was guaranteed that my date would, at the very, very least, think about it. I had only to inquire, very nonchalantly, “Are you planning on stopping by the store? If not, it’s alright.”

My dates, just like the true gentlemen their mama’s raised them to be, most often, would respond, “Sure. Would you like something?”

Would I?? “Yes, please.” Now, back then, I used to drink Coke like it was h2o. So, of course, my request was always for a fountain drink Coke. Despite the fact that I do prefer all iced fountain drinks, flavor was not, actually, my true concern.

From start to finish, the process of making a drink from the soda fountain was sure to afford me, at least, an additional three to ten minutes to better prepare for my new friend’s arrival. He would have to stop by a gas station, gather the cup, ice, and Coke, attach a lid, find a clean straw (they are rarely stocked and readily available in corner convenience stores), make the purchase, and, finally, leave. Y’all feelin me yet??

Times, sure, have changed, but my “system” of doing things really hasn’t, too much. These days, if I find myself in need of a few extra moments, I cue them up until I get the question, and I answer…

“Yes, please. Icee!” Cherry or Coke are preferred flavors for me. That is, unless they have cotton candy. That is, hands down, my ultimate favorite flavor!  But, it’s, also, insanely difficult to find. So, cherry or Coke work, just, as well.

Of course, I don’t request one every time, and it, certainly, doesn’t work every time I request one, either. Truthfully, I’ve found that it doesn’t, really, matter if I use it anymore. I still tend to run, just, a few minutes late, OR, even worse, I’m, actually, on time.  But, that only lasts a few moments, until, I bust my azz falling in the tub, or some other painful injury is incurred that fucks me completely up in those last few moments before he arrives at my door, making me, once again, two to fifteen minutes late.

It’s, truly, very annoying. It is an ever present reminder that I just can’t seem to get my shit together. No matter how old I become.

But, I’m tryin.

To all of the fellas who have taken the time to make me a delicious frozen treat and were brave enough to deliver it, as well… THANK YOU.

I, honestly, am just now realizing that I, even, still, do this. I’m, definitely, not a perfect person. Not even close. I grow in character, spirit and esteem through every trial and tribulation and negative experience that I endure. I think we all, kinda, do.

Truthfully, I was, somewhat, proud of myself, for a minute there. I hadn’t even noticed I was using any special techniques to assist me in “appearing” well put-together. Hey. I’m, more than, delighted that this ole dog can still learn a few new tricks, considering how much time I, freely, invest in what I enjoy best… Burying friendly bones…

Man, Hoe! 

Friend’s. Oh, my dear, dear, friends. I’m so very psyched to see that y’all haven’t given up on me… Yet. I’m sure you’re probably wondering what fresh load of shit I’ll be shoveling up for your entertainment this morning.

Y’all should be so ashamed of yourselves. Soon, you’ll have everyone thinkin, I just wake up all ornary and hateful-like, everyday.  My favorite pastime, possibly,  just pointing judgemental fingers at anyone that happens to cross my path.  

Really?  All that before I’ve even had the chance to finish my very first cup of coffee for the day?? 

Oh, cum on… Anyone who truly knows me, would know automatically… I don’t do shit BEFORE my very first cup of joe for the day. As a matter of fact, it’s only after the first, sometimes, even, well into that second steaming cup, before reality actually kicks in for me at all.

But, hey. No worries, people. Immediately after waking this morning, I , just, went on and consumed all the caffeine necessary for me to get these curves a-movin, in acticipation of finding a little personal time to spend with all of you. What a thoughtful lil’ whore. Right? (Awww. Am I blushing?)

Perhaps some of you may have noticed that I don’t write anywhere near as much as i used to. In fact, I haven’t shared a post on here in, what seems like, forever. Jeez! Has it really been that long?? Wow.  Yes. YES, It has.

Have y’all pondered my absence and wondered whose company I might have been in? Or, rather, it’s much more likely that you were trying to guess whose company just might have BEEN IN ME…

No. No. Of course, not. I know that y’all aren’t like that. For fear that it might make me uncomfortable, you would never even think to inquire as to any of the personal details about my frequent sex-capades and bj’s, aplenty.

But, then, you never had to. Did you?? Telling people what I think and how I feel has certainly NEVER been a problem for me. Or, hadn’t anyone noticed? To be quite honest, it’s all perfectly therapeutic, and, in my personal opinion, just part of a well-balanced lifestyle.

As is sex. And, I, certainly, don’t have an issue there, either. Despite the fact that I have slowly increased in popularity, I, still, only book the same amount of dates. You see, there isn’t enough money in the world for me to let y’all wear my dearest, Greedy, out to the point that I am unable to use it when I’m alone and feeling frisky, myself.

Actually, I’m kinda amazed that y’all can’t hear the incessant buzzing, now, cummin from so close by. Recently, I purchased a little pink wand to add to my toy chest. It’s fleshy texture is, absolutely, delightful, but, more importantly… 

This little booger, here, is so very powerful. Lemme tell ya. My gaze drifts, slowly, down to the small pink vibrator, enveloped securely between my delicate nether lips.  I’ve gotta admit, pink is DEFINITELY my color. 

Wait. Now, that I think about it, the last time, I was able to sit down for a few moments to make an attempt at blogging something new for y’all, the new Mr. Pink was in the exact same spot, humming like the mother fucker, he truly is. Funny thing is,  I can’t remember what it was I was, actually, writing about. 

Damn, that Greedy! What a cunt! What a selfish cunt. Hell! What a cunningly, selfish cunt. Ahh! (I, just, kill me!)

So, I had this date. He arrives, all fresh-faced, confident, and YOUNG AS FUCK! 24, to be exact. But, oh, my God! This man may have been young, but he was, also, INSANELY DELICIOUS, to be sure. 

Most providers refuse to even see anyone under the age of 30. Laney lixx AKA Ms. Masterhead69 DOES NOT DISCRIMINATE. NO WAY.  NO DAY.  NO HOW.  ALL MEN need love. Both, the mature and the inexperienced.

I have always prided myself on being able to hold a conversation with, just about, anyone. Anywhere. Anytime. However, that might not be true for very much longer. The truth is, a young man or woman in their twenties, today, has very little, if anything, in common with those of us who’s twenties were a decade, or more, before now. And, relating to someone is made just that much more difficult due to the fact that twenty-something’s rarely, if ever, look up from their phones to truly engage any conversation, anyway. 

You know, the youth of today can, truly, be some disrespectful, little shits. On top of that, most of them are, also, lazy as fuck. oh, trust me. I know, firsthand. 

My eldest son could have been the founding member of that special group of youngins, right there. You know, the ones that feel entitled to all, but feel responsible for none. Hey. I’m not happy about it. I just haven’t found the secret to fixing this glitch of personality for him. Damnit! Guess I’ll have to just love him the way he is. (Argh!)

Despite most outward appearances, I don’t believe I’ve, ever, met anyone that, actually, grew up with a perfect home life. In all honesty, despite the five purvy family members that got off on diddling my very immature goodies, my childhood was, actually, quite idyllic. 
I had lots of toys, tons of friends, and every single year, by the Grace of God, my name always seemed to show up on Santa’s Nice List. (I’m, pretty sure, I qualified for the Naughty List, at least, once. Possibly, way, way more.)

No. My childhood was, certainly, not perfect, but I was quite unaware that there was anything wrong with it at all. Just like every other child, I was craving attention and affection and love. 

Quite frequently, during the early morning hours, I’d awaken to find any number of my uncle’s digits, almost knuckle-deep, inside my body. God knows, how many evenings, I sat, high, atop my grandfather’s knee, as he gave explicit lessons on precisely how he preferred me to touch him.

I sure loved my Paw Paw, and I, ABSOLUTELY, valued his opinion over, most, everyone else that existed in my very small world, back then. From then, on, he never had to show me that technique, again. 

Instead, from then, on, I took advantage of every opportunity I had alone with him to practice. So, as to outdo my previous performances. And, also, FROM THEN, ON, I received nothing, but the highest of praises. Oh, and an, ABSOLUTELY,  insatiable craving for cock, like none other.

I wasn’t even old enough, back then, to attend elementary school for the full day, like all the other students. There I was, just a kid. Respectful. Appreciative. Enthusiastic. Attentive. And, Determined. But, most importantly, I was never anything, if not, totally respectful. 

Shit. My mom would have beat me senseless, without question, at, just, the thought of me, even, thinking about disrespecting ANYONE older than myself. No matter how old, dude. 

Look, I’ve actually found myself, suddenly, with the flushed and heated cheeks of someone who’s just been smacked. And, damn hard, I’d have to guess. However, I’ve never actually witnessed my mother doing the ACTUAL SMACKING, herself. But, I can, ABSOLUTELY,  attest to the many, many times she has threatened to do so. (Too many, really.)

Worse, yet. There I am,  completely baffled and utterly confused, as I search, in vain, for the mysterious, ghost-like, hand of my mother that, surely, just slapped me square in my face. How could I have missed that??

So, there I am, with this, very attractive and very young, 24 year old, young man. So cute.  I mean,  he’s so damn cute… And, his smile, so, very genuine. He stood, at least, a half a head taller than myself, amusing me to no end.

I returned his friendly smile for several moments, until i realized he was about to say something. I almost cried out, “Nooo. Please, don’t fuck this up.” 

I just knew, it didn’t matter which words he used, they would completely shatter my present illusion of a 24 year old man, as attractive as he was intelligent. A tall, dark, very masculine, gentleman with a passion that rivaled my own. 

Oh, Whatever. It’s MY FANTASY, folks. Damn! That, sure, sounds like one helluva, sexxy azz fella, to me darlin. Until, he speaks… 

Only, he didn’t fuck it up. To be honest, I’m not really sure that, I, actually, heard what he did say. I mean, he seemed so well-versed and respectful. One might go as far as to use the word chivalrous when describing him to others.   

He spoke, rather, wisely, really, for such a young man.  At least, it sounded wise.  Shit!  I don’t know. His lips started moving and,  I suppose, I just drifted right on off. 

What I do know, for sure, is this man was SEXXY AS FUCK. No doubt about that! 

He was a confident man, with a very firm set of values already in place, far higher than anyone I’ve ever known personally, myself. The true gentleman in him, was nothing but thoughtful and respectful, never once uttering, even, one cuss word, accidentally, in my home. 

It was evident, this boy was raised properly. I found myself so intensely attracted to this… This man/child… You know, this young man. 

Only, he didn’t act like a YOUNG man, at all.  He, certainly, didn’t sound like a young man. And, truthfully, except for his youthful face, he had the lean, but well muscled body of… Well, a man. A working man.

We got along, almost immediately. There was, just, so much that we had in common. Most importantly, on that particular night, we were, both, super horny. I took one look at his cock, then met his gaze, again, but not fast enough. 

Before I knew what was up or down, we were all over each other. He was a very passionate kisser, no matter what the subject of his affection so happened at that time to be. I found his tongue talents served up my Greedy, like she was a rare delicacy, best when devoured, oh, so, slowly. This man/boy was really gifted, my friends!! 

We fucked. We talked. We talked and fucked, some more. When I caught him eyeballing my azz, and made a little joke, he admitted to not having any experience with back doors.  

Well, y’all know me. I flaunted my tight little rosebud of an azzhole, every chance I got, until he was desperate to spread it wide, all for himself. In all truthfulness, he wore my ass out. Literally.

Now, fast forward about 6 or 7 hours later. We’re both very sore, slightly raw, certainly, worn out,  and completely covered in our own juices, from head to toe. 

Still, it was nearly impossible to stop copulating. When we finally seperated, the pleasure we’d experienced with each other, stood, almost, palpably in the air between our naked and shivering bodies. 

He leaves, as most working men do, just before the sun rises. A few hours later, and he’s back, again. My ankles are pushed above my shoulders, or I’m bent forward on my knees with my hands pulled behind my back.

There, just, didn’t seem to be, even, one position that didn’t work for us. I, quite simply, could not stop orgasming. Of course,  I certainly didn’t wanna stop, anyway. So, we didn’t.  

This has certainly happened before. But as I look around me now, I can’t remember who those fuckers even were, anymore. By comparison, I don’t think I’ll ever forget this young man. 

He loved it. He liked it. He licked it. He adored, respected, and admired it.  Then, finally, he signed his name to it, and he owned it. I couldn’t have written it any better, myself. And, I wouldn’t have had it ANY OTHER WAY.