Dr. Bourbon And The Tale of The Shorn Scrotum

Today we open a new chapter - Bad Advice with Dr. Bourbon.

Our first question comes from "Sir Raven" via Twitter. 

Sir Raven writes:

Dear Dr BS
Every time I shave completely bare I think, "This feel awesome! Why don't I do this more often?"
Then Day 2 rolls around and it's a bumpy, rashy mess of regrowth down there. Seriously I get like one day of smooth fun and then a week of itching and pimply ingrown hairs.

Any advice? 😫😫😫
Raven (@QuothSirRaven)

Raven,

Thanks for reaching out.

Boy do I know what you mean. Your question reminds me of a time back in the army - sometime in 2003 - when I was in the desert and sweating my balls off.

I thought to myself: "Man, this manly mane of hair surrounding my junk is hot and sweaty... and smells like balls. I bet if I shaved it all off, it would be a cool, refreshing change of scenery for a while."

Here Kitty Kitty - A Guest Post by Anna O'Keefe

Today's guest post is Anna O'Keefe

You can follow her on Twitter here: @ReneeHawk1956

"The Trouble With Mountain Faeries" is a collection of her words in short story format that has been published in an anthology called "Intersections" by the Frederick Writers Salon and can be purchased through Amazon.

She also writes blog posts for the online publication, Luna Station. A female centric sifi, fantasy, alternative worlds magazine.

Her current WIP is a novel about a town where no one dies they just disappear.

From the author:
"I am a girl who loves words. I love reading them and I love writing them. I truly get excited when I string a bunch of words together that make sense enough to tell a story."

Here Kitty Kitty

One woman's life long love of the classic 1972 XK-E Jaguar

A Guest Post by Anna O'Keefe

I paused to look through the floor to ceiling glass wall, at the entrance to the dealership. Daring a glance back at the turntable that slowly revolved with the most incredible thing I had ever seen. So red and shiny it nearly took my breath away. With that deep black convertible top made this car perfect and I shivered to be so close. Sleek, sophisticated, and way beyond me in every aspect. The 1972 XK-E Jaguar had captured my heart. I would have said my Kitty was sexy if I had known what sexy was at the time. I had talked about nothing else for months.

My friends had long since stopped trying to  understand this obsession. Sure, being obsessed about boys, clothes, and how much we weighed but being over the edge about a car was just crazy. I disregarded their protests. Even having no money and not knowing how to drive were just small matters and easily brushed aside. More than getting my ears pierced, more than a push up bra,
more than red nail polish, even more being allowed out past 10 pm. I simply longed for the
XK-E, my Kitty.

I sighed. Here I was barely 16 and extremely naive even in a world without cell phones and internet and head over heels in love. I was just moments away from realizing my deepest
desire. I opened the double doors and strolled in, book bag hiked on my shoulder, full of all the
courage I didn't think I possessed.

Stopping at the first occupied desk and in my practiced adult voice, I pointed, “I want to speak to someone about that XK-E.”

The man at the desk looked up from his racing form and peered over the top rim of his eye glasses. An expression wavering between irritation and boredom.

“What?”

The One Upper...

We all know one... Hell, some of you reading this might BE one.

The person who, no matter what you've said or done, has done it better, stronger, harder, faster, with more struggle than you can possibly imagine!!!  And they'll tell you about it.

I work with one of these people... two actually. And to see them interact with one another is a thing of beauty. It's a veritable plethora of passive aggressive one-upsmanship on a scale that would make most people wet themselves. To hear the two of them talk, you'd assume that they have the greatest, most blessed lives ever and simultaneously have dealt with more struggles, woes, and personal demons than you could ever have.

I'd really like to punch them both.

They do not talk with anyone in an effort to talk to learn something about that person - they talk so they can talk about themselves and their lives.

I'm 40 years old. I spent 10 years in the army Infantry. I've done OCR (Obstacle Course Races). I have kids. I've done literally YEARS of damage to my knees and legs. And some days, like today, they feel like I've been jumped by Tonya Harding in my sleep... It literally hurts me to stand today. And sit... And, to top it all off, I've had several fucked up dreams this week from my PTSD...  So, to have my pain and my tired, bags under the eyes, look get blown off with "You should try living in my shoes"... I lost it.

I looked at this person and remained silent. I just nodded while they went on and on about how bad they had it and how they were tired from getting up early for a meeting with the Bank Manager or some equally bullshit thing...

What I WANTED to say was this. "Yes, asshole, I would gladly trade you places. Then, when you wake up at 5am with your knees aching and your mind plagued with the visions of burning children, you might, for one instance in your padded, bullshit life, know what true pain is. Then maybe you'll shut the fuck up instead of running your cock-holster non stop and annoying the ever loving shit out of me and everyone else. Nobody here is on easy street, except maybe you. So, when you're reeling over how bad it is that this year you ONLY got to go on a 3 week Alaskan cruise and Europe twice, you might realize that the rest of us are truly fucked. Maybe, just MAYBE you'd gain some fucking perspective on what a piece of shit you really are."

I fucking hate people who just HAVE to be better than you - or worse. The people who feel compelled to one-up every good or bad thing that's ever happened.

Seriously - get fucked.

Don't be this person. If someone is telling you something - try to avoid responding with any story of your own that has the effect of "your story is cute, but mine is better." We're all guilty of it. Even me - and I hate myself when I do it.... but right now, I am in pain. And the last thing I need is someone who biggest problem in life is their lack of European vacations telling me how bad they've got it.

'Twas The Night Before XXXmas - A Poem

'Twas The Night Before XXXmas

A @BourbonSex Original Poem

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through our house,

I was horny as fuck and she wasn't wearing her blouse;

The stocking were hiked up her thighs with care,

I wanted to grab them and bury my face there;

Our children were nestled all snug in their bed;

While I sweet talked mommy into giving me head;

So she's in her panties, and I in my shirt,

And she started to lick, she started to flirt;

When out in the hall our son made a thundering boom,

I need to deal with the kid before we can resume;

Away to the kitchen I ran pretty quick,

Using a towel to hide my blood-engorged dick;

The polish on the grain of the newly-mopped floor,

Gave little traction as I passed through the door;

When what did I find as I slid through the dark,

But the goddamn table and I let scream with a bark!

With a pained little grimace to prevent all my raving,

I knew I had to hurry to get the tail I was craving;

Faster than The Flash - I went to my task,

Getting more than just the juice for which he had asked;

Now, cookies! Now chips! Now water and juice!

On snack time! On bed time! My towel's coming loose!

To the top of the stairs! To the foot of his bed!

Now go to sleep! Go to sleep! So I can get head!

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

I read him a book, until he closed his big eyes;

So back to the bedroom, for it's time to screw!

With a throbbing erection, and a vibrator too!

And then, in terror, I heard at the door

The yawning and whining of the other one... she's four;

As I drew up my towel and was turning around,

Through the now open door she came with a bound;

She was dressed in pink from her head to her toes,

This shit is killing me. You tiny, cute little foes!

A blanket and toys she'd flung on her back,

I flashed a scared look at momma who was covering her rack;

Her eyelids were heavy - this child of mine,

I escorted her to her room, hopefully she'll sleep this time;

Her hair was a mess, going this way and that,

And after a short story, she was asleep just like that;

The blood in my body had eased up its flow,

But when I came back to momma, she was ready to go;

Her legs were spread eagle, her toy buzzed on her clit,

She stared at me intensely and beckoned me to it;

She was giddy and horny, a right jolly old beauty,

I dropped my towel to the floor and prepared to do my duty;

A wink of my eye and a drop of my head,

I licked and tickled her from the side of the bed;

I spoke not a word, but went straight for her thighs,

And filled all her holes with my tongue and heard sighs;

And running my finger around her pink clit,

I worked and and wiggled and made a jolly mess of it;

She sprang to her knees, and me gave a grunt,

She threw me on the bed and stuck my cock in her cunt;

But I heard her exclaim as she climaxed with me

"Happy Christmas to all, and oh fuck, yes, right there...RIGHT THERE!!!! YES!!!!"

Merry XXXmas.

Krampusnacht

A @BourbonSex Erotic Fiction - Krampusnacht

It was 7:32 pm on the evening of December 5th and Linda sat in the corner watching the merriment. It was her company and, therefore, her party. But she hated Christmas parties. She was there because she had to be and not because she wanted to be. She wore an elegant black dress with a simple teardrop diamond necklace that drew attention down her lean neck, past her collarbones and into her ample cleavage for all the good it would do her. You just can't fuck the help.

      She was not having a good time.

      The wine was not giving her the blissful lowered inhibitions she’d been wanting. Instead, she sat quietly watching her workers go about their time at the holiday party. She watched Mark from sales flirt with Carol from the call center. Stacy from the reception desk was trying desperately to win the attention of Tim from accounting, but Tim seemed intent on flirting with John from IT.


“If her top gets any more open…” Linda said to herself as she watched.

       "Huh?" Deborah, Linda's personal assistant asked.

       "Stacy." Linda said. "She's throwing herself at Tim. Tim's gay. Tim wants to fuck John in IT." She shook her head. "I swear they're all fucking morons, Deborah."

      "Yes, ma'am." Deborah snapped. "Morons."

      "What about you, Deborah? Who do you want to fuck?"

      "Ma'am?"

       "Oh, come on. It's the holiday party, everyone is happy and drinking. There's got to be someone you'd like to fuck."

       "I am happily married." Deborah said sheepishly.

       "Good answer, Deb! I was happily married too." Linda snapped. "But Stan decided my sexual proclivities were just too much for him." She sighed. "In three weeks, it will be a year since the last time I've gotten laid." She threw back the rest of her wine. "I fucking hate Christmas." She poured a small glass and downed it. "And if momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy, right?"

       "Uh... right?" Deborah agreed weakly. She knew what this meant and she decided to go ahead and ask the question. "Why, if I may ask, do you want to ruin the Christmas party? I mean, it is your company and all..." Deborah's voice grew weaker as she spoke and was barely above a whisper as she trailed off.

       "Bah fucking humbug." Linda said. "That's why."

Sexy Chocolate Cake Recipe - A Guest Post by D. Faust

Today's Guest post is from my twitter friend, D. Faust (@TheSmutGeek). It is a recipe for a sinfully chocolaty cake... and I CANNOT WAIT TO TRY IT!!!

D. Faust is an erotic romance story teller, adult toy and book reviewer, sex blogger, and freelance kink writer. You can find more of her work at www.SmutGeek.com or on Twitter @TheSmutGeek 

Sexy Chocolate Cake Recipe
A Guest Post by D. Faust

I broke the kiss and leaned in to put my lips to my husband’s ear. “We’d better get going.”

Mr. Faust sighed and released his hold on my hips with evident misgivings about ending our impromptu make-out session. “What did you need from the store again?”

I could tell from the tone he was already worrying about trudging through some super store for groceries, an activity he dreaded in general but especially close to the holiday season. Rolling my eyes I went to go get my shoes on. “I just need to hit World Market and grab a beer.”

“A beer?” Mr. Faust asked, running his hand over my ass and outlining my panty lines through my skirt.

“Sticky Toffee Pudding Ale,” I explained with a smirk. Mr. Faust smiled a little as the realization hit him. He knows I only buy that particular beer for one reason.

My Very Sexy Chocolate Cake

I love chocolate and I’m a fan of a moist cake. As a hobby baker, I desired to master my skills in both of these areas. I’m still working on that mastery but I do believe I’ve developed quite the arsenal of recipes over the years and my favorite is this cake recipe.

It began as Guinness chocolate cupcakes I made for a former Mistress. Since then I learned more about cake and tried other beers in boozy baking.

An Essay About Cerebral Palsy - A Guest Post by Renee Uitto

Renee Uitto has been a writer since college. She wrote for both of her college newspapers. She received a B.A. in Journalism.


Currently, she is writing essays about matters that affect her life. She is also publishing articles for two newsletters, Stepping Stones and Let’s Talk from the agency Oakland Community Health Network in Troy, Michigan. She also belongs to several committees at OCHN that pertain to such issues as guardianship, self-determination, state and federal issues that pertain to persons with developmental disabilities and persons with mental illness.


Renee lives in Troy, Michigan and enjoys reading, shopping, and music.
You Can follow her on Twitter here: @ReneeUitto

An Essay About Cerebral Palsy

A Guest Post by Renee Uitto

Hello, my name is Renee Uitto and I have cerebral palsy. That might be a lame introduction, but I like to introduce myself that way so people won’t be surprised. I think of myself as any other 47-year-old woman. I have my own apartment, even though I have caregivers with me most of the day to help me with my personal care and things around the house. Sometimes it is hard to find good caregivers. Some people want to do things their way, and not bother to ask me what I want, which pisses me off. I have a voice. I have my own opinions about stuff. One caregiver left me in bed until two in the afternoon. A lot of people were very pissed off. This young girl who took care of me didn’t realize that I had my own opinion and made my own choices. I felt like she made choices for me, and I am glad she is gone now.

Confessions of a Mistress - A Guest Post by Cailey Lyra

Today's Guest Author is my first anonymous post. Cailey (a 28 year old living out west) contacted me via DM on Twitter and asked if she could write an anonymous post - Cailey is a pen name - and I said "We take all kinds here!" So... here we are with Cailey's tale of becoming a mistress and her life thereafter in an open, long distance relationship. She and her partner are living 1,000 miles apart, roughly, working to keep their relationship going.

I don't know Cailey - but I thank her for sharing her story here and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Confessions of a Mistress

A Guest Post by Cailey Lyra

About two years ago, I met my current beau on a casual basis that, in the course of a few months, turned into a beautiful, romantic relationship.

And then I found out he was married...

And only a little while later, I found out he had a child. But by the time all this pieced together, we were in love with each other, and trying to undo that proved difficult. Not only because we were compatible and enjoyed each other’s company beyond simple flesh, though of course we enjoy that too, but because the relationship he was in with his then wife, was already unhappy.

Here’s the full story: 

I did not meet my man in a steamy bar at twilight, wearing a skin-tight cocktail dress or however they do it in the romance dramas. We met on Tumblr, both searching for literary roleplay partners with matching desires. When I say roleplay, I do not mean sexual roleplay. I mean something more akin to Dungeons & Dragons for even more introverted nerds. Our first interactions were strictly platonic, even as we got to know each other better. We decided on an original story topic, we sent each other replies, and we would talk over chatting apps. 

Hunting and Life in Rural America - A Guest Post by "Just Ben"

My Guest Author Today is "Just Ben" (@TheDarkRabbit)

Self-described as a combat veteran, father of 2, and husband to A.J. Bass.

I met "Just Ben" on Twitter when I won a giveaway for his wife's book. He and I share a lot of common interests and he offered to write a post about hunting when he saw that I'd recently gone myself. I hope you enjoy this glimpse into his life.

Hunting: Life in Rural America
A Guest Post by "Just Ben"

I'm fairly certain that hunting is looked at in vastly different ways by the rural communities vs urban communities. Out here in rural Nowhere - it's a way of life.

In the urban community it's probably seen as an unnecessary thing by many, possibly barbaric by some, and just not an option for most. But I am not talking about trophy hunting or going on safari (fuck you Eric Trump!). I'm talking about walking out into the woods before the sun comes up and freezing my ass off for several hours in the hopes I will come home late that day with a large deer that will fill my family's freezer for months to come.

People here hunt, and for good reason. If the deer in our area were left to their own devices - they would breed themselves to death. I know that sounds silly, but it's true. They'll strip an entire area of its food (for the deer) in a season or two if their numbers get too big. Then they'll start getting hungry and move into the towns and roads and become a hazard. The hunting community keeps these numbers in a manageable level. And the people here are passionate about it.

Christmas... and Sex.

Christmas used to be - and SHOULD be - like having sex for the first time.

It should be anticipated. Hoped for. Dreamed of. It should smack you in the face with its abruptness like that moment when your hand first goes up your date's shirt... Virginal breasts exposed to you for the first time... It should be that level of excitement. Tingles running up and down your body. You should get mild shivers of cold as the adrenaline pumps through your veins and fills your cock with holiday cheer.

Being honest to yourself.

So... honesty. That's a big thing. But I'm not hear to talk about going to confession or anything like that. I'm here to talk about being honest to yourself. Because, let's face it - that shit is sometimes NOT an easy thing to do.

I started my @BourbonSex account as a way to express the thoughts and desires I have in a somewhat public forum as a way to stop lying to myself.

Let's rewind a bit...

Ever since I was a kid - I've had a thing for sexy things. Maybe I walked in on my parents one too many times, or found my dad's Playboy collection at too early of an age -  don't know. Maybe it was being seduced at 15 by a 22 year old and, I guess technically, being raped by her. Who knows... Point is - It is a part of me.

My family is NOT like me. They talk and joke about sex, but it's more of defense mechanism/macho bravado - much like the guys I all knew in the army. And that's not healthy.

Why I don't like "Porn"

Okay - disclaimer - I love porn. I love watching naked people fuck. That shit is hot as Hell. But........

What I hate is the Porn industry and the fucking ridiculousness of porno.

Why must we make silly porn with terrible plots and stories?

"Hi, I'm here to... clean some pipe."
"Oh, my. Well, let me just bend over, in the nude, and pick up this giant dildo I dropped."
"Mind if I stick it in your butt?"
"Oh by all means! Let me call my cousin so she can come lick your balls while you do it."

I mean... COME ON.

Why can't we just make a decent movie with realistic fucking? If I'm ever in a situation where I was with someone who started talking to me the way do in a porn... I'd probably just laugh at them and the sex would be over. Thankfully, I can hit mute if/when I ever need to watch stuff. Gifs... gifs are where it's at for me in the porn industry. No sound. Short, repeating clips of people having some crazy-good sex.

I think this is why I like Hentai... And no, not the incest/rape hentai (well, MOSTLY not those)... but the stuff like Fuzzy Lips or Kanojo x Kanojo x Kanojo, Bible Black, Giant tentacle monster sex god from outer space. You know, people doing stuff and then having crazy sex with WAY too many bodily fluids. But I like it.

And there's no "Oh yeah, fuck my asshole, daddy"... that's just a mood killer for me. And there's no completely shaved dude who goes to the gym looking all stoic and shit going "yeah... yeah... I'm gonna fuck that ass. Yeah..." - WHO DOES THIS IN REAL LIFE?!?!?

And to make it worse - the unrealistic plastic surgery plaguing porn stars is distracting. I mean... like in a big way. You were clearly not born a 49DD... those look like they're about to pop. And why is every man is shaved from the neck down?? I'm no fan of chest hair, and I understand that it makes your junk look bigger... but I'm having trouble suspending my disbelief here, man.

The icing on the cake is the moaning and sound effects the women make... Are you having sex or are you laying down backup tracks for some dubstep?!?

I get it... this stuff is supposed to be far-fetched and whatnot, but I just can't do it. I can watch gifs and muted clips... but Pornos are, in my opinion, a joke.

You want hot sex? Make it look real. Find real people who look NORMAL. Sex isn't a 90 minute run for most people... shit, for most 20 minutes is considered too long.

So... sorry, Porn industry... I am not a fan. I'll stick with Erotica, Hentai, and my wife's underwear drawer.

PEACE OUT!

The Nap - A @BourbonSex Erotic Short Story

The Nap

A @BourbonSex original Erotic Short Story

The window stood open and the gentle scent of summer floated in as they lounged lazily in the living room. Stirring from her rest, she looked on and watched his chest rise and fall on the opposite end of the couch. He slept peacefully, for once, and she found her eyes drinking him in. She liked watching him when he was like this and a playful smile formed on her lips. He seemed happy and at rest. His shirtless chest moved as he readjusted his position and the smile manifested on his lips and his closed eyes moved as he dreamed. Gently she ran her hand over his shorts and she smiled.

If he was dreaming, she was going to try to influence those dreams.

Soft, slow touches to the outside of his shorts and his breathing changed ever so slightly. Another whisper of a touch against the fabric of his mesh shorts and she felt him stiffen slightly. She stopped touching and watched as his shorts shifted and changed as his dreams changed and the blood began to flow to his cock. She laughed despite herself at the sight. It looked like a snake manifesting itself out of thin air under the fabric of his clothes. As she watched and smiled, she felt a stirring within her. It started as a warm flush, almost a flutter in her chest. The warmth spread from her chest, down the length of her stomach were it radiated warmth between her legs. Her face became flushed as she realized, too late, that in trying to manipulate her lover's dreams, she was becoming increasingly turned on.

The blog post about blogging on my blog that nobody blogs

WTF is blogging?  I mean - what is it REALLY?

For some, it's basically their own personal forum for discussing ideas, products, services, bad ideas, and politics - while getting paid for it.

For the rest of us, it's basically an online diary for late-night missives about how we're lonely, depressed, horny, hungry, angry, or some other inane thing. And that's pretty okay.

We can't all be paid to whine online. JESUS I wish I was. I could just sit back, spout off about whatever the fuck I wanted and then just get paid for it! It would be GLORIOUS.  But... nobody reads this blog. I mean, at the height of its existence, I got 22 page views one day.

I'm not going to retire on 22 page views. Fuck, I can't even get a piece of gum for that.

Mental Health Day...

Yesterday was the 2018 National Mental Health Day... and I took the day off of work for Mental Health Reasons.


Well, that, and to spend time with my wife and kids.

The irony being - calling in fake-sick to work... gave me a fucking panic attack. I suffer from PTSD. Sometimes horribly so. And yesterday, while having a good time out with my wife and kids - I had a little bit of a freak out.

When I do things like call in sick when I'm not, or give my kids off to my parents to go do something for myself, I get horrible guilt. This guilt compounds over time and causes anxiety. The anxiety builds up and then BAM! I get a full blown panic attack all because I wanted to take time for myself. And this is killing me...

So, as my day went on, we were having fun and I went into the local bookstore to look for some good books. This store is about as big as my living room and is floor-to-ceiling books. They have shelves everywhere and it's a narrow, confined space with no circulation, no sound, and it's hot. I... already starting to stress out from being home... started to get really uncomfortable in this place. My ears were ringing, I couldn't catch my breath, I felt like the books were going to collapse on me and kill me... it was a good time.*

When we got home I was drenched in panic-sweat and my heart felt like it was trying to beat out of my chest. So I went upstairs, turned the lights off, and curled up with the cat for 2 hours and tried to calm down. It helped a little, but not much.

Mental Health is no joke. And we all need to take care of ourselves. BUT... how can I do this when taking time to myself actually CAUSES me anxiety??  I can't stand my fucking job and it is, literally, killing me with its stress and bullshit.

What I'd like to do is sit back, smoke a shitload of weed, and try to relax... but I can't. I'm desperately trying to find a job closer to home and they all still test. I'd LIKE to find some sort of medication that helps, but the last one they put me of turned me into a fucking paranoid monster.  Seriously - that shit was awful. My wife and I both agreed it was better for me to be the way I am than the paranoid, weirdo that the pills caused... I would wake up in the middle of the night, wide awake, worried about the most ridiculous shit. I was suspicious of everyone and everything - including my wife which was a big red flag... I've been off of that shit for a few months now and things are MUCH better.

It sucks.

It all fucking sucks. 

I drink more now than I ever have in my life... which is saying something when you look at my
twenties. But it's sometimes the only way I can shut my brain off long enough to get some sleep. Then the problem arises that drinking causes dehydration and dehydration causes high blood pressure and high blood pressure helps to cause the anxiety. It's a vicious fucking circle of bullshit. But drinking seems to be the one and only option to my since our country has a hard-on for calling mental illness a weakness and shunning people... and then we destroy our healthcare in the name of political theater...

Then - to make it better - I try to explain to my boss that "sometimes I just need a minute to process some shit. I'll be fine, just let me calm down." And she - being one of those people who has done everything you've done, only better, and has advice about fucking EVERYTHING tries to belittle my PTSD with "Well, when my dad died I had some PTSD, but coming to work really helped get me back on track."

REALLY?

FUCKING REALLY???

You're DAD was sick for six years and his death was not sudden. While I, in no way, doubt that it was traumatic... It's not the same thing to be in your fifties and losing a parent as it is to have been in my twenties and watching people fucking burn to death in Iraq. Sorry. It's not a contest... but if it was, FUCK YOU.


AH - damnit. Now I'm all pissed off and forgot where I was going with this...

Take care of yourself, people. I mean - really TRY and take care of yourself. Take time for YOU. Take time for your loved ones... and Don't let all of the bullshit in the world weigh you down and pull you under.


*It was not, in fact, a good time at all...

Erotic Fiction Thursdays - The Ghost of Titan

Commander Thomas "Archangel" Cain finds out that losing his wingman/lover is... hard.

The Ghost Of Titan

Thomas "Archangel" Cain entered the locker room and threw his helmet into the locker.

"Fuck." He said to the air.

Looking around, he noticed that he was alone for once and he collapsed onto the bench, placed his head in his hands and the tears fell from his eyes. A gods-damned patrol mission turned into a fucking ambush by the Titan colonials. They managed to kill the attackers but it was too late... and now she was dead. Tigg's fighter was fucking incinerated right before his eyes. He clenched his jaws together and swore in the silent room.

It's my first day

Hello. This blog is meant to be for me. Nobody else. I say that in the strange idea that someone, somewhere, will stumble upon this thing and actually read it.

This blog is my quiet space. This is the place I can come to be alone with my thoughts and in peace. This is the place I can talk about things that matter to me that, for one reason or another, I can't share with family and friends on normal social media.

Examples:
I can't openly talk about sex on Social Media due to my family being mostly super-religious.
I can't openly talk about drugs and drinking on Social Media due to wanting to remain employed.
I can't openly talk about the strange shit that runs through my brain because I don't really want to freak people the fuck out.

Aside from my wife and kids - I normally don't care about people's opinions and perceptions of me. Well, that's not true. Let's face it, we ALL actually care about what people think. If we didn't, there would be a lot less anxiety in the world. So we act in accordance to our own set of morals, values, and whatnots...

I'm going to talk about my love of coffee. I'm going to talk about my love of sex in all its forms... which will be vanilla to some and pearl-clutchingly scandalous to others depending on what you like. I'm going to talk about bourbon. Because I fucking love bourbon.

If these things sound like things you want to read - come on down and read along.

I will occasionally post erotic fiction - which I love to write.
I will occasionally post political rants - which I don't love to write, but which I do seem good AT writing.
I will talk about my occasionally crippling PTSD and the joys it brings.
I will talk about sex with my wife.
I will talk about masturbation and porn...

I'll basically talk about anything... So... yeah.


Welcome to my fucking blog. My private, alone-time, blog where I'll post my middle-aged missives.