Surf's up! We're riding the anxiety wave!

I know that I am not alone when it comes to being an anxiety-ridden ball of... something for the last few months, so this isn't something uniquely mine. But hear me out...

The last few months have been like riding a giant wave, in a storm. I'm waiting for it to crash down on top of me, or shoot me out the end into calm, blue seas...... and NEITHER of those are fucking happening.

To help me deal with stress and anxiety, I plan. I plan and make plans and then do backup plans... it's one of my little quirks that, thankfully, Lady Bourbon finds amusing... or tolerable. When COVID hit, I planned food. I planned supplies. I planned on how to keep us all indoors and possibly sane. It worked. It gave me something to do for a while. 

But now... fuck me, man.

Half the country is going on like it's not a thing, the other half is still locked in their homes waiting... and I don't know how to plan for that. My kids are supposed to be going back to school in like, what? 3 weeks? Do I send them? Do I keep them home? Do I burn down the school and make it less of an option?! (please note: I would never actually burn down the school unless we were invaded and the invading army was using it as their base of operations... then I'd light that bitch up.) 

Seriously... I'm at the end of my fucking rope on what to do here. Lady Bourbon and I have stayed up many nights talking about what to do and when we start these conversations, and there are too many variables. My brain just starts going, "eeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE." And I sort of black out for a minute.

Then we have "The country" and all its woes... and there are a lot of fucking woes, my friends. We have civil unrest across the board. We have white supremacy on the rise in many areas. Our "leadership" uses openly hostile words, tactics, and rhetoric against our own people and, deep down, I fear we're heading for something bad. And by "bad" I mean anything from armed conflict to massive economic collapse.

So I plan. I planned food, again. I planned money. I planned protection. I planned how to keep me and mine safe and protect in case of the worst-case scenario. It worked and gave me something to do for a while. 

But now... fuck me, man. 

Half the country is still rioting to one extent or another, the other half is on Facebook complaining about or congratulating the first half. Cops are bagging people in the streets, rioters are breaking stuff and pulling down statues... and the online fights are just as awful and nowhere is safe... meaning there is no online refuge. Everyone is an opinion-having monster with no love for anyone. Lady Bourbon and I have stayed up many nights talking about what to do and when we start these conversations, and there are too many variables. So my brain starts going, "eeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE." And I sort of black out for a minute.

And there is my problem... I can only plan so much. At some point, I run out of things to plan and prepare for and I am left feeling the weight of all that anxiety... and man, it sucks. You've probably seen my posts on Bug Out Bags and the like. That's what I've been doing for the last 2 months. 

I need something to happen or I need it all to go away... I can't keep up this level of anxiety and planning day-in and day-out without some sort of payoff one way or the other. Like I said before, I'm trying to surf this wave. I'm still surfing this wave... I'm still waiting for something bad to happen and all of this planning to be worthwhile... or I'll pop out of that tube and find myself in the clear again.

The only good thing to come out of ALL of this - aside from leaving my miserable job with Debbie - is that I now have wonderfully stocked first aid kits. I can treat anything from a kids' tiny boo-boo all the way up to a 9" gash down your forearm that needs compression bandages and staples.... And as fucking cool as that is, it's still not the same as just being calm and going on about my day. 

I'm beginning to not know how to handle all of this shit. I'm running out of plans to be made... You can't plan for everything and there are WAY too many possibilities out there that could happen. I guess I could enhance my "oh, sweet Jesus, it's the end of days" plan... or my "North Korea just launched an EMP at the Midwest" plan... but then those plans cost a lot of money, man. I'm not ready to turn my garage into a Faraday cage just yet.... 

I'm not really sure what the point of this post was. I think I just needed a distraction and to put some stuff down on "paper" per se.  Maybe I'm hoping someone will comment and give me something to think about and talk... Maybe I should just write more and take my mind off it all. Maybe I need to finish my post apocalyptic novel I started in 2005... It's just that this is all messing with my sense of reality. My sense of how things SHOULD be. Now, I think abut how things COULD become and it bothers me...

Ah well... How are you dealing with this? Bug out bags and spare food? Books and coffee? Smoke and a pancake? 

Your friend turns out to be a sexual predator the other day...

The Twitter LGBTQ and Erotica writing community was rocked last night when one of our own made a post proclaiming to the world that they were not in fact a lesbian, but a married, cis-man.




Stopping right there, you could say it was just about a Pen-Name that goes along with the subject matter to sell books is okay.

Sure. No big deal. And, like me, you may have even said "Good for you! Way to come out of your shell and let everyone know!"

But then...

Jesus, but fucking then... This is world we live in.

Look, most of us, if not all, know who I'm talking about. But I'm not going to drop their name here. I don't feel the need, nor the desire. Why? Because it didn't stop at a Pen-Name. Oh, no no no... it went WAY beyond that. And that is where it stopped being cool.

Let us back up.

I use my "Dr. BourbonSex" account as a release. It is a way to hide certain aspects of my life from my friends/family who I know do not feel the same way I do about things. I'm not ashamed of what I like... I just don't want to lose friends and family over it. My Hentai Fetish would literally give my parents a heart attack. My penchant for wearing lace underwear would probably cause both of my brothers and their uber-Christian wives from ever looking at me again... and I'm sure my political ravings, and sordid sexually explicit short-stories over on the ole blog might give the employer some sort of reason to fire me. That would be discriminatory, especially since I've never done it on company property, but still... I digress.

I do NOT use my "Dr. BourbonSex" account as a way to manipulate people, flirt with people who aren't Lady Bourbon, or do anything of the sort. Jesus, I told Lady Bourbon about this account when I made it. We have a very open relationship - Open as in: We tell each other a lot of shit... not Open as in: So, I was swinging at the bar the other day... - That's what makes a marriage a partnership and not a fucking train wreck. I do NOT use this account as a lie, trap, or falsehood. I have, to date, never lied about who I am on here. I will, on occasion, delay posting something for a day or two to prevent outing me IRL... but that's not the fucking point. This account exists with the awareness, and dare I say PERMISSION of Lady Bourbon who shares many of my proclivities and tastes.

And that's where this story starts... with Lady Bourbon.

A while back, in the early days of Dr. Bourbon, MOST, if not all, of my online friends were Erotica authors. It was fun. Ya'll write some sexy shit. My first 20 or so friends are still on a list called "My first friends" and I love them all in their own, individual way. With one exception, now two, I'm still friends with the original 20. Sorcha Rowan among them.

Sorcha was an unrelenting force of sexual innuendo and smutty prose. Nobody here can say that the person known as Sorcha was bad at erotica.... So we laughed, told jokes, etc. Once, Sorcha tried to DM with sexy gifs and talk, I said "knock it the fuck off" and it stopped. Just like that. Became professional almost. Sorcha was a beta reader for me at times. Good suggestions were always made, along with unwanted sexual connotations, but that doesn't bother me because it was never reciprocated on my end. Sorcha was even one of the first guest-posts on my blog with a post about Sapio-Sexuality... loving a person for their brain. I thought it was a good piece.

One night, whilst having dinner at home, Lady Bourbon says "Dude, I need to block Sorcha Rowan on twitter, I think." When I asked why, it turns out that Sorcha "accidentally" sent the wrong gif to Lady Bourbon. - Keep in mind, Sorcha did not KNOW this was Lady Bourbon. This was a non-Bourbon related incident - the gif Sorcha sent was a very explicit, very sexual gif... immediately followed by apologies and whatnot that seemed, at the time, very sincere. Lady Bourbon, under her real name, said "It's cool. No harm, no foul. Not my thing." And that was that...

I confronted Sorcha via my Dr. Bourbon account and said, "please stop hitting on Lady Bourbon, she doesn't go that way." And I meant this as a joke with someone I'd come to know as an internet friend... when the lightbulb finally went off and 2 and 2 were added up to 4 in Sorcha's head, my identity was revealed... To my absolute shock, Sorcha revealed to me that "she" was a "he" named "Bob" and he liked to write Lesbian Fiction and used the name Sorcha to sell and promote his work.

Taken at face value, everything checked out. We became better friends. We talked about bourbon and guns and whatever else. Despite this friendship, Sorcha's RTs were blocked from my feed because, well, let's face it, they were a little too much for everyone.

Lady Bourbon and I thought Sorcha/Bob was a really nice person and never did anything to bother us. In both instances of Sorcha Rowan's unwanted sexual advances, it stopped as soon as we said something and I never gave it much thought... So, you know, cool. Sorcha even wrote erotic fiction about me and Lady Bourbon.

But then I learned more and more about Bob. I learned about his wife and home life. I learned that he kept everything related to Sorcha a secret from his wife. I learned that his wife's lack of shared interests with him and how "Sorcha" was "who he was" on the inside.

( As a man who keeps his inner-most kinks and fetishes out of family talk, I could really say shit about it - even though I disagreed. )

As time passed, Sorcha wrote posts with other people and joint-works... It was my assumption that Sorcha told them that he was actually Bob and things were cool... But apparently I was wrong.

Because then we get the post from last night.

The dime-tour is this: "Hi, my name is Sorcha and I'm actually a married, cis-man. I have been pretending to be a lesbian to write fiction, make money, and engage with online sexual activity with women, under the guise of a being a woman. Even so far as to use the #ourvoices tag."

That's a lot to take in and unpack so to speak.

At first, I was like, "Oh, good for you, Bob. Tell the world that you're a man and do this right."

Then it slowly started to sink in... like watching the defroster work on your window on those cold, wet mornings... one minute, it's all fogged up and then BAM... fucking clear as day.

I was floored.

Consent REQUIRES an informed decision, Bob. What you've just said, what you've just admitted to is disgusting.

The person I'd become quite familiar with over the last 2 years has been engaging in non-consensual online sexual activities. People had talked, flirted, and who knows what else with Sorcha Rowan for who knows how longs with the UNDERSTANDING that it was a lesbian woman... and not a fucking married man preying on them and their vulnerabilities.

The outrage was all over the place. And rightfully so... and I was still trying to wrap my head around the idea that someone with whom I'd had many great conversations about writing, marketing, and story ideas was a fucking asshole trying to pass it off some form of courageous act...

What could've been a learning moment, and moment of growth died a fiery death when he tried to make this about how strong and courageous he was?!  No. This isn't about your struggle, Bob... fuck you.

And in the middle of that thought is when Bob contacted me telling me Sorcha was dead. I wasn't even sure if I should answer him, but I did. I told him that this would our last conversation. I told him I'd be deleting him from social media. I told him to go see to his family and BE BOB, never Sorcha... Then I blocked him on all of my social media accounts.

I'm really pissed off to be honest.

I value the online friends I make SO much because I am, 90% of time, much closer and honest with the online friends than the ones at home... I assume that, to an extent, these people are the same with me.... that when I find out that one of them is like this... one of them has been fucking over his wife and kids to go do this shit online with other people and hurt them AS WELL... is just too fucking much. It occurs to me, and Lady Bourbon, that he sent her that gif on purpose. He was testing the waters... luckily, we're a happily married dream team and don't fuck around on each other...

And now I sit and write this missive... this Farewell to my so-called friend. I don't have many friends, IRL. They all exist online and Bob's bullshit has put the rest of my online friendships into question. If he's capable of this - who else is? Who else is a closet racist or homophobe? Who else is a raging asshole waiting to shit on my 20 minutes of online freedom and happiness?

Jesus, but fucking then...

My fear is that Bob will harm himself or even commit suicide and that would be awful... He has been a good friend for 2 years of my life. He knows more about me that people I see on a day to day basis...

And, that being said, I never want to speak to him again.

Goodbye, Sorcha Rowan. And Good riddance.

What about Bob? Getting ready for Sh*t to hit the fan!

Hello, loyal readers! I'm back! Well, sort of - I never actually left. I've just been busy and haven't updated this blog since fucking JANUARY...

There is a LOT going on in the news these days and a lot of people are throwing out a lot of random terms and paranoia... including, but not limited to civil war, social unrest, economic collapse... you name it, and someone somewhere has said it in the last 60 days.

So today, we're going to talk about Bob - Your potentially life-saving new best friend. Bob stands for Bug Out Bag - and, for those who don't know, a Bug Out Bag is a bag that you keep packed and ready to go by the door, or someplace easily accessible, in case of the worst-case scenario where Shit hits the fan (SHTF) and you need to get the fuck out of town - GTFO.

Not mine - but similar enough for this blog post... 

Now, keep in mind that this is not your "prepper" stash. This isn't the things you have in the bunker to see you through the first 11 weeks of the zombie plague... no no. This is the "We need to GTFO right now and we don't have time to pack" bag. This isn't a camping bag or a hiking bag... this is a bag to buy you piece of mind in the worst case scenario of "I need to leave my home right now or potentially die from a thing."

And you need to go into this with that in mind...

The end is NIGH and YOU ARE FUCKED - A Dr. Bourbon Apocalyptic Missive...

We’ve all seen the movies – first it’s one guy, then ten, then a thousand, then BAM! We flash-forward five years and we’re told through various cut-scenes and flashbacks how the world ended while the hero tries to score some gas out of a dust-covered SUV in the city.

Well, fuck a lot of that! 

You want to know what truly frightens me about the news and the world lately? What keeps me up at night once the kiddos are in bed and I’m out of alcohol?

 Four words:     

The Wal-Mart Parking Lot.

Yep. That’s it. That’s why I am scared to death of Corona Virus, Ebola and/or any disease, super-flu, cold, epidemic, pandemic or any other word that the news media can throw around in sound bites to frighten people.

Why? Why does this make me quake with fear? I shall tell you, good reader.

Today it is raining. It is cold, wet and miserable outside and I needed to stop by the Wal to get some fixins for tonight’s dinner – and oh, sweet mother of fuck! I was faced with Wal-Mart’s parking lot. Carts everywhere – people parked in the walkway so they could load their groceries without getting wet – going up the down aisle - cats and dogs LIVING TOGETHER!!!! Mass hysteria!  

And that’s just because of the minor inconvenience of rain… just some water falling from the sky.

Now – imagine if you will an ACTUAL emergency! 

OH. MY. FUCKING. SCIENCE! 

It would be every man for himself – I would fully expect to see old-west style shoot-outs in the parking lot over cases of water or surgical masks. People are assholes, man. And nowhere in America is that more obvious (other than Twitter that is) than Wal-Mart. 

If I cannot expect a man to walk 20 feet in the rain to maneuver a shopping cart out of the way of other would-be shoppers because it is raining – how can I even THINK about expecting him to wait patiently for a vaccine during an epidemic or nationwide crisis? Stand inline for water or rations during an emergency? FUCK NO! Thank you very much!

This is ‘Murica and I take what I want!

I do think that, for the most part, people are wonderful and will do what’s right – but then again, the mob mentality and the seriously overwhelming sense of “Mine” in this country make me very much fear any sort of disaster that lasts longer than a few weeks.

I hope I am wrong, I really do – actually, I hope that I never get the chance to find out. But, in the case that things go south in a hurry – I hope people will remember to BE people. I hope they’ll remember that we are, in fact, all in this together.

So… with that being said - Put your fucking carts in the cart corral, people. Quit being selfish dicks!

The end.

Dear Internet... WTF?

Dear Internet,

WTF?

Seriously.

In the past year of having the Dr. BourbonSex account - I've tried to really open up and lay it all out there. Bare my soul as it were... I've tried to be 100% honest on my thoughts, opinions, and feelings about pretty much everything. I've tried to be a decent human being. I support everyone in their own activities and actions as long as they don't hurt anyone else or infringe upon others basic human rights.

In that same year - I've been monogamy-shamed for loving my wife and not wanting to have threesomes. I've been called a patriarchal sexist asshole because I didn't like the Captain Marvel movie. I've been told that I'm an ableist because I want to get healthy and be able to run a mile without dying at the age of 45 - and I'm fucking over it all.

So - someone help me out here... what the ACTUAL fuck is wrong with people?

When did we all become so vile and hateful? When did we all go from supporting everything to supporting everything, but only so much as it relates to me? Fuck that noise.

I've only blocked a few people on this account... one was a weirdo asshole who was a massive MAG-Hat wearing douchebag. (Wrote a blog post about it here) But everyone else pretty much got a pass. People are allowed, even encouraged, to have different opinions. Jesus, that's what makes the world go round.

I've muted a few accounts... but that's mostly out of a desire to NOT see giant dicks on my twitter feed while I'm at work. Timeline dick-pics are STILL dick-pics people. And that's it.

But no longer.

Going forward, my ban-hammer will be strong and swift. I'll come down on you like Thor going after Thanos' head at the start of Endgame.

I've got enough of my own insecurities and anxiety issues that I don't need to deal with yours. Unfollow me if you want - I won't care. There are maybe... 20? Yeah... about 20 people on my twitter timeline whose absence would actually bother me. Everyone else is a fucking stranger, and I can do without being judged by your strange, personal qualms with the universe.

If I use the wrong pronoun - it's not an attack on you. I probably just didn't know. Please see that above bit about how you're a stranger. You can't expect me to know your life story via Tweets. So if I slip, take a moment to kindly suggest corrective action before running off at the mouth about how I've negated your personhood on accident.

I try to be a good person and to love everyone. I rarely speak with malice (unless I'm talking about Debbie... FUCK Debbie) so please ask yourself, "Is Dr. B really talking shit about me?" - the answer is probably a resounding "No."

And with that - I'm off. Today has been far too much for me to keep giving a fuck.

Have a lovely Tuesday!

-Dr. B

Reviewing Books and Pushy Authors...

Today, I'd like to talk to you fine people about the dreaded book review.

Book reviews can make or break an author. They can showcase the work of someone by telling others how much they liked or disliked a book and for what reasons. But everyone (at least in some writing communities... looking at you, Twitter) seems to think that anything below a 5-Star review is some blight. Some people think a 3-star review will sound the death knell for any aspiring indie-author. And that's just ridiculous.

Writing a shitty book and publishing it is the death knell for indie-authors... Your 1st draft should NOT be your finished product.

One of my all-time favorite books ever written has 248 1-Star reviews, 277 2-Star reviews, and 271 3-Star reviews on Amazon... Shocking, right? This book also has 1,608 5-Star reviews and a movie based on it that has a similar distribution of reviews.

Because of the new "EVERYONE IS PUBLISHING!" world of writing, we all thrive to have that solid 5-Star rating. We ask our family and friends to, discretely, leave reviews that tell the world how great our books and stories are. We build up "Street Teams" or whatever they're called these days... and we try to send legions of rabid fans to Amazon to flood our work with 5-Star ratings to get us all the way to #1 in our given genres... They're all "GO, MY MINIONS! LEAVE ME GREAT REVIEWS!!!" - And, this is just me being honest here, I think that cheapens things a bit. I get it. You're trying to make money. You're trying to be a brand or get a name for yourself. We all are. But, Jesus, do it by writing quality content and letting the readers decide.

If I leave a 4-Star review, I don't hate the book, or the author, nor do I have something against the author as a human being. I will most likely re-read that book and recommend it to other people.

If I leave a 3-Star review, I don't think the author should be upset by it... I still enjoyed the work. Just not as much as some other things I've read.

I, personally, won't leave a 1 or 2 Star review on a book.

Why is this an issue? WHY am I writing about this?  Well, I recently left a 4-Star review for a book. And the author asked me, "Why not 5?" -- and he asked this not in a "I would like to understand and improve my craft" way, but in a "What the fuck, dude?" way. And that rubbed me the wrong way.

I owe you, the author, NO sort of explanation.

I am a consumer and you have released a product to the world. It is up to me to decide where this product sits in my "pantheon of reviewed items." Your book sits on my 4-Star shelf. It was good. I liked it a lot. I will re-read it at some point and I've even recommended it to people ALREADY! - but since you're being a passive aggressive shit about the number of stars in my reviews - I'll probably be recommending it a lot less now.

And this - is how I would breakdown book reviews and the "star rating" system...

1-Star should be used for books that are poorly written with typos and bad grammar. It should NOT be used because "Well, I don't like the F-Word." - THAT is personal taste. Not a review. We've all seen these reviews and these people are trolls. They can get fucked. (I will NOT leave a 1-Star review)

2-Stars should be reserved for books that were okay, but not stellar. Books that won't be re-read in the future. (I will NOT leave a 2-Star review)

3-Stars should be for books you like. And may re-read at some point. Books that you enjoyed reading and were well-written. You should say WHY you liked the book and WHAT you thought could be improved upon in your opinion.

4-Stars should be for books that you would most likely buy in two different formats. Something that you will absolutely read again and recommend to other people. You should go out of your way to explain to people WHY you liked this book so much.

5-Stars should be for the books that evoke emotions within you and make you want to be IN the book. 5-Stars should be "I want this book signed and on my bookshelf forever!" You should do your best to explain to the reader WHY they need this in their life.

So - there you have it. Dr. Bourbon's guide to reviewing books.

Anxiety and the inability of action

Let us, once again, discuss anxiety. The fun, paralysis-inducing anxiety that we often don't see and can't feel until it's too late and we end up fucking ourselves because sometimes a thing seems so fucking big that we don't know how to tackle it... so it grows and grows and we keep ignoring it... then it all comes falling down and tries to drown us in the bullshit.

Because, you know, that's fun!

In this instance - I'm talking about debt, finances, and, most importantly, student loans.

Lady Bourbon and I live comfortably. Not like SUPER comfortably, but we get to go out to eat from time to time, our bills are generally paid on time, and we have some stuff set aside for an emergency. But, like many Americans, we are one serious illness away from probably being homeless. And, for that at least, I blame the American healthcare system and insurance companies. Unless we happen to become millionaires overnight - this will probably never change.

Student loans, on the other hand... fuck me.

Lady Bourbon does not have them. But I do. I have a lot of them. My first couple of years were at a private college with $24,000/year tuition. I had a scholarship - but not for $48,000. Then, I joined the army and did all that shit and was told I'd get "student loan repayment" as part of my incentive. What they did NOT tell me, however, was that said repayment was for "pre-existing loans" and they "had to be from a State College or University."  So that $48,000 tab I ran up... still a thing.

But let us fast forward many years where I've been putting my loans on forbearance  or paying the absolute minimum possible just because I didn't want to fuck with them. Then, I get a nice "payment holiday" for a year and they are forgotten completely.

Then... I get a letter with the words "defaulted" in the title.

And I'm terrified.

I made the calls, I've got the forms, but I just keep putting it off like some magical thing is going to come down, do it for me, and life will go on. I get absolutely frozen with anxiety and fear about this shit. I don't know how to handle it. What if I send this paperwork in and they're all "Sorry, dude. Your new payment plan is $600 a month." - because that would probably fucking kill me.

The bigger problem is that this anxiety also trickles down into other things and in other ways... I focus on stupid shit and things that matter pile up. Did I pay the gas bill last month? I don't know. I haven't seen a disconnect notice. What about cable? Surely I paid the cable bill... right? They all become an "oh, fuck, am I completely screwing everything up?" pile of anxiety. Then that ball rolls and rolls and rolls until one day I declare "Okay, I will fix this shit!" And I start making progress. I double-check the bills. I set up auto-pay on some of them... but what if we have a short month and the auto-pay fucks us? Better not do that... surely you'll remember to pay it... right?

So I've got a notebook and a pen on my desk today. I'm calling Nelnet and Naviant. I've caught up the bills, I've put things in place... and I'm trying to not freak the fuck out about being poor. Or poor-er than we are...

On top of the crippling anxiety that comes with facing your failures in life - comes the "let us just drink at night and forget about our problems in hopes that we can sleep." So I drink more. I eat bad food. I smoke a LOT of cigarettes. Why? Fuck if I know. Something about dopamine and the brain... When I get super anxiety-filled... I just want to eat, smoke, drink, and fuck... Because this causes my brain to excrete some tiny chemical that pushes back at the anxiety and allows me to go one for just a little longer... to just eke-out another day of existence before accepting the shit decisions I've made and having to face the fucking music...

There you go, dear internet... Welcome to a small glimpse into my anxiety nightmare for the time being.

On the bright side - it's all being dealt with at the moment... How well and how long remains to be seen.

So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel...

I got this question posed to my by the lovely A.J. Bass (@AnjikoZ) on Twitter the other day and, well, by golly, let's give it the proper love and respect this subject matter deserves, shall we?

The original Tweet reads:

• My so called best friend decided to be a judgmental bitch today. She actually told me that daddy and I should not be having sex in our home (even though kids are fast asleep when we do). All because the way we have sex is like a porn. Now that I'm writing this it's kinda funny.

Leaving aside my issues with calling your sex partner "Daddy" - let's take a look at this.

In our house sex is sometimes soft and gentle, sometimes loud and adventurous, and sometimes quick and dirty. We use sex toys, we occasionally watch porn, we come up with some strange positions so we can both see the tv and get off at the same time.

Shit - last night we did all of the above. 

Let me rewind a bit... I got a text from Lady Bourbon asking "Wanna get naked and watch hentai tonight?" - to which my response was, "like you have to ask!" 

So - once the kids were tucked in and asleep, we got our fuck on.

The television was set to a rather scandalous hentai in which a demon lady feeds on the virginal energy of people in hopes of... something something I don't watch it for the plot. All I know is that this demon lady forces some dude to fuck his friends while other robed figures watch and occasionally participate. 

But I digress... The point is - the kids were asleep and we got busy. At one point, Lady B's legs were up on the coffee table while she masturbated and I stood over her and would put my junk in her mouth repeatedly. Then she reverse-cowgirled me to climax while we both watched the big scene on this show. 

She was spent, I was spent, we were both in need of hydration, and the couch cover needed to be removed and washed... It was awesome.

But some people seem to think this approach to sex is "icky" or "too much" and you should just stick to the missionary position, lights off, and pray to Jesus when you're done. 

FUCK THAT NOISE.

Sex can and SHOULD be a contact sport. And, if you and your partner so choose, it should be adventurous... and in every room of the house. Why limit yourself to the same location, same position, same EVERYTHING every time?!? If you're married, chances are good you're going to be having a lot of sex with the same person for a very long time... it can probably get boring if you do the same thing day in and day out... 

When we first got married and moved in together - we had sex in every room of our townhouse. In our second house, we again did it in every room of the house.... shit, we've done it on a boat, under a boat in the water, on the back patio, on Lady B's sister's patio furniture... We've had gentle, "hold me" sex, we've had "wow, that was different" sex, and we've had "hurry the fuck up and end this" sex... And it's always good. 

If your kids see you having sex, in any position, why does it fucking matter? Humans have sex. It's what we do to procreate. It's what we do to release stress. It's fucking NORMAL AND HEALTHY and people need to understand this. I walked in on my parents a few times as a kid. I turned out normal. My parents had/have sex toys. I think knowing this is what has given me a great respect and healthy understanding of sex. As we all should try to have. 

So have sex. Have fun sex, dirty sex, porn-star sex... and don't be ashamed about it. We have a serious LACK of sexual education in this country and that leads to problems. Raise your kids to be good, decent people with a healthy respect for sex and their sexual partners and everything will be golden. 

So - there you go, AJ. I hope I've answered your question in a round-about way. Make your house look like a Jackson Pollack painting under blacklight and explain to the kids that "well, sometimes mommy and daddy like to get their freak-on."

Rubbing One Out At The Office

Rubbing One Out At The Office

A @BourbonSex Short Story

He sat as his desk contemplating, not for the first time, just getting up and walking out. This was the kind of office environment that just sucked the very joy from life. And here he was, again, looking at a Monday of pure hell.
          The morning's meetings had all come and gone. Shitty lunch had been eaten. Now he sat, poring over bullshit emails and hating his very existence. Debbie had been in the office not once, not twice, but six fucking times to tell him of her family woes of the weekend. He didn't care. He just wanted to leave. His head ached. He was grumpy. Life sucked - pure and simple.
          As he entered another email address into his address book he sighed. Nothing would make this worthwhile.
          Or so he thought.
          His phone chimed and he looked at it. The notification said, "image." He leaned back and his chair and swiped it open with his thumb. He sat and watched as the screen changed into the smiling face of his wife. There was a pillow tucked behind her head and smirk on her face. Her bare shoulders stood out against the stark, red blankets of their bed and slowly gave way to the gentle, slope of her breasts.
          Another chime and a text message popped up. "Thought you could use some cheering up!"
          Another chime.
          Another image.
          And another.
          And another.
          Soft skin, pink nipples, and a smile. The camera moved lower with each chime until at last it revealed her hips raised and two fingers spreading herself for the camera.
          Another chime - another image.
          Two fingers inserted between her thighs in the foreground of the image, head tossed back in ecstasy in the background.
          He swiped back and forth between the images, feeling the blood rush to his face and beyond. He glanced up to look around and make sure he was alone in the office. He swiped again and watched the progression of images and text slowly revealed the body of the woman he loved in full color. He felt his pants begin to rub against him as he sat. His erection was coming on in full force.
          He got up from his desk, walked to the private restroom down the hall, and locked the door behind him. His pants were barely unbuttoned before he had himself in his hand, stroking back and forth at the picture of her spread wide for the camera.
          He finished in a muted grunt and a spray of semen.
          He stood, panting in the closed men's room. His phone in one hand, his shrinking erection in the other... and a smile on his face.

The duality of being me...

It's been a while since I've written anything longer than a Tweet. It's been a while since I've opened up my brain and let the words pour out...

I feel like doing it today.

Something about this time of year, almost every year, really fucks with my brain. Like, in a big way. I will bounce wildly from perfectly happy to uncontrollably fucked up. And it sucks. It's also when I'm at my... uh... most Bourbonness? I should explain that.

I am very much two distinct people residing within the same body.

I am me... and I am Bourbon.

The normal, everyday me is reserved, cautious, anxiety-filled, and seemingly normal person. I try to watch what I say around others, I keep my thoughts to myself, I interact with people at work whom I despise because it's easier than finding a new job... shit like that. I am guarded on what I say... I try to calculate the best thing to say on tweets, facebook posts, etc... I'm very unassuming.

This is the face I wear in public...

But I am also Bourbon.

This may seem silly to you all, but hang on and I'll try to explain...

One night I was talking to Lady Bourbon and I mentioned a post on Twitter and she replied with, "You or Bourbon?" - and that hit me. Because Bourbon IS me. I am Bourbon. But I tend to only let Bourbon out of the bottle here on my blog or Twitter where I am unknown. So I can see why she said this thing.

The Bourbon-Me generally doesn't give a fuck. I'll say what I want. I'll write smut. I'll talk about all the things I'm not "allowed" to talk about in polite society. I take sexy photos of Lady Bourbon and we have kinky good times in the bedroom... and the living room... occasionally the kitchen... maybe a bathroom at some point... most assuredly the playroom. But I digress... The point is - I wish I could be Bourbon full time. I wish I could not give a fuck. I wish I had the confidence and "no fucks given" attitude that I have here, in the safety of internet anonymity.


But life doesn't work that way.


I have a job. I have a family. I have an obnoxious mother-in-law. I have PTA bullshit... or will have I guess when the kids are a little older. And I can't relearn 40+ years of learned behavior. I mean, I guess I COULD, but am terrified of doing it. I'm terrified of just "letting go" and "being me" out of fear of losing my job or my kids (all worst-case scenario shit - which is my anxiety dual-wield specialty).

I'm so trained in this way that I don't really talk about my anxiety, PTSD, etc on my "normal" accounts all that much. I have no problem sharing on Bourbon because, well, nobody's going to call me out at work for it or other strange shit.

Lady Bourbon and hentai.

I try to talk about Lady Bourbon about this - but she's a fucking rockstar and I don't think she can comprehend this at some levels. She is who she is and that's fucking it. I, on the other hand, was the youngest of 14 in my family (including cousins) and I was always present for the jackassery, but not allowed to participate in it... stuff like swearing, sex-jokes, etc. So I internalized it all. I still do at times. Not her, though, she blazed her own trail and still does. She says what she wants to say and does what she wants to do. I envy her for that. I tend to be overly cautious and second-guess myself all the time. Bourbon does not. Bourbon says "Hey, fuckers, this is me!" - but only because none of you know who I am.

There are two very real, very distinct personalities in me and I want to somehow merge the best of both... but I don't think that's possible. But around this time of year... the Bourbon side seems to come out a little more. I get more sexually aware. I start craving things that aren't the norm. I start having vivid sex dreams and I want Lady Bourbon to do some really sexy things to me/for me... It'll last for a month or two, then slack off... then build back up... then slack off and then it goes away for a while - You'll note that I've not written smut since fucking MARCH... Maybe it's the Winter me? Who the fuck knows. Sometimes it makes me feel like Elsa from Frozen... Trying to wear gloves and conceal that shit, yo...

The point is - I am me... but sometimes I feel MORE like me. And I wish I knew of a good way to mesh the two and become someone else...

So this has been my rambling, what-the-fuck moment for today.





Happy Thursday, fuckers!

Smile for anime butt!