I have an occasional streak of gleeful sadism.

Our boyfriend had to go off to work this morning (a rarity, since he always works from home), and after a round of very sincere and loving see-you-laters, I added, "We'll just be here having a five-way pussy-eating contest until you get back."

For a second he just stood there blinking, and then his eyebrows kind of furrowed and he said, "But there are six of you."

Now, I could have just admitted to flubbing my words, but fuck me, I wasn't quick-witted enough to casually reply, "Oh, I guess that was just a slip of the tongue." (Damn, I really wish I'd thought of that at the time instead of 12+ hours later while I'm writing this.) But I was quick-witted enough to say, "Mmm-hmm. So I what I could I possibly mean by that?" Which furrowed his eyebrows even more and made me keep going. "Maybe I meant one of us is so much better at eating pussy than the others, it wouldn't be a contest if she joined in. I wonder which one it might be?"

After a minute, he manage to say, "I ... really have to get to work," and left.

And just to really drive home how wicked I was being, the other girls had to hold me back from texting him later and asking, "Do you want to know who won?"

Of course, in the meantime, kind of the joke was on me, because as soon as he was out the door, Ariel said, "It's got to be a five-way contest because one of us has to be the judge, right? Ooh! Ooh! I volunteer!"

Closing confession: there wasn't much avoiding it after that, and before you ask, there wasn't really a winner. It was more one of those "Everybody gets a medal for participation" events.

She goaded me into a delicious wickedness ...

... and so I ran the tip of my tongue up one side of his neck until he shivered and twitched and lost control of his breathing.

I have extraordinary luck in my allotment of lovers.

Once in a Blue Moon ...

Photoshoots have not been a steady hobby of mine for ... well, ever. But the last few years they've been even less frequent, so it was nice, today, to indulge. The blue top is new-ish -- an anniversary present from the photographer. There were a couple of mildly naughtier shots, but I'm too lazy to figure out how to put a single post behind a content warning, so I'll hand those off to Claire for her naughty blog.

Text update: Goddamn it, Claire. Why did you have to go and make that your post title? Now I'm all ... agh ... fluttery. Whatever. I fucking love you too, okay?

Should have just put my whole damn blog behind a content warning.

Mind Games

We're headed for another bout of Dungeon Crawl Classics, apparently. I'm a little skeptical, given that MSG has groused quite a bit about this new "Dying Earth" version of the game, to the point that Claire had to insist we play it so he wouldn't entirely have wasted his money and in case he might turn out to be ridiculously wrong (as happens a moderate amount for someone that smart).

I do like playing.

It's fun getting in someone else's head.

For a change.

I may have over-reacted slightly in that last post

So. Blogger pretty much reinstated Ariel's post within seconds of her re-posting it, and same for a post of Claire's that received even more bizarre treatment (it was flagged even though there was zero adult content in it, just a link to the site where she has a story up, with a very clear warning that the sight is nsfw).

Sorry if I went into histrionics over nothing.

(Still halfway mad, though.)

What the absolute fucking hell?

I'm pretty damned ticked right now, because the oh-so-righteous powers that be decided to pick on one of Ariel's journal entries for having the word "fap" in it. It was in there twice, but that was the only bit of even vaguely naughty language in the whole post. Everything else was just your usual, delightful, Ariel-being-the-sweetest-goddamn-thing-on-the-planet blog post, but I guess someone still thought it needed reporting?

I mean, good for the powers that be for having "community standards" -- I'm not against that at all. But part of having community standards is recognizing that some people's standards are way to strict for the whole community, and I personally think if there's not a hint of graphically described sex or violence, no indication of nasty behavior directed at any person or group, and basically just one slightly naughty word (twice), that really shouldn't be high on anyone's list of things that need to be addressed to make the world a better place.

Pretty sure there's tons of morally repulsive, hateful, bullying political stuff all over some people's blogs that never get socked for "community standards," but for heaven's sake let's not allow a slang word for masturbation to sneak in here.

Anyway, I've got a crap-ton of swearing in this post now, and I'll even throw in a second use of the word "fap" and what the heck, might as well give it a third to say I don't fapping believe this bullshit.

Stay tuned to see if they come after this one.

(Insert Sharp-Tongued Badgering of the Year 2022 Here)

I really seriously thought about giving this post a title like, "Fuck all the way off, 2022."

But I wasn't feeling it.

It's the kind of snarky title you might expect me to write -- or that I might expect me to write ... except that honestly, 2022 hasn't been that bad.

I mean, we live in fucking Texas, so waking up the day after election day to find out we still had the same dickwads for governor, lieutenant governor, and attorney general briefly crapped in my cookie dough.

Here in Worthy Acres, though, things have been decently chill. 

And I love snark, but it's got to be truthful, right? Insincere snark ... I mean, what the hell would even be the point of that?

I spent all of 2022 goddamn well basking in the glow of not one or two but six absolutely perfect Yams: my delicious partners in passion and romance, Ariel April Worthy, Claire, the Unexpected Headless Hettie, Akane, Sasha (she's the one to blame for me using the word "Yams" that way), and the only male of the bunch, MSG.

These people.

You just can't tell a year full of them to fuck off.

And I'm watching you, 2023! You'd better not try to ditch out and do a crappier job than this year.

I will come to your house and fuck you up.

I am a BADASS.

I've been doing a lot of showing my sensitive side lately ... with my boyfriend, with my girlfriends ... especially with darling Ariel.

So I thought it was about time to say ...

I fucking rock.

Seriously:

Smoking hot.

Razor sharp or rusty saw on the sarcasm end of things, whichever means of cutting into the situation is required.

Un-goddamn-believable in bed.

Eyes to look into your soul with a blue flame of total captivation.

Let's not even talk about the tits. No, you can go ahead and talk about them. I'll listen. Done yet? I didn't think so. But let's move on.

Completely. Fucking. Deserving. Of. The. Six. Most. Incredible. Partners. In. The. World.

End of post, just because if I keep going on, I know you will all melt into jealous green puddles of goo.

You're welcome for the consideration.

I miss him.

My boyfriend is off on a trip, and I have to admit I would long for his presence even if he hadn't practically boned me into a coma just before he left.

Cannot wait to get more of that ... but damn if I also can't wait to get more of just having him around, looking into his eyes, and maybe making him laugh.

Don't make me come get you, dude.

Because I will.

Ratio

I've been on the body a pretty damn long time, and frankly, it's not getting me any. I think this may be the worst time-on-body to number-of-fucks ratio I've ever had.

(I'm talking hetero fucks here. Ariel's all over me at the drop of a hat, obviously. Goddamn, that girl is dependable.)

Just absolutely not enough dick in me around here lately, people.

Are there reasons? Yeah. Sure. The "reasons-schmeasons" kind of reasons.

I'm giving it one more week.

Then I get bossy.

And then? Mister, you better be ready. 

A Talent for Making Mockeries

You know, I'm such a fucking amazing geyser of sarcasm, I can't even write a self-shaming blog post about not writing enough blog posts. I mean, I come here, and I comment on my unimpeachably perfect girlfriend's delicious posts, and I look at my archive and see a sad decline from not-very-many to damn-almost-none entries, and I start working myself up to write a self-motivational post about how I've got to do better ...

And what does it sound like?

Just like I'm lampooning Ariel or dear Claire for all the times they've chastised themselves along those lines.

Literally, I cannot razz the ridiculous Elle DeBelle Worthy over how inept she is at maintaining this blog without it coming across as a snarky parody of their sincere musings on that subject.

I don't know if that means I need to work harder at blogging genuine emotions, or pack it in and just skewer everyone and everything with unbridled abandon.

Fuck you, Internet. Who asked you to hold up a mirror for my daft addiction to speaking in irony?