An Old Dude Randomly Whipping Stuff
I recently viewed the teaser for the next Indiana Jones movie. It didn’t particularly excite me (although the notion of an evil, Baroness-like Cate Blanchett will be quite enough to separate me from my cash), but it did bring back a cache of memories.
You see, dear reader (citation needed), when I was but a wee young hatchling, there were three things that I associated with Manhood:
2. A high hairline.
3. A whip.
The first and the third of these can be attributed to Harrison Ford, primarily in his Indiana Jones guise. Yes, I was – and still am – an uncloseted Star Wars devotee, but, true to its eunuch-like creator, the world of Star Wars to me was utterly devoid of sex. Gold bikinis were nice, but that was Luke’s sister, man. There is no teh sexay in that. MORE>>
The grimy mass of the sex blogosphere served up to you on a platter. Or paper plate, as the case may be. . .
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #132? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks
“A bill outlawing the possession of “extreme pornography” is set to become law next week.”
M is for Mine
“You comment on my wetness.”
The Story Behind the Waxing
“I tend to go to people that I trust really know what they are doing when it comes to my pussy.”
Mr. Sugasm Himself
Keeley Hazell Regrets
The sadistic impulse
Join the Sugasm
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.
Every (big gay purple) fish story has its eager-eyed, tail-whisking beginnings; overfed midsections…and sad, tear-spattered endings. But before we indulge our tears, dear reader (citation needed), let us first revive in our hearts the good times shared.
We learned of our neighbor’s dilemma: he, a manly-man of the manliest multiformity, found himself saddled with fish of a homosexualist coloration.
We learned of said neighbor’s efforts to sell or trade the ongoing exploits of Queer as Fish on, of all places, Craigslist.
Mostly we laughed.
But now the story has reached its inevitable conclusion. And though that we look upon it with heavy hearts, we can agree that it could have ended no other way.
The big gay purple fish were sold. All 7 of them. To a mystic, shamanistic woman of means and iron skillets. And according to our sources, the sizzles and smells of purple fish could be heard and smelled several counties away.
And as for the neighbor? Well, he got new fish. Oscars and Convicts. The pit-bulls of the aquatic world. And they aren’t purple.