You love me! You really love me! (with apologies to Sally Field)
To say I am a wee bit overwhelmed by the response to Act IV of The Butterfly Chains is a gross understatement. It’s not that this particular Act (meaning part of a story, not action) has received more Comments that others. Many stories and musings have far more. No, it’s what everyone seems to be reacting to.
My orgasm, specifically my account of it.
Between here and Twitter the theme appears to be that this is not your everyday low hanging fruit (stop it, not funny…actually it is) but rather something exotic, seldom found and when so rarely with apparent eloquence.
It was extremely difficult for me to write that last sentence. I loathe air of pretentiousness, so to pat myself on the….back, yeah, my back…is not me at all. But I am a realist, and there is no denying that this pushed buttons. Very naughty buttons.
Buttons are often how people turn things on. Like washing machines. Yeah, washing machines. Yeah…
What was I saying?
Anyway, your lack of breath, use of cold water and sudden nicotine cravings did not go unnoticed. If Peeker™ Nation finds this of interest, then so it will be.
Starting this week a new recurring story series will begin. Entitled Inside Out (clever, huh?) it will be an off and on (heh) series focused on one thing and one thing only: my experience with that particular orgasm.
Be it one of Leigh’s eye rolling hand jobs, an oral induced explosion, or just good ol’ fashioned fucking in any multitude of positions and/or orifices, Inside Out will give you what apparently is difficult to find elsewhere – what it’s really like for a guy to orgasm.
What I won’t do for my Peekers™…