I don’t think I mentioned where we were going on our little family vacation. I’m still waiting for my anonymous sex blogger handbook to show up in the mail (even though the check’s been cashed for weeks), but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to avoid dropping any facts that could be used to trace back to my real identity. Facts like, Belle and I took our children to a well-known theme park in Southern California infested with overgrown rodents. And other facts like Belle left us midway through our stay at the well-known amusement park to start her separate business-related trip. I won’t be seeing her again for four days.
One might think carting a couple of kids across country on a plane and traipsing around a theme park, etc., would take one’s mind off the fact that one hasn’t ejaculated in two weeks. One would be right. That is, until one was waiting in line with the woman who decides when one gets to come and, upon slipping one’s hand down the back of her pants, finds she’s not wearing any underwear. That’ll snap one’s mind back to one’s orgasmless existence pretty fucking quick, let me tell you.
Speaking of which, she tells me she’s locking me back up as soon as we get home. Since I don’t get to come again in February, I assume that means I’ll be in at least another week. Other than that little tidbit (and the cheap feels I copped while waiting in the numerous lines), I’ve got nothing sex-related to say. Pretty sucky sex blogging, I know, but the place I’m at has a way of sucking the sex out of just about everything.
OK, back to the merry-making. The kids and I are heading back into the Happiest Place on Earth™ and hoping it can stop with the f’ing rain, already. Ciao.