For example, usually if you were to see the term “self-stimulated pleasure” on this blog you’d probably think of autofellatio, or, at the very least, masturbation. If you’re like me your mind would go to autofellatio rather than masturbation simply because any pictures I’ve ever seen of men sucking their own cocks always look… bizarre. Guys, I have nothing against autofellatio – fellate yourselves to your hearts’ (and cocks’) content – but surely even you have to admit that you look silly when you do it. (And does the taste bother you? That’s always the first question that occurs to me.)
But this is a perfect example of why this blog is anonymous: If I were ever to dally into something potentially embarrassing, like autofellatio, I could write about it unreservedly and with impunity, and all of my anonymous readers could get a chuckle out of it. Because let’s be honest, if I were to write about autofellatio it would probably be caused by something going wrong, though even if everything went perfectly you’d be left with a mental image of a guy going down on himself, which, as already mentioned, would be humorous and/or gross (depending on your personal taste). Actually, I haven’t even done it and I bet you’re already getting that mental image, aren’t you?
You’re welcome, internet. Keep comin back, there’s more where that came from!
I was thinking about this recently – I don’t even remember what humorous thing had occurred to me that I amused myself with by not writing about it – and it suddenly occurred to me: What if that thing actually did happen to me? I wouldn't be able to write about it anymore, because I’ve told someone I know about this blog!
To most of you (and I’m sure there are thousands of regular readers, all having the self control to never comment), I’m just an internet address. Even to Minx, whom I’ve known for a number of years, the nature of the relationship has always been limited to emails and blog comments. But to this person I’m an actual human being that she’s met in person and whom she wants to get in the sack (probably).
I’m sure Minx thinks I’m a real person, don’t get me wrong. (I’m sure she wants to get me in the sack, too.) But it’s different when it’s someone you’ve never met in person vs. someone you have.
So if I were to fellate myself (or even attempt it) and then write about it, most of you would get generic images in your heads of what that looks like, but this person would have the unmitigated pleasure of getting a mental picture of me personally doing it.
That’s just an (easily pictured) example, but you get the point: I can be unreservedly honest about pretty much everything, and so far I have been, but someday I’m going to do something stupid or embarrassing and you’ll never know about it. Especially since I’m way too lazy to create yet another anonymous blog just so that I can write about that one thing. Some days I can barely muster up the strength to yank it; there’s no way I’m going to get the energy required to start a new blog, and pick out a template, and pick out a name for it, etc. etc.
So the moral of this story, I guess is that I can never do anything dumb that’s sex related because I won’t be able to write about it here – and the pressure of having something so funny but not being able to write about it would probably cause me to explode.
Metaphorically, I mean. When it comes to literal explosions, I write about that here all the time. (I go and clean myself with a warm washcloth before writing about it, so as not to mess up the keyboard.)
And to my close, personal friend, who now reads this blog: That’s one more mental image you can thank me for at your leisure. You know where to find me.
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