Tag Archives: Coachella

The First Semiannual Search Terms Review

Raise your hand if you have a blog.  Now keep it in the air if you love to look at the search terms that landed people on said blog.  Wave it back and forth over your head à la that annoying geek in trig class if someone has ever Googled “Smurf Fetish” and ended up on your blog.

My hand is waving like a smoker watching Poison do “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” during a 1988 concert.  Don’t worry if yours is not–I didn’t say Simon Says, anyway.

One of my favorite things to do when checking out my blog stats, is to see what crazy searches resulted in people stopping by my little online hole-in-the-wall.

And speaking of holes in the walls, yes, the phrase “glory hole Coachella” resulted in a visit to my humble site not too long ago.  Oh, to be a fly on that wall.  I bet there were many.

Some of these search terms thrill me to death in a twisted sort of way–such searches as, “Why is necrophilia seen as so wrong?” and “Erotic Horror Stranglings,” for instance.  “Beast necrophilia” and “necrophilia how?” give me a moment of pause, as does “Strangling Woman in boots.”  Just things that make you go hmmm…

And then there are the ones that leave me downright confounded, like “hemero wizard of oz,” and “men anal blow jobs how to give.”  Hemero means day, so is there a national Wizard of Oz Day I’m unaware of?  Not that it’s a bad idea.  I mean, if it comes down to a vote, I say yea.  I’m dying to see a horse of a different color and to try to get a five-finger-discount on a new broom stick.  Incidentally, if anyone out there knows how to give men anal blow jobs, I’d appreciate a diagram just in case I’m missing something.

I’m always looking for new acts to add to my repertoire.

“I love sex” and “cock lust” searches tickle me pink and warm the subcockles of my heart.  And I want to meet the person who Bings “Watch sextraterrestrials porn.”  I think we’d get along just smurfily.  I’ll even bring the popcorn, but also a blanket because I don’t want to sit directly on your couch for our movie night.  Sorry.  It’s not you, it’s me.

Other searches, unfortunately, leave me feeling inadequate.  I mean, when someone looks for “Matthew Bomer Erotica,” and my site doesn’t deliver, I feel like I’m letting my readers down.  Oddly, nearly every piece of erotica I write lately seems to have a guy who looks just like Matthew Bomer, but I’ve never flat-out said so on my blog before.  Weird.

And regarding making most of my studs clones of The Bomer, who can blame me?  He’s delicious.  Anyway, I am now on an intense search for Bomer erotic fan-fiction.  I do this for my followers and, well, let’s just say I feel obligated to hunt some down and preview it multiple times.

When I saw that a gentle reader searched high and low for “How big is Anthony Kiedis‘ penis?” I was heartbroken to know that I had disappointed him or her.  Until I can get Anthony’s digits (and believe me, I will try), might I suggest checking out the old-school sock performance, just to get a rough idea?

And then there was “the twilight saga film series awards” search, to which I politely say, “WTF????”

Finally, I leave you with the question “What movies Vale Kimber star in?”  I can only surmise that someone else surmises I’m a porn star.  Aficionado, maybe.  Fan?  Certainly.  But, the closest I ever came to making a sex movie was contemplating stripping in college.  And possibly some nonconsensual photos during a drunken screw of the same era.  And maybe the security camera that always seemed to be trained outside my dorm room window picked up something I was never mailed a copy of.

I pulled my blinds most of the time, I swear.

But anyway, no.  As much fun as it probably would be to reign as porn queen, I’m afraid I cannot accept this award.  But to all of my fans out there, I say thanks for your support!  I couldn’t be where I am right now without you!

Or maybe I could…

Where the hell am I, anyway?  Hey, who’s that man behind the curtain?!  Please excuse me.  I’m off to go grab his broomstick and possibly give him an anal blow job.


Good Place, Bad Place: Sex in Public

In mulling over a good place for some public snoo snoo in my current WIP, I find myself at a PDA crossroads.  So, to clarify a bit in my own mind and to help others (curious bystanders or writers, virgins or sluts) I endeavor to create a list of the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.

1. I’ll start off with the ugly.  I’m embarrassed to say that I considered this (not doing it, but writing it).  My locale doesn’t leave me too many options, but despite the lack of available space, I stand firm on my decision not to make my guys have sex in a porta-potty.  Not even a fancy version with antiseptic gel.  Not gonna do it.

Well, maybe I’ll write it just for fun, but no way is it getting into my manuscript.  Maybe a freebie to be posted here at a later date…?  I know, I’m such a porta-potty cock tease.

And I had no idea that Gerard Butler had a recent porta-potty screw until it popped up in my related links.  Freakin’ weird.  Butler, you idea-stealing bastard!  Way to one-up me.

2. Bad.  Bad, bad, bad.  I give you the swimming pool.  I’m sure a large percentage of teenage whores fell for the allure of the deep blue community pool in the dark of night.  Probably intoxicated, but you never know.  Maybe even completely sober, because from the outside looking in, the pool sings a siren’s song.  Slippery when wet, right?  Afraid not, Bon Jovi.  Water is not lube, my friends.  If it were, why would people even buy lube?  In fact, it is the anti-Christ to KY jelly.  Go ahead all you zealous teens, don’t take my word for it.  Let me know how that goes.  Or doesn’t, as the case may be.

3.  We need a good one, here.  Things are looking dismal.  You went to the concert and the porta-potties were just too damn nasty for a little love.  Back at the hotel, the pool keeps winking at you, but you do the smart thing and give it the finger.  Sure a hotel bed is just fine, but we’re looking for a little fun and excitement, right?  Enter the hotel room balcony.  The cool night air kisses the sweat right off you as you get down and dirty standing up.  Or bending over.  Or both.  Just don’t sit on the railing.  No orgasm is worth plummeting to your death.  Voyeurism never felt so good.  Bring your binoculars and when you’re done, check out the competition, or at least the pervs jerking it off to your Bittersweet Symphony.  That’ll throw them for a loop.

4.  Back to the ugly.  Tall grass.  Sure amber waves of grain will hide you from prying eyes, but then there are snakes, ticks, sharp blades of grass where no man has ever gone (okay, maybe he has, but still, it’s not meant for grass-blade paper cuts).  Again, I could probably get my characters here, but do I want to, really?

5.  We’re at a bad, and so I give you…the floor.  It’s not horrible.  Wouldn’t make the ugly list, but rug burns hurt for a while.  And they are easily identifiable.  Maybe you’ll wear that badge of honor on your lower back with a cut-off shirt and glowing pride.  But if the skanky boy in your English 101 class looked good enough to fuck after you ate that tequilla worm the other night, but now you want to douche with bleach and change schools, chances are, you don’t want the raw patch on your back to corroborate his story while you’re changing for gym.

6.  Well, where the hell can we screw?  I know, I know.  I feel your pain.  I’m not trying to be a negative Nancy.  I’m still looking for the perfect love connection for my literary dudes as well.  Shed?  Storage unit?  Public restroom with a glory hole?  Closet?  Under a band stand?  Colonel Mustard, in the kitchen, with a wrench?  The world may be my oyster, but I’m not finding any pearls.  I’ll keep you posted, and if anyone has any brilliant places for sexual encounters (whether tried and true, or just a fantasy) I want you to lay them on me.  Now.


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