It’s been six years since this place opened for business. Don’t believe me? Check out the first post! Look at that date! That’s 6 years and 1 day ago! (Look, work was busy yesterday, so I missed the actual anniversary date. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.)
It’s been a long journey, one that’s been pretty quiet (sexually speaking) the past few years. There have been several moves, one that even crossed 4 state boundaries. There have been massive health issues and traumas, and work has gone from something mundane to something practically all encompassing.
But I’m not done yet. I’ll update still, and work harder on getting that writing spark back more often. I did well at the beginning of the year. With hard work and perseverance I bet I can get that going again.
Thanks for coming along for the ride. And if we’ve been naked together, thanks for cumming on that ride, too.
Stay SINful, friends.
The following is a work of fiction. It is a fantasy of how I would like one lovely night in Hedonism to occur, assuming Mrs. AP and I could ever get there with the two boyfriends with whom we got along best. It contains graphic details of consensual congress between three bisexual men and one woman between in a public setting. If that suits your fancy, please come join the ride.
I don’t dream often, now, nor have I for decades. Most of my memorable dreaming stopped around the time I entered puberty. This isn’t anything I’ve really explored, although I understand I might want to. Not remembering dreams isn’t what is considered normal behavior, I guess. Still, when I was single in my early 20s, there was a night where I dreamt of my ex-girlfriend strongly; vividly; memorably.
Hello SINful friends. It’s been awhile. Things have happened. Okay, that’s being unnecessarily understated; a whole lot of shit has gone down. We survived the first year with a potentially unhinged, confirmed liar “in charge” of the country. We saw a huge backlash against men who are in positions of power and who sexually abuse and harass other people. We saw the #MeToo movement resurrected ten years after it began, and with it came an unveiling of far more predators that we knew (although many suspected) in the public at large.
Knowledge without action, however, is much like potential energy; until something changes, it’s just … waiting. Yes, men like Matt Lauer and Kevin Spacey and Danny Masterson lost their jobs, but less publicly known men are still out there in power harassing and abusing men and women in industries outside the media. Men who are Shift Managers at grocery stores, or retail outlets, or restaurants, or your local gym. Men who are principles at schools, or faculty at University. Men who are ballet instructors, or composers, or sports heath professionals, or doctors. With all these less publicly prominent men committing these crimes, something must be done. Action must be taken. The voices of victims must be heard, and empowered. The time is long past due. Enter the new movement and service, “Time’s Up”.
In this increasingly digital world, we all seem to have at least one. Some of us have many more. At this very moment I sit at my desk, finished with a day of work, with 5 different glowing screens around me. You might say I’m a bit of a gadget whore.
Today OKCupid began enacting their “Real Name Policy”, as detailed in this awful and condescending blog post.
The response has been overwhelmingly negative. Comments on the blog and on Twitter are correctly filled with apprehension and concerns of user safety.
I’ve deleted my account. I’m “out” enough here and on Twitter. I don’t need OKC forcing my hand to choose a name — even if they will accept “Fuckyou” as a valid name (for now!) — just to wait for them to become the new Facebook and build in “valid” name recognition.
It’s really a pity, because Mrs. AP and I met through OKC, and we met Our Well Hung Lover through OKC, but the place no longer holds to the high standards it once had.
When we’re back into looking for a new playmate or partner again, we’ll just have to go hunting for a service that works well for such things. So long OKC. It was good for awhile, but we have to break up.
It’s not me. It’s you.
Stay SINful, friends.
Today Al Franken announced that he is retiring from his U.S. Senate Seat “in the coming weeks.”
There is a running list of all the men who have had abuse and/or harassment charges or complaints levied against them — although it has not been well updated, in part due to how fast the new cycle has been moving on this subject.
Consent violations are serious. Harassment is serious. Abuse is serious. Assault is serious. Rape is serious.
It’s about time we started seeing these subjects truly be taken seriously, although the fact that Hollywood and the Democratic Party seem to be the only parties actually doing so is still disconcerting. Trump admitted on tape to violating countless women, yet won the Election a year ago. Disgraced judge Roy Moore — who has been removed from the bench twice — is in a surprisingly close race for a Senate Seat from Alabama despite the fact that at least 9 women have com forward with convincing claims (and in some cases convincing evidence) that Moore sexually harassed or assaulted them when each of these women were teenagers, many below the legal age of consent in Alabama (16) at the time.
Why is it that the Republican Party, which heralds itself as “The Party of Family Values”, embraces this repugnant behavior? (more…)
It was a rare night in the AbsinthePassion household; all the children were in bed and asleep before Mrs. AP and I. Considering all three of them fluctuate between day dwellers and vampires, we were exhaustedly excited to be able to get some sleep. We were also excited to be able to celebrate my birthday right as it started, shortly after midnight.
After securing the little one in her own bed elsewhere in our room, Mrs. AP and I took our nightly “help us stay asleep” meds that alleviate pain and introduce a nice lovely floaty feeling as we drift off. We have discovered a delicious other side effect of the meds is that they help us relax into and enjoy sexual matters more deeply, which I greatly appreciated when Mrs. AP reached over and started teasing her fingers up and down my chest and sides. I wiggled and giggled and moaned lightly under the masterful touch of her divine ministrations — she always knows how to hit all the right spots to render me helpless to her spell. Her touch became more focused, more insistent, and the moans grew stronger in reflection. Fingered dipped below my waist and teased hips, stroking across a pubic mound and sliding in that open space between abdomen and throbbing manhood. A light gasp of anticipation escaped my lips, which Mrs. AP notably pondered before rotating her wrist and wrapping her hand gently around my throbbing, dripping cock.
For roughly the last six hours today, while struggling through work, I have found myself craving the taste of Mrs. AP under my tongue. I love trailing my lips across her skin, exploring her lips and her neck, meandering down to her luscious breasts and erect nipples, The feeling of her nipples hardening, puckering, rising underneath my tongue and against my lips is one of the divine pleasures of being able to explore the fantastic curves of my wife’s body. Right now, though, in particular, I yearn for something very specific.
I long for running my tongue and trailing my lips down from the soft, pouty lips of Mrs. AP, caressing down her delectable neck, and into the glorious cleft of her cleavage. Downward still, strolling my tongue across the beauty of her stomach and teasing over the rise and fall of her sensuous mons pubis before spiraling slowly inward and down until my lips and tongue nestle into the perfect placement between her long, lean legs.
Oh, but to dip my tongue between her lips and gently coax them wide. Her heat, her scent, dancing across my taste buds to encourage deeper, more forceful explorations. Flattening my tongue, pressing, entering, to be greeted by the sweet taste of my beloved’s arousal. Sweet!, but not in a honey way, or even vanilla and strawberry, like most people like to use for descriptors of sexual juices. She’s more primal and raw, like what would happen if the forest and panthers and hibiscus and orchid and pomegranate and the nectar from lilies could all be blended together and then coaxed forth from within her. This! This is for what I long, and crave, and cannot shake from my mind for hours upon end today!
Oh, but I shall be home soon, and then, for all that is good and naked and wonderful in this world, will I close and lock my door, and strip my gorgeous wife bare, and explore her every twitch and tremble with my tongue until her sweet, subtle nectar becomes a flood upon my tongue and across my cheeks, and she gasps my name and grips the sheets and loses herself into the bliss of erotic release, and then! Oh, but then I will still be thirsty, and will have to drink of her some more until her crescendo repeats, again and again, until she can bear no more and must both push me away and pull me upward so that more than my tongue will slide between that velvety lips.
Soon. Soon. For my daydreams are vivid, and my need is pressing, and the memory of the taste of my wife is … sweet.
Stay SINful, friends.
Tonight is my thirteenth night away from home, which also makes it my thirteenth night away from Mrs. AP. Except for that one bad stint in the hospital last year, this is the longest she and I have been unable to sleep beside each other since February, 2010. When I left for this current business trip we thought I would only be gone nine nights. Obviously that has changed. Delays for the job led to delays coming home. There’s been naught I can do about that, no matter how lonely the bed feels when I’m the only occupant.
The night before I left was also the end of our first full day home after evacuating from Hurricane Matthew — we live on the coast now, which made us a rather high target zone — and we’d had no time or privacy in which to engage in any amorous bonding while we were dodging the storm. The friends who took us in are wonderful, but we couldn’t exactly ask them if we could borrow their room and their bed for some spousal alone time. Etiquette is a real party spoiler sometimes. But hey, no damage to the house, and we saw good friends we’d missed, so I guess that’s the silver lining there, right?
Regardless, knowing I was going to be leaving and knowing we hadn’t been able to play when we’d wanted to for far too many days, even while exhausted, while Mrs. AP and I were cuddling very late into the night, and once I heard our youngest finally settle down for the night I, started caressing Mrs. AP’s delectable body in that way that very clearly broadcasts that I’d like to do more than caress.
I teased her breasts and her nipples, letting the edges of my palms just brush the edges of her areolas, and our mouths explored each other. Her tongue darted against my lips, seeking, imploring entrance, which was granted eagerly. As our tongues danced to the rhythm of our needs my hands grew more insistent, cupping her nipples and her breasts and squeezing. Gently at first, and then more firmly, my hand pulsed in time with our lips and tongues. My efforts were rewarded with her luscious nipples hardening under my ministrations, becoming firm and puckered in that way that begs for attention. With a gentle squeeze I obliged, but only momentarily before sliding my hand down her silky smooth skin and across the valley of her pubic mound before dipping between the folds of her perfection. As my middle finger slipped between her lips, it was greeted with a warm, wet welcome. The body of my wife, my lover, my beloved was entreating me to enter her. How could I decline such an enthusiastic invitation?
Today is Tuesday, the 18th day of October in the year 2016. In three weeks time, the general election for the next President of the United States of America will culminate in us learning which version of historical precedence will be set.
Possibility 1: Hillary Clinton, the candidate for the Democratic Party, will become the first woman and the first spouse of a previous President to be elected President of the United States.
Possibility 2: Donal Trump, the candidate for the Republican Party, will become the first multiple divorcee, multiple civil trial defendant, multiple fraud charge defendant, first candidate allegedly indebted to the Russian government, and first person to have children with multiple previous wives, to be elected President of the United States.
If you are reading this entry, I can assume you love either politics or sex (or both).
If you love politics, please do not vote for Trump. He is destroying every standard and ethical approach to politics this country has ever seen.
If you love sex, please do not vote for Trump. He routinely disparages (and admits to assaulting) women, he regularly insults everybody who is not straight, and he is actively seeking to undo all of the progressive gains this country has made over the last 8 years in regards to civil and equal rights for every non-hetero-normative individual in this country.
Please, if you are a U.S. Citizen, and especially so if you live in one of the states regularly contested, such as Florida, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Iowa, cast your vote for Clinton. Your LGBTQ+ friends and families, and their families, have their very lives at stake in this election. Stand with us. Stand for progress. Stand for hope. Stand for being stronger together.
Stay SINful, friends.
It’s a fun word. Until recently I’d not heard of it, but it started coming up in some reading Mrs. AP and I had been doing, and we being the ever curious types, we looked it up. According to the Demisexual Resource Center, demisexuality is defined as
a sexual orientation in which someone feels sexual attraction only to people with whom they have an emotional bond. Most demisexuals feel sexual attraction rarely compared to the general population, and some have little to no interest in sexual activity.
As you well know if you’ve read any of the tales of the sexual exploits and explorations in which Mrs. AP and I have endeavored together, the latter half of that definiion — “some have little to no interest in sexual activity” — is not applicable to Mrs. AP or myself. We are delightfully sexually vibrant (well, not always, but we all have our down times, don’t we?) However, when Mrs. AP read the first part of that definition she had to stop reading and collect herself. In stunned meditation she processed what she had read, then read it again carefully to confirm she’d not missed anything, before quietly saying “… that’s me!”
I believe this revelation helps us refocus on who we are as individuals and as a couple, and how to tie that in with my previous post — because we’ve had no luck so far finding a wonderful man for us to date. It also means there’s some reorganizing with our online profiles.
This last weekend Mrs. AP and I moved from Orlando to the Atlantic Coast — specifically the Space Coast — to get away from the noise and endless bustle and draining energy of the city. Now we’re near the beach! Win for us!
We’re also (okay, more she than me at the moment) being more active on OKC and FL and starting good conversations with potential new lovers.
It’s been over 3 years since I sucked a cock, and nearly 7 since I swallowed cum that is not my own. That itch needs scratching, and soon.
More SINful stories to come! The urge, the need, to write is hitting more. Just have to finish unpacking and get over some of these work deadlines first…
Stay SINful, friends!
The other night I had a deliciously dream of debauchery. I’m sure it means my subconscious is telling me that I have needs or wants or desires that are unfulfilled, which makes since considering I’ve spent the last 18 months recovering from one medical emergency or another. This dream, however, was the most vivid a dream I think I’ve ever had. I could not only see everything, but also taste and smell and feel everything, which is perhaps the best way to have a dream that includes wanton submission to all things hedonistic. Come along for the ride, won’t you?
I should be asleep right now, but insomnia awoke me, and the urge to write something … anything … hit me upside the head like a hard, thick, wet cock. Ergo, I’m playing along. Enter, and find within answers to mysteries, won’t you, my SINful friend?
I awoke this morning to the news that David Bowie had died. Like most of the world, I was gutted by this news, and have spent the rest of the day — while working, nonetheless — fighting back the release of tears that have been omnipresent behind my eyelids. Undoubtedly The Man of Many Personas left us too soon, but oh, what gifts he left us all, and the LGBTQ+ community specifically.
Earlier this year, a young white male sat inside a church in Charleston, South Carolina, USA and waited for whatever moment he considered to be perfect before revealing multiple firearms and shooting at members of the church. 9 were dead and many more injured by the time his rampage was complete.
Earlier this year, members of ISIL/ISIS were videotaped binding gay couples and throwing them from the tops of buildings.
Earlier this year, Buddhist monks in Burma lead a movement of oppressive laws and physical attacks against both women and against Muslims.
Earlier this year, LGBTQ families across the United States were threatened (and many attacked) when the U.S. Supreme Court declared that same sex marriage is an equal right.
Earlier this month, a Moroccan actress was attacked after starring in a film about the exploitation of sex workers in Marrakech.
Earlier this week, students at The University of Missouri in Columbia, Missouri, USA were threatened with bombs and guns for having the bravery to stand up to racist slurs and threats.
Earlier this week, suicide bombers kills dozens of people in Beirut.
Yesterday, attacks in Paris killed hundreds.
I could go on, but the patterns, the trends, they repeat into perpetuity. Across the world people separate themselves — Christian vs non-Christian, Catholic vs Protestant, Shi’a vs Sunni, Shinto vs Taoist, Israeli vs Palestinian, Black vs White, American vs Mexican, British vs Irish, Straight vs Gay, Men vs Women, Police vs Civilians, etc. — using labels that enable one group to define any other convenient group as The Other. The Other is dangerous! The Other is to be feared! The Other must be fought! The Other seeks to take our land, our women, our jobs, our freedom! The Other must be made to go away! Protect us from The Other!
Why are we so quick to define and then retreat from The Other? In the United States, why the ever increasing rhetoric to fear people from across the wrong border, or people who use a different house of worship, or people who love differently? In the world writ large, why the ever increasing fear of those fleeing from violence, those crossing borders in hopes of living, those who wish only to live in peace? Why the fear of women being seen as equals, or LGBTQ+ people being treated with genuine respect and honor? Why the fear, disgust, intolerance, and even outright hatred of The Other?
Living with The Other requires stepping outside a pre-established comfortable space, in which The One is not challenged by foreign ideas. The One has a manufactured reality; normality is fabricated, molded, shaped into something that most resembles The One. The One may be in comfort, communing with others who resemble The One in body type, skin color, religious or philosophical ideals, leisure activities, and cultural representations. The One does not have to question if reality outside the small space occupied by The One differs from the reality The One has built, for the outside does not impugn nor encroach upon The One. The One is secure.
Introducing The Other into the comfortable space of The One dissolves that reality. The Other does not conform to the expectations around which The One has built daily life, and The One, often as a result of this self constructed minimized reality, lacks the coping ability to recognize The Other as being a valid part of reality. While from the perspective of The Other the constructed reality of The One is limited and minimal and could use a refreshing expansion, from the perspective of The One the arrival of The Other signifies destruction and rejection of all that The One has built. The Other sees expansion and inclusion, whereas The One sees conflict and restriction. Lacking the foundation upon which expansion can be built, The One lashes out.
This lashing may be verbal. It may be subtle, in the introduction of policies, regulations, or laws that prevent the acceptance of The Other, thus forcing The Other back away from the falsely maintained reality of The One. Should — nay, when — The Other refuses to regress, The One responds with more fervor. Regulations become threats. Threats become violence. Violence becomes murder. Not always, but often, for The One is accustomed to being heard and followed, and does not understand why The Other does not comply.
What I hope — indeed, for what we should all hope — is that we will learn how to stop being The One and recognize that we are all The Other. In this world of ever-growing connectedness, let us learn how to become connecting. Let us, instead of fearing and rejecting The Other, open ourselves to learning and adapting and expanding. We can learn from The Other. We, as The Other, can teach. We can be examples. We can embrace.
Do not reject The One, nor reject The Other. Destroy the limitations, yes, but only to build bigger and better through expansion. Reject fear and vitriol, and do not tolerate the spread of things based on hate, but act with love. Act with kindness and openness and respect. Demonstrate compassion.
Start with an embrace.
Stay SINful, friends.
Time for another edition of T.M.I. Tuesday! Click below to see how well I performed!
Time for another edition of T.M.I. Tuesday! Click below to see how well I performed!
as I slowly awaken
senses coming back online
through the fog of deep slumber
my body fails to comprehend
why is it so dark
are my wrists bound
Time for another edition of T.M.I. Tuesday! Jump below to see how well I performed this week.
I came home from work with one of the most debilitating migraines I’ve had in ages. I fought through traffic and held it at bay, but by the time I walked up the stairs and through the front door Mrs. AP was able take one look at me and firmly say “I love you, go lay down in the dark.” Knowing better than to ever argue with her when she uses her Domme voice, I kissed her and made my room to comply. As I lay there trying to hide all light and sound from obliterating me into millions of pieces Mrs. AP came in and softly asked how I could help. My whimpers must have translated into something because she left the room to come back a few minutes later with Excedrin and a cold coffee blend of the various pre-made flavored coffees we keep in the fridge. She disappeared again, leaving me in silence.
On her next return she came bearing food; perfect wife that she is, she made dinner and handled the kids while I lay in the room trying not to feel like death had become me. Dutifully I ate, thankful for the mix of spices and savory elements she combined to hit every flavor element I so love. Once I finished eating I lay the plate back down and rested, eyes closed, hoping for relief.
When Mrs. AP came back in she asked if there was anything else she could do to help. I whimpered some more, to which she responded by laying next to me and cradling me, caressing my head and letting her hand wander further down my body. As she slipped a hand inside my pants she asked if there was *anything* she could do to help, and my cock rose in response. Feeling how eager my cock was to greet her Mrs. AP whispered mischievously “feels like I know just the thing.” She got up to lock the door, stripping as she rose, and in my pained stupor I somehow managed to strip so that by the time she turned around I was ready, waiting for her.
As the fight for Marriage Equality continues — now with the U.S. State of Alabama grabbing headlines for the insolence of Justice Roy Moore — and the Supreme Court having announced that they will hear arguments regarding cases overseen by the 6th Circuit Court of the United States I’ve been contemplating how this all came about. There have been several groups working tireless for decades to see equal rights extended to all people within the United States that do not hold to the hetero-normative standards; without the efforts of groups like The Gay and Lesbian Advocates and Defenders helping make the U.S. State of Massachusetts the first U.S. state and only the sixth jurisdiction globally to recognize the basic human right of marriage for same-sex couple we would not be living in an age in which acceptance and recognition of same-sex couples’ rights has expanded exponentially. And yes, while the decisions within the courts — and the rare legislative motion — have been the means through which the official recognition of same-sex marriage has come to pass, the driving force behind the rising levels of acceptance has not been driven from exclamations from on high but rather by changing the thoughts and attitudes of the general populace. For this I believe we have these most visible people for their bold, fearless leadership in driving forward proper equality for all within the LGBTQ community.