logo by chick

I can't tell you how many girls ask me if I have dark hair, Mediterranean heritage, and some sort of foreign accent.

Why is that?

Well, what do you know? Today is the first anniversary of this blog.

This afternoon while I was at work a very cute girl who only just started reading me and who doesn't know me from Adam chatted me up to tell me the juicy details of how she recently banged a married man while they were both on a business trip together. She said her friends would hate her if they found out. So who's the first person she tells? Me! Good ole KT. How great is that? I was just about dying in my office trying to keep my hands out of my pants while she was telling me this tale, wishing all the while that I could have been the lucky bastard who got to explore her sweet snatch.

I *love* this Koochie Taster gig!

In the last year I have made so many friends from this blog.

All kinds of hotties regularly send me pictures of themselves in various stages of dress (and undress!)

And chicks who barely know me are chatting me up to tell me about their erotic escapades before the cum has even finished dripping out of their happy holes.

I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

So I guess I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has stopped by over the past year. Whether you left one comment and moved on or whether you chat with me all the time, every single one of you has meant something to me.

So stick around. I can only imagine what's coming up in the year ahead.

A very sweet blogger girl sent me a beautiful tease of a picture last night right before I went to bed, and she's been on my mind ever since. Thank you sweetheart! You've made me all silly and flustered. ;)

God bless the sneaky bastard who invented the camera phone. I have got to get me one of those. You have no idea how many times every day I see some little hottie and want to take a piece of her home with me. But I can't exactly whip out a conventional camera and snap a pic of her. That would be too weird. But with a camera phone all you have to do is flip it open and look at it as if you're reading a text message or something, frame the girl in the screen, and press the button. Imagine the collection of pics I could have. I'm getting hard just thinking about it.

My wife and kids were still out of town last night, and after three straight nights of staying home and watching movies (Unfaithful, I Heart Huckabees, and Garden State, all of which were very good, btw), and with the knowledge that tonight would likely be spent coloring Easter eggs with the kids, I decided I had damn well better get up off my ass and go out somewhere. I could have called the guys, but sitting in a bar drinking beer with a bunch of married men gets old really fast, so instead I decided to go to a dance club.

Actually I went to two dance clubs, but the first one (Polly Esther's) was almost totally guys (all identical-looking military guys with identical haircuts. Kinda funny, actually) so I didn't stay long. The other club was hosting the "official" Interpol after-party for the Interpol show that was happening at yet another club down the street. I would have been over at the Interpol show if the tickets hadn't sold out before I could get one (and as an aside, I'm pissed because the Audioslave show sold out almost instantly yesterday and I didn't get a ticket to that either. Fuck.)

Anyway, so I had a pretty good time and danced with a few girls, but one girl in particular was especially fun. She came up to me as I was standing by myself in the corner and said, "Hi. What are you *doing*?" I'm putting the accent on the "doing" because the way she said it was in kind of an incredulous tone as if I was kicking kittens or something. And then she asked if I'd like to dance. I said sure, and we walked over to the dance floor.

Now, I'm no John Travolta, but I do think I'm a better dancer than most guys, and it turned out that she knew how to dance too, so before long I was twirling her around and we were really getting into it. The relatively sparse crowd seemed to give us some extra space and for a little while the two of us were out there in the middle of the floor by ourselves. After the first song she leaned into me and said, "You should have been out here dancing all along instead of standing off in that corner." Then as the next song began we both started smiling and looking into each others eyes, dancing closer and closer.

I can't remember when the last time was that I felt such a connection with a total stranger. But after a while it started to occur to me that maybe I was leading her on. My wedding ring was in plain view, but some people just don't look. I thought about telling her, but I couldn't seem to think of a way to do it without making it look like I was trying to get rid of her, which I wasn't. If anything, I wanted to keep dancing with her and let things go wherever they might go. And quite frankly, I was afraid that if I told her I was married she might get upset at me for wasting her time.

So we kept dancing. Paying attention to no one but each other.

Eventually, though, my conscience got the better of me and as a song ended I attempted to make my body language look like I was tired of dancing and needed a break. She must have gotten the hint because she leaned in close to me again, looking up at me--her eyes still locked with mine as they had been almost continually for the past ten minutes, and she said, "Thank you *very* much." And as she stood there looking into my eyes, smiling up at me and not walking away, I felt like putting my arms around her waist and pulling her body against mine. Should I ask for her phone number, I wondered? No. I can't call her. A kiss, perhaps? Maybe. No. Probably not. She's waiting for something, though. Still looking at me. In the end I just smiled and simply said, "Thank *you*." Emphasis on the "you." Then, after an awkward second or two we stepped apart, still looking at each other, and then turned and went our separate ways. And by the time I got a glass of water at the bar she and her friends were gone.

So anyway, I need some advice from my readers. If this ever happens again with another girl, what should I do? I don't mean to suggest that this particular situation would have progressed beyond dancing, but you never know until you try, and I didn't try. Next time I'd like to try, but at the same time I want to be honest about my situation. Should I lift my hand up and show her my wedding ring when she first asks me to dance? That seems kind of awkward at the very least and perhaps could be interpreted as a sign that I don't want to dance, which couldn't be farther from the truth. Or do I just not bring up the subject and leave the onus on her to look for my ring and make her own decision about how far she wants to take it?

Got an erotic Easter e-card from one of my readers with a very hot picture of this girl lying on her back naked with her lover's cock in her mouth. The angle of the photo is from between her legs, so you get a beautiful look at her snatch, too. Nice. Now that's what I want Easter morning. Forget the fucking jelly beans.

Day three of near total freedom and I have thus far managed to stay out of trouble, much to my dismay.

Monday I went downtown and saw a band from Finland called Riistetyt at a seedy punk-rock club. Man was that a wild crowd. I can't say I've ever seen so much crazy moshing, crowd surfing, and general mayhem. The concert went really late for a Monday, ending around 1:30am, and then someone got up on stage and announced that he was throwing a three-keg party at his house for the rest of the night and everyone in the audience was invited. WTF?!? Don't these people have to go to work in the morning? I was curious about the party, but by that time I was really getting sleepy, not to mention that I'm still getting over some sort of a minor cold, so I decided to bag it. As it was, I totally ran a red light on the way home, not even noticing until I was halfway through the intersection. Thankfully the city streets aren't too crowded that time of night.

There were some seriously bad-ass-looking hotties at that show. Leather, studs, tattoos, dyed hair, unusual piercings, etc. The kind of girls who, in my fantasies, would love to be taken out into the alley behind the club and fucked hard against a chain-link fence. But they all seemed to be with boyfriends, and/or not particularly interested in making eye contact, so I didn't try to hit on anyone. Actually, there was one girl who arrived late and kept checking me out. Every time I glanced her way I caught her looking at me. But by that time, like I said, it was just too late for me to think straight. Some of these people tend to frequent the punk-rock clubs as there were a number of faces I've seen before, so if she's really interested, she'll find me again sometime.

Last night I was dragging on account of not getting to bed until after 2am the previous night, so I just stayed home, rented a movie, and went to sleep.

Tonight... I don't know. Gotta think of something.

My wife and kids are going out of town tonight and will be gone until Thursday. It's the perfect opportunity to get into trouble and yet I have nothing to do. There's not even any good concerts this week.

I do, however, have a coupon for a free Blockbuster rental so I think tomorrow I will rent Unfaithful per Chick's recommendation.

There's a sofabed in the family room in case anyone cares to come over and snuggle up under the covers and watch it with me. ;)

I ran across this ad on craigslist the other day. I'm figuring this is either a complete hoax, or this girl's husband is seriously mentally ill.

The interesting thing for me is that this girl lives about 5 miles away from me. And she's 32 which puts her right smack in the perfect age range for me.

Okay where does one start. Yes I am married however I am not dead and sometimes "he" makes me feel that way.

I know he wants me however he has some terrible ways of showing it. I can be in the mood and starting to flirt with him and he has to open his mouth and either say something totally out of place, start an argument or just do nothing to help the situation. Does he have any romance or passion in his body? Where are the sweat beads on my body and sounds of gasping breath that I had in years past? I miss the shivers and quivers my body would have after those intense orgasms. Those times when my skin was so sensitive to the touch that it could throw me into another orgasm if the touch was just right.

Sometimes I think I have more sensuality in my pinky toe than in his entire body. He tells me he wants me all of the time – well why doesn't he "take me". He sees other men looking at me and some of his friends have told him how lucky he is to have me. Hell his friends think he is fucking me 24/7. I think that I am a normal female – sometimes you want him to make love to you, other times you just want sex and of course there are those times you just need a good fucking. Why can't he see this? Why can't he sense this? Does he not want me in that way?

Why do I keep thinking of past lovers while I lay in bed alone? Why are my thoughts so vivid that when I touch myself I sense someone else touching me? Do I want to do this alone again or do I want someone else to take care of and satisfy me? Do I want another man to crave me or do I want to crave another man? I have all of these thoughts running through my head. Sometimes I think if I had someone else I would see things differently and I would be able to accept his lack of passion easier than I do. I would not be as sexually frustrated as I am today.

The only thoughts that I know for certain is that I do not want to end my marriage, the thought of a one night stand turns me off, and I need some kind of fulfillment.

I guess this is what I get for marrying my best friend and not my favorite lover.

Here's a snippet of a conversation I had with a blogger girl yesterday:

[some irrelevant stuff deleted]
[16:36] [BG]: Other than that, how are you?
[16:37] [KT]: Not bad. Other than the fact that I can't even remember the last time i got laid.
[16:37] [BG]: The hand job doesn't count????
[16:38] [KT]: No. Well, it was nice and all. But I was referring to real, hot, sweaty fucking.
[16:38] [BG]: oh yeah. i hear you
[16:40] [BG]: it's been several months for me
[16:40] [KT]: And eating pussy. Damn. That's *really* been a long time.
[16:40] [KT]: I'm gonna have to change the name of my blog
[16:41] [BG]: can't even get that?
[16:41] [BG]: usually that is a freebie
[16:41] [KT]: No. No. No. Hand jobs only in our house.
[16:42] [BG]: man oh man
[16:45] [BG]: why DO men - or you - like to eat pussy anyway?
[16:51] [KT]: It's quite a rush to taste a girl in her most private area. To get her juices all over my face. Add to that the fact that making a girl come is one of the most pleasurable things in the world for me. Eating a girl's pussy is the only thing that has been known to make me come without direct stimulation to my cock.
[16:52] [BG]: damn.
[16:52] [KT]: exactly

I know, I haven't posted. I wish I had something to say that would get all my incredibly sexy female readers all wet and fidgity, but I'm just feeling kind of...dull...lately. I need some exceitement in my life. Something to spark my fantasy. I could write about the girl who came over and sat next to me at the bar Tuesday night or the cutie who was admiring my car in the supermarket parking lot yesterday, but in the end there's really nothing to tell. It's always some variation of the same theme. KT and Girl run into each other. KT smiles at Girl. Girl smiles back. KT and Girl make small talk. KT and Girl go their separate ways. I need to figure out how to modify that last step so it goes more like "Girl invites KT into her pickup truck so he can feel her up." And I say pickup truck only because that actually happened to a friend of mine not too long ago. We were at a bar and this girl came up to us and before I knew it she was asking him to go out to her truck. Fifteen minutes later they were back and his breath smelled like pussy. OK, so I didn't really smell anything, but my friend spilled the beans later on and told me what had happened. And then there was another friend of mine who got a blowjob from a total stranger on a city bus. Does that happen a lot? Maybe I need to ride the bus more often. And then of course I keep hoping that some hot reader will announce that she lives near me and has been lurking on this site for the past couple months and wants to get together with me. Then I could guarantee you that I would have something to write about!

Got my monthly hand job this morning. Woohoo.

It's only Saturday morning, but this weekend is already way better than last weekend.

On Thursday I went out to a club with a couple guys from work to see a rock band from Belfast called Ash. They rocked pretty hard, although the sound could have been better. I think the sound man knew something was wrong because he was all over the board all night with flashlights, plugging and pulling cables and readjusting stuff, pretty much to no avail. But it was good to get out with a couple guys that I normally don't see very often outside of work, so I can't complain.

Last night I had been planning on seeing a couple very good local punk rock bands, but I was so tired by the middle of the afternoon on account of only getting four hours of sleep the night before that I was almost gonna bag it until three unexpected things happened.

First, the lady who had responded to my ad last week IM'd me and invited me to a different club to see a different band. I've been meaning to see that band too, so I was torn. Turns out this lady is 46. She looks attractive in her pic, but I can't get it out of my head that she looks like one of my mom's friends from when I was in college. It's too wierd. If she was 12 years younger I would have met her in an instant, but instead I just told her I was too tired to go out, which, technically, was very true. The one upside with this lady, though, is that she has a seventeen year old daughter. Give her another year and I could be on my way to checking off #5 on Dick's list. lol.

So the second thing that happened was that another girl responded to my ad, albeit a week late. She has a boyfriend and wants to keep it platonic, but she likes my taste in music and would like to hit some clubs with me from time to time. I think she's in her early 20's. So by this point I was starting to perk up a little, wondering if maybe I should write her back and see if she wanted to go see the punks with me. But, seriously, I was still feeling so damn tired that I decided not to rush it. I'll write back to her this weekend and maybe she and I can hook up next week or something. If she was a week late in answering my ad, she can't be in all that much of a rush.

And then finally, just as I was about to head up early to bed, one of my blog friends IM'd me and convinced me to just take a quick nap and then get my ass downtown to the club to see the punk bands, explaining to me that I would surely regret it if I missed the show and went to bed early on a Friday night.

Sooo, I took a quick nap, drank a 16 oz bottle of Coke, and drove over to the club. Good choice too (thanks Victoria!). The bands kicked ass, the Coke perked me up, and I had a great time. Danced/moshed with a couple cute girls, made it home by 2, and went to bed a happy camper. Didn't get any snatch, but I had a good time nonetheless.

I just got back from getting a haircut at the Hair Cuttery down the street from where I work, and one of the guys I work with who has been to that Hair Cuttery several times wanted to know which girl had cut my hair. The thing is, I couldn't exactly describe her as a girl. She was a very large woman in her late 50's, and somehow that just doesn't fit the definition of "girl" to me. "Woman," maybe, but definitely not "girl." So I told him who it was, and he got all on my case for not picking someone younger and cuter. "You can pick your stylist, you know," he said. "But I don't know any of their names," I replied. "Neither do I," he said. "I just look around for the cutest one and point to her." Hmm. Interesting. I'll have to try that next time. There was a young asian girl at the Hair Cuttery near where I used to work, and I remember always hoping that she'd be there. She had the most amazingly tight little body, and she would wear these skin-tight tops that would cling to her perfect little breasts as if she was topless. And, since I am a tall guy, she could never get the barber chair down low enough to be convenient for her, so she would always end up standing on her toes, stretching her arms above her head, and leaning in so close to me that her perky teacups were hovering within an inch of my face. It was the most erotic thing to have her cut my hair, and I always wished she could just unzip my jeans and finish me off at the end. I wonder if she still works there. Writing about her is getting me all worked up. I may have to go back there the next time I need a haircut, even though it's a good hour away from where I work now.

There's this cute hispanic girl here at work who keeps flirting with me. She has a daughter who looks to be about 4 or 5 who she brings to work occasionally, but I'm not sure if she's married. I've never nailed a hispanic girl, so her flirting has kind of piqued my interest. Not that her ethnic origin should really matter--as a friend of mine used to say, they're all pink inside. But the dude over at No Marriage would have you believe otherwise. The problem with him, though, is that he seems just as bitter as the Ladder Theory guy, and technically he's talking about marriage material rather than specifically about sex partners. Nonetheless, I think there is some truth to the notion that women of western european descent tend to be more inhibited in bed, but I don't think it has anything to do with race so much as cultural and religious upbringing. And then I also have to admit that the best sex of my life was with an Irish girl. Where exactly I'm going with this I don't know, but I can tell you that if this hispanic chick at work is trying to get me to notice her by batting her eyelashes at me and acting all sweet, it seems to be working.

WTF?! It's snowing again. So much for navel-gazing.

Now if I had a warm fireplace, a cozy rug, some hot chocolate, and a naked, willing girlfriend, the snow might not be so bad.

But, alas, I have none of that. And I have to go to work now. I have a feeling my mind, and hands, will be doing a little wandering today.

TGIM! A particularly boring weekend has given way to a wonderfully pleasant Monday.

With the exception of one combined trip Saturday morning to get my car inspected and go to the grocery store, I literally stayed home from the time I got home from work on Friday until the time I left to come to work this morning. The sad thing, however, is that I don't think my wife even noticed the difference. Although she did ask at one point if I could stop throwing my cum-soaked paper towels in the bedroom trash can (Uh, so where should I put them? Under the bed?).

Anyway, weather.com claims it's 70 degrees out right now, and my snow boots and wool coat of last week have given way to Chuck Taylors and a Ramones t-shirt, and I even went for a nice long walk after lunch. Given that it's t-shirt weather for me, it would stand to reason that there may even be some camisoles and (dare I say it?) shorts on some of the girls today. Not that I've actually seen any girls today. That's what happens when you work at a high-tech company. But I have to run some errands after work, so you can bet I'll be doing some navel-gazing then.

It's Saturday night, the kids are in bed, and my wife is gearing up for a wild evening of cleaning out her filing cabinet. I could go out to a club or something, but I guess I'll just stay home and blog. I stayed home last night too, so this is really shaping up to be a weekend to remember. Not.

I've noticed that my younger readers tend to be more protective of my marriage than the readers who are closer to my age and beyond. They often counsel me to hold on and stick with it, while my older readers have often, after hearing me gripe one to many times, just told me to bag it and go out and get laid. On one hand you have the optimism and idealism of youth, and on the other hand you have people who have been through one too many failed relationships and lost opportunities. I know my optimism is fading fast, but I wouldn't exactly call my marriage a failed relationship, nor do I have any desire to get out of it. But it's certainly not what I expected it would be when I said "I do."

In anticipation of my rockin' crazy evening tonight I broke down and posted an ad on craigslist, and so far I've received one very nice reply from a woman who says she likes the way I write and is intrigued by my desire to have a relationship that includes things such as mental stimulation and emotional availability in addition to sex. Go figure. The problem is, however, that she says she's been married for 20 years, which, unless she got married at 14, would put her well above my age. Does that matter? Well, no, not in the most general sense. But the truth is that unless she looks unusually young for her age, I suspect that I won't be very attracted to her. Perhaps I should send her over to Alex.

Last night I went to downtown to a night club to see a band called Breaking Benjamin. They rocked. I definitely will have to get one of their CDs. I had been sitting on the fence as to whether I should go see them, but then this weekend I was over at the house of one of my best friends, and his fourteen year-old daughter, upon hearing that I like heavy alternative music and punk rock, asked me if I would take her to see Breaking Benjamin. Her dad ended up not letting her go, saying that she was too young to go downtown to a nightclub, but her interest in the band made me think I should go and check them out even if she wasn't allowed to go with me.

It's too bad she couldn't go, actually, because it would have been fun to go with someone who really likes the music. I can usually convince one of my guy friends to go to these shows, but they usually end up standing in the back, not getting into it, whereas I like to move up closer to the stage and rock out with the rest of the crowd. Not only that, but this girl has a lot of qualities that I like in a girl. I've known her since she was five years old. She is a sweet person and very intelligent, but she's also kind of a little bad-ass with her leather-studded collars, belts, and her hair dyed an unnatural shade of red. If she was ten years older I would probably have quite a crush on her.

The last time I was at this club was a couple weeks ago when I saw Bowling For Soup, and I remember seeing a very cute girl who was watching the band while sitting on the bar (as in, ON the bar, with her legs dangling off the side, as opposed to sitting on a barstool). She looked to be maybe mid-twenties, and she stuck in my mind enough that when I got home I masturbated to her mental image, and then again the next day. Well, imagine my surprise, then, when I saw her again last night, sitting in the same exact place. The fact that she was allowed to sit ON the bar without being told to get off, plus the fact that she was there for both shows made me think that she must work there. I was looking over at her and she smiled back at me, so I went over and asked her if she worked there, but she said no, she just frequents the club a lot. I asked her if it was her I had seen at the Bowling For Soup show and she said yes. If she's there the next time I go, I should try and strike up more of a conversation with her. She definitely likes the same kind of music as me.

Another time last night, I was at the bar ordering a drink when two girls came up next to me to order drinks. It was very crowded, so they had to kind of squeeze in against me, and as they did one of them appologized and said, "Sorry, I'm not trying to feel up your ass or anything," but the other girl said, "Ooh, but I am!" and with that she grabbed one of my ass cheeks and gave it a nice squeeze. "Wow," she said, "You have a nice ass!" and she started to knead it and slide her hands all around. "Uh, thanks," I said, "Funny, isn't it, how a girl can just come up and grab a guy's ass like that, but if I tried to do that to a girl I'd probably get slapped." "I know, it's a shame, isn't it?" she said, and proceeded to order a beer while still feeling me up. "God," she said, "I'd better stop doing this, though. You've probably got a girlfriend lurking around here somewhere." "Well, actually," I said, lifting up my hand so she could see my wedding ring, "She's not here tonight." "Oh!" she said, "So you're probably looking for more than just an ass-squeezing, huh?" But by then she and her friend had gotten their beers and got distracted by something else over on the other side of the bar. By the time I had gotten my change they were gone and I didn't see them again after that. I'm killing myself that I didn't have the presence of mind to grab her ass while I had the chance. Oh well. The next time some girl grabs my ass at a bar I'll be ready.