So you know how sometimes I write literary smut with deep characterization and exposition and plot and such, and sometimes I just write smut?
This would be the smut.
This one is way more blatant than usual, for me. The title, and also, well, the cover. Because, fuck it, with a title like that, why pretend? So there’s a dude. And his chest. And that’s about it.
And a woman somewhere there in the back. I think. But who the fuck’s looking?
Um, yes. This isn’t about someone giving head in a car.
So this story is just, well… it goes somewhere. Things you could do with a man who can blow himself.
Because, come on, you didn’t immediately think this too? As soon as I said it? Like what a perfect way to use a rather unique skill?
Oh. Um. Okay.
So I’m pervert, fine.
This is inspired, sort of, by a film called Shortbus, which, um, has this deed in it. I mention this just in case anyone has any kind of, you know, disinterested curiosity about how blowing yourself would work. Or if you don’t believe it’s possible.
Actual evidence! With your own eyes!
And watch Shortbus anyway, by the way. It’s an interesting idea as film project, collaboratively written with the actors, took years, basically about how people have sex rather than sex. And if you read me you probably should see it.
And it has a dude who can blow himself.
So here’s this story, which basically plays on that. Because of how that’s so fucking cool.
I’m going to go and blush for a while now. Like a few days.