(this is for Tim, who wanted a naughty blog post – while it won’t be as epic as the last time I wrote a post for someone specific, the general theme is the same)
I think I need to amend my postnuptual agreement – I *do* want sword play. There’s no use denying it. Still, I would be willing to compromise – this is an agreement after all; I’m not a sex commie – I can live without the crossing of swords as long as we could try pegging.
An article on the how/what/why of pegging appeared on Jezebel this week, and while I’ve always known what it was, the post made me want to try it. Unfortunately, that’s even less likely to happen than my fanciful dreams of more wang – Ed does not have an adventuresome prostate. He’s missing out on a great deal of fun because of his squeamishness (which I will never understand – you HAVE these things, why are you so afraid of them?!), and I am sad and inundated with lusty daydreams that go far beyond naughty and into the realm of Caligula meets Catherine the Great (without the tyranny, murder, incest or [rumoured but untrue] horse cock [actual, not a size-related euphemism]).
I am not at all interested in figging, though. It seems a waste of perfectly good ginger (which is delicious), not to mention unsanitary.