How do you know when you’ve crossed the border into being over-occupied with thoughts about sex? Is it when you realize that you’ve posted almost 40 entries to a blog about bareback anal sex? That could be a hint, but in this case that’s not what’s got me wondering.

Yesterday it snowed here. We got around 4-5 inches, which to some of y’all in winter-hardened places may count as a “skiff” of snow, but here it was enough to cause a 20-car pileup on the freeway, stall traffic for five solid hours, and cause my dentist’s office to call me first thing this morning to reschedule today’s appointment.

It was just as well - I couldn’t have got out of the driveway anyhow. But it left my morning at loose ends, and the mind does tend to wander.

So.

 I decided to take advantage of the time to do a little anal stretching training (I really would like to be able to take a fist si as not to disappoint Tops who want to use me that way.) I cleaned our, geared up, poppered up and fired up a couple of vids I like for that kind of exercise… but my cunt is being a a little bitch this morning and is being temperamental and not particularly stretchy. It doesn’t help that it’s 11 degrees F outside and the bedroom is cold.

Frustrated, I got up and went into the other room, where I happened to look out the window. It won’t get above freezing today, but the sun is out trying to melt the snow, a perfect arrangement for the creation of icicles.

Big, long icicles with rippled surfaces, thick around the base.

Just hanging there, like they’d been put there for a purpose.

Have you ever taken a big, thick, rippled icicle up your ass? I have.

Not for long. I can’t recommend it. Very peculiar sensations, on entry, while embedded, and for some while after removal. I don’t think the rectum is meant to be chilled. On the whole, the experience has got me wondering whether my acceptance of my life role as a cunt needs to be tempered a bit; what I just did was, by most any standard, nuts.

Worse, it makes me think twice about my plan to go out walking in the snow later. God knows what I could end up doing, and be found later frozen naked in the drifts.

Yet I can’t help imagining wondering what it would be like to find myself one day at a gay ski resort. I don’t ski, you see…