TheBreeder Posted November 11, 2012 Report Posted November 11, 2012 To see Breeder's original blog post click here I don't know if it's a certain increasing briskness in the autumn weather sparking people to contemplate a change from regular sheets to the winter flannels, but I've had no less than four emails this week from guys curious what I wear to bed. In fact, the timing on them was so close that I was half-convinced there was a blind item about me being caught starkers in someone's bed, in some Page Six column somewhere. To put your curiosities to rest: I sleep nude. I think I've mentioned before that my parents, who were of an age to be somewhat established hippies by the time the Summer of Love rolled around, were prone to nudity around the house. I mean, they weren't the kind of people who shucked every vestige of clothing the minute they were behind closed doors, but neither were they particularly interested in replacing anything they might've removed in order to take a mid-day shower, or take a nap, or after they simply scratched themselves. The sudden appearance of a nude parent is one of the reasons I tended to go to the houses of my other friends rather than have them to mine—though since a lot of my friends tended to be the kids of my parents other hippie-ish friends, they were often in similar situations. It's not a state of affairs that disappeared with the last of the love-ins, either, nor has it to this day. I still remember the first time I took home my spouse to spend a night at my folks' place, and first my mom and then my dad wandered through the living room where we were sleeping buck nekkid and casually brushing their teeth and wondering if we needed anything. Anyway. My parents slept nude. (And watched TV nude. And sometimes ate nude. My mother would put on an apron while cooking, though.) So I slept nude, and never thought a thing about it until my first night at college, when I realized with no little surprise that my unfamiliar roommate actually had pajamas. Except for that four-year hiatus when I slept very uncomfortably in my briefs, I've always slept in the nude. Yes, even on the coldest of nights. I do put on clothing when guests invade the house, though. Usually. Let's get to some questions from formspring.me, shall we? Is flirting on the net cheating? No. Sticking your dick in someone who's not your significant other, without permission, is cheating. Surrendering your holes to a man's dick when you don't have an agreement with your sweetheart, is cheating. Flirting on the net is just the taxi that drives you straight to the hotel room. What television show was your favourite when you were 6 years old? H.R. Pufinstuf. I made my parents reschedule my Saturday morning piano lessons so I wouldn't have to miss that psychedelic, weird-ass show. What is the earliest dream you remember fully to this day? How old were you when you had this dram? I remember very vividly having a scary dream when I was three or four about my mother rising up out of the bathtub with her hair hanging down like snakes in front of her face, and that she was some kind of Medusa-like sea serpent. That dream freakin' terrified me. And yes, I'm aware it's kind of Freudian. Would you let me draw you? Clothes on or clothes off? I'm good either way. Do you like popping a guys cherry and how often are you able to? It depends. There are indeed circumstances in which I very much like popping a cherry. When the guy is young and cute and eager to have the burden of his virginity taken away from him, I'll be licking my chops like Wile E. Coyote at a speeding Roadrunner. If I've got a guy with a reputation as an alpha top who's never been fucked before, I'm totally rock hard and anxious to get in there. However, if the virgin in question is a guy who's never been fucked simply because he's been too scared to get out there and meet guys have have sex with them, and if he's in his thirties or forties or later and is looking for me to give him the experience he's whacked off about and fantasized over and never actually done anything about, I'm not interested. It's not because of his age, and it's not precisely because of his inexperience—it's more because I'm turned off when people waste so much of their lives fantasizing about things easily within their grasps, without ever attempting to make them real. Without looking at a cookbook or online, what sort of things do you know how to cook/bake? How complex does it need to be before you require a recipe? I can prepare a lot of dinners without any kind of recipe—but it's only because I've prepared them so many times, at this point. There are probably a few cookie and baking recipes I could pull off without consulting a cookbook or online recipe, as well. And I'm always making all kinds of weird preserves without benefit of a recipe to follow. (Ask the people who tried my carrot cake jam.) I was impressed with myself this week when, after a hiatus of about three years when I didn't have anyone to make it for, I managed to prepare a really good chicken marsala from memory. It's all in there. Have you ever given some guy just a hand job or been given one and that's all that happen? Yes. And on its own, it's fucking boring. If I really wanted a hand job, I could give it to myself. How do I weed through the flakes online to find the guys who really want to hook up? Don't you think there should be a rating or referral service (half kidding)? Sadly, it just takes time, trial, and error. Since moving to the east coast, the proportion has drastically increased of men who seem to want to talk about hooking up, but not do anything about it. The number of guys who make solid dates with me and then fail to follow through is pretty astounding in this area—and I'm not even talking about the men who come on very, very strong one night when they're horny and online, and then disappear for another six months entirely and return with a single question on their lips, "Hey, how come we never got together?" It's because you disappeared on me, dumbass. There are guys out there who want to hook up, but the bad apples in the bunch (and lately, it's seemed like a lot of very vinegary bushels I've run across) make me wary of plucking them out. Doing so is the only way of finding the dependable fuck buddies we all need, though. And you know, once you get a network of friends with similar interests to yours, it's possible to compare notes on certain guys—talk to the men into the same things as you, and see if they're running into the same players and jokers. But also feel free to share with them your success stories. They might (and should) return the favor. More...
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