First off, thanks to the ladies of Silken Sheets & Seduction for letting me visit today! You’re the bomb.
On with the blog…
I love writing hand jobs. Well, handjobs and masturbation. Oh, and fingering. Anything manual, really. Nervous, innocent fumbling is my favorite sex to write. I love groping, and probing, and reluctance. So it’s no surprise that I write manual sex more than almost any other kind. Let’s look at the evidence, shall we?
So far, in my Men of Holsum College series we’ve had…
College Boys: Several through-the-wall MUMA (mutual masturbation) scenes.
Diva and the Frat Boy: Aborted handjob in the first scene.
Townie and the Twink: “I’m not gay, but…” MUMA.
Player and the Prude: “I feel too guilty to do anything else but…” handjob.
Bossy and the Brat: Sexting goes great with MUMA!
Pride and Politics: Hm. No MUMA there, but… Oh, yeah! Hunter demands that Steve jerks off for him in the limo! Self-MA for the win!
Genius and the Jock: The “I’ll just give you a massage” fingering scene.
My Fair Dork: You’ll have to read it to find out. J
The funny thing is, I think a lot of women have bad handjob memories. I can’t be the only person who recalls sitting in a car, or at a party, jerking and jerking and jerking a boy until my wrist ached and never having him come. In fact, I often wondered why boys bothered dragging my hand down there. What did they think was gonna happen?
But, the nice thing about writing gay men is that you figure they know better how to work a penis than an inexperienced teenage girl. They have at least gotten themselves off.
Plus, they can always use lube. Do kids nowadays know about lube for handjobs? I’d never heard of this when I was struggling with boys’ levis in the backseats of cars. But perhaps today’s youths are better informed. I hope so—at least they won’t be risking carpal tunnel.
In my latest Holsum College story, there’s plenty of manual action. With two virgin guys, one of whom has an unreasonably large dick, there’s a lot of prep work that needs to occur if the sex is going to extend further than rubbing off together and blow jobs. But even in the rubbing off, my boys get creative with a little intercrural action. (Go Google it. I’ll wait.)
Perhaps what I fetishize most about manual sex is the innocence of it. Sure, those days in darkened basements and behind the gym were fraught with embarrassment, awkwardness, and a tendency for no one to actually get off, but they were exciting.
Teenagers spend a lot of time wishing they could be old enough to fuck like adults. But I think a lot of adults miss the thrill of making out like teenagers.
by Daisy Harris
They say a guy can never be too hung. Well, Harold Jacobs doesn’t know who they are, but they’re wrong. Socially awkward for as long as he can remember, Harold feels his enormous package is just one more thing to be embarrassed about. Especially once hunky and popular
Owen McKenzie notices it in the showers.
Owen knows he’s bi, but he keeps that secret close to his chest. He likes Harold, and wants to help him shed his dorky image and maybe even find a boyfriend. Still, Owen can’t stop obsessing about Harold’s equipment. And much as he doesn’t want to flip-flop on his sexuality, Owen does want to test-drive what Harold has between his legs.
Their friendship erupts into full-blown lust. But can Owen accept the loss of his golden child status and be Harold’s boyfriend? And can Harold outgrow his insecurity in time to keep the man he loves?
They say a guy can never be too big. Well—Harold Jacobs didn’t know who they were, but they were wrong. A guy could definitely too big. Sure, Harold’s family doctor had explained to him that women gave birth to babies, and that their vaginas…
He shivered, hardly able to think about it without making a face…
Their passages elongated during sex.
Not that Harold was ever going to find out whether sex would work with a vagina. What—with him being completely, one hundred percent gay. But still, he’d been stupid enough to ask his family doctor about it. And, predictably, the guy had reassured him that he was perfectly capable of having heterosexual sex.
At least, he thought that’s what Dr. Fredernick had said. It had been hard to understand him with all the stuttering and blushing.
Harold didn’t know what he’d been thinking, asking his mother to leave the room during his doctor’s appointment, when she’d taken him for his pre-college physical. What had he expected a seventy-year-old family physician to say that he hadn’t already learned online?
He stared sadly down at the thing—jutting between his legs like a saber, water dripping off the tip since he was in the shower. It was hard as usual. The fucker mocked him like that. He swore, his penis enjoyed getting hard all the time just because it made Harold extra awkward every moment of his life.
Birkenstock-wearing glamour girl and mother of two by immaculate conception, Daisy Harris still isn’t sure if she writes erotica. Her romances start out innocently enough. However, her characters behave like complete sluts. Much to Miss Harris’s dismay the sex tends to get completely out of hand.
She writes about fantastical creatures and about young men getting their freak on, and she’s never missed an episode of The Walking Dead
Daisy will be awarding a large-size dildo, a scented penis candle, as well as a $20 gift certificate to the winner’s choice of Barnes and Noble or Amazon to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.
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