Like a lot of men, I’m fascinated by finely-machined steel objects that can be assembled, disassembled, and tinkered with. I can’t not visit the Snap-On Tools van when it comes to my neighborhood, it’s got too many nifty chrome-steel toys in it. And the plumbing section of the hardware store is evil; I’m always in there screwing pipe fittings together and building little sculptures. Metal stuff makes the best toys, and even though I lost my Erector Set decades ago, I’ve never forgotten how much fun it was.

So, accordingly, I’m in awe of this new toy:

It’s called the Ballz Master and the marketing copy goes like this:

The Ballz Master Set is a tinker-toy lover’s dream collection, allowing you to assemble a huge range of different stainless steel dildos. You get two different end balls and one each of four middle balls. A total of eleven body segments in three different lengths provide lots of options for the finished length of your toys. You get a hefty base and handle, of course, and a sharp-looking padded aluminum case with foam insert to safely store and transport your Ballz!

I’m not sure how practical this toy set would be, but it sure would be fun to tinker with!

Sounds like Lex had a really good day, even for him:

It’s been said there’s no such thing as a bad blowjob. This is surely a lie. Anyone who makes this claim has never squirmed under a row of sharp teeth, nor suffered friction burns at the hands of a partner who just wants to get it over with, nor endured the lazy manipulations of a mouth that would rather be wrapped around something — anything — else.

There really isn’t such a thing as a bad double blow job, however. For one, any girl who teams up with a playmate to work you over is arguably well acquainted with the act of fellatio. And neither girl wants to look bad in front of the other, so they both bring their A games to the, er, court. If having two women at once is like winning the lottery, then having two women worship the knobbed idol of your masculinity is like winning the lottery and the Nobel Prize on the same afternoon.

Leslie and Peggy. Each one, in her own right, an accomplished flautist in the skin section of the orchestra; Leslie with her soft, silky lips and Peggy with her tongue ring and talented fingers. Both of them with their little tricks — a slight flick of the wrist or curl of the tongue. Both of them only too happy to fish Mr. Penis out of my trousers. Unprompted, naturally.

I kneeled and they had me together….

Similar Sex Blogging:

• A Discussion Of Phlebotomy
• Girls Who Share
• Two Girls, One Common Purpose

CJ at Boyspoke posts from the front lines in an LA gym, about getting glared at when looking at women:

The thing is, these women — you know, the ones at the gym? They’re dressed — umm — gorgeously. Yes, even at the gym. I mean, I know Spandex is a privilege and not a right, but these women deserve to wear Spandex. Some of them even go as far as to wear athletic bras. And just athletic bras…at least on top; yes, they put on stuff that covers their other parts. It’s like, hel-LO, gorgeous women are all around me and some of them are dressed in even less than the ones I see walking down the street!

Naturally, I look. And I’m not really a gawker, but there are some times when I’m checking out the women. You would, too. It’s not like I’m making comments and pointing or being incredibly obvious or anything like that, I’m just, you know…gently checking them out. The problem is: some of them apparently don’t take kindly to being checked out. I get dirty looks in return.

I call foul on that. In fact, I call triple-foul on that. For crying out loud, if you’re dressed in an outfit like that, how can you expect me not to check you out? You’re wearing next to nothing. And the stuff that you are wearing is barely leaving anything to the imagination. Honestly, I think it’s be a crime for me not to look.

Here’s my thing: If you don’t want to be checked out, then dress accordingly. If you don’t want me to look at your boobs, cover them. If you don’t want me to admire your legs, don’t wear short shorts. There’s no law that prohibits you from wearing a loose t-shirt and baggy track pants instead of a sports bra and Spandex Daisy Dukes. And if you do wear the sports bra and Spandex Daisy Dukes … you’re not allowed to be displeased when I check you out.

First of all, there’s admittedly a line between looking and leering that not all men can find — or maybe they just don’t care to. But if we assume, despite the dirty look evidence to the contrary, that CJ is safely on the right side of the line with his “gently checking them out”, what’s up with that?

I know the gym is a problem for some women; in my town we’ve got women-only gyms and gyms with women-only areas for just this reason. But at the coed gym, when a woman has dressed to impress, does she really expect the guys to maintain monastic eyes-front-and-downcast look-at-nothing-but-the-equipment-in-front-of-me eyeball discipline? If so, is she not manifestly insane?

I have my own theory, which is that when she’s dressed to impress but glaring at you for looking, you’re not in the category of people whose eye she hoped to catch. Just for instance, you might be a man, ugh, and she might be there to attract the gaze of another woman. Or you might not meet her standard of beauty; she wants to catch the eye of someone as svelte as herself, and can’t abide being looked at by some regularly-sized slug.

Snippet of overheard chat conversation in a random MMORPG:

R0N JEREMY > my brother said it would be a funny name…some porn star or something.

R0N JEREMY > he said i should tell people when i blew them up that they had been fucked by a pro.

This photograph of the incredibly edible Annie Cruz is one of those pictures that strikes you (well, it struck me) half-dumb from the sheer beauty of the model:

As the man in the bejeweled turban said: “Have that one bathed and sent to my tent.”

Er, Pasha? Begging your eminence’s pardon, but there may be a slight flaw in that plan.

It turns out that Annie is seen here mistressing in the Men In Pain femdom dungeons. If he’s not careful, our would-be acquisitive sheik could find himself tied by the balls to his own tent peak. But not, perhaps, without a bit of tenderness:

Even if you aren’t the sort of man who normally enjoys having a woman tie him up and be mean to him, the full shoot of Annie in action suggests that perhaps it wouldn’t be all bad….

You do not own title on your lover. You simply have lease on a part of their lives, whether you’re married or not. It is always, always, always in your best interest that your lover maintain some of their privacy and “me” time.

That’s what Steff says in a long post that makes some really good points. But I wonder…..is it ever a good idea to think that you own part of your lover? Steff’s right, nobody “owns title” on a lover, but even the idea of having a “lease on part of their lives” squicks me. To me that sounds too much like “I own this part of you,” and I usually have a hard enough time controlling my life to want the extra work of controlling part of somebody else’s.

D/s play is separate from my point. There, all parties agree on how the games go, and they’re there because they want to be there. They’re choosing. If there’s relationship papers involved, titles or leases or whatever, then some amount of choice gets lost. Maybe that works for some people, but not for me. What Steff said made me understand that J is good for me because right now he can’t own me, he’s still married although I guess that’s just technically since the divorce is going through the courts now. We just get together when we can and have the fun that we both want to have. I hope that doesn’t change once he’s divorced.

Speaking of J, he’s been out of town for awhile. Last night he sent me an email “Thinking of You,” and all it contained was the words to the song Black and Blue. “The harder the better, let’s do it ’til we’re black and blue”……I think we might be on the same page after all! I might get to find out this weekend, keep your fingers crossed for me!

I doubt there’s a man alive who hasn’t noticed that, as a good rule of thumb, if you pay for stuff when you’re with a woman of interest, you’re more likely to gain her affections. Some men draw the wrong lesson from this, and conclude that all women are “whores”. (Oddly enough, this soon becomes true for them; pretty quick the only women in their lives are ones who trade faux affection for money and loot.)

Smart guys know better. Smart guys know that a generously applied wallet is a form of hospitality; it’s a means of expressing your willingness to take care of a lady. And there ain’t hardly anybody in this world who doesn’t enjoy being taken care of, whether they need it or not.

And, it works. Just ask Midwest:

I know that it sounds weird, and I reiterate that’s it’s not about the money, but it’s very sexy when a guy insists on paying. It’s a manly-man thing to do. It communicates the desire to take care of me. I think it appeals to a biological drive to be cared for by men.

I realize that’s not P.C. to say, and women very well may not need to be taken care of, but it feels nice when we are. Being around him – having him pick up the checks, cover the gas and open my doors – makes me feel more feminine. And in turn, I view him as more masculine.

Suddenly the sweet lil’ pup at the copy machine has morphed into a hunky mountain climber with big guns, solid quads and a generous spirit.

And I kind of have a crush on him.