Category Archives: Jack Fisher’s Insights

An Interesting Conversation I Had With A (Transgender) Woman

Every now and then, my various curiosities on sexy and unsexy topics alike will lead to some unexpected insights. Personally, I love those insights. It’s just so easy to put yourself in your own custom echo-chamber that those moments are more important now than ever.

Just his past week, I had a very revealing conversation with someone on Reddit that caught me off-guard, but in a good way. It came shortly after I posted my article on the prospect of transplanting a uterus into a person who was born a man so that they could bear children. When I wrote that piece, I got an unexpected reaction, but one that taught me something I never would’ve learned otherwise.

I’ve written about transgender issues before, but not often. I fully concede that I know very little about transgender issues. I haven’t really interact with transgender individuals. Unless you count my love of Mystique from the X-men, I really don’t have much understanding of the whole transgender phenomenon.

As a result, the article I wrote about transplanting uteri reflected that ignorance. I later found out that the transgender people who read it took offense to some of my rhetoric. For this, I apologize. I honestly didn’t understand why my words were offensive at first. Then, a very kind, very understandable transgender woman helped me understand.

Since I don’t have permission to reveal her name or even her username, I won’t say it, out of respect for her privacy. Also, I am calling her a she and that’s perfectly valid for reasons that I hope will become clear. To me, she is a woman, regardless of what the Ben Shapiros of the world may claim.

Prior to writing my article, I didn’t buy into the notion that people who identify as transgender have some sort of mental illness. I accepted the conclusions of the American Psychological Association in that that they felt they were born the wrong gender. As it turns out, that’s not even half the story.

Here’s how the woman on Reddit described it to me in ways that go beyond what you’ll read on Wikipedia.

“I know exactly what’s missing inside my abdomen, and it feels weird, as though I have the drivers for hardware that was never installed. My experience is comparable enough to other infertile women I know that we’ve been able to comfort each other, but one does tend to feel a bit broken in a society that puts such a premium on motherhood. I started trying to plan for eventual pregnancy around age four or so when my little brother was born, and it took a few years before I learned it wasn’t going to happen barring cool future technology.”

I found this to be incredibly revealing. As a man whose body and mind are fairly in sync, in terms of gender idenity, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around that. However, this woman had to spend a good chunk of her life dealing with this fundamental disconnect.

It’s not so much that she’s a woman who was born as a man. She was always a woman in the same way I was always a man. It’s not that she has a penis instead of a vagina. It’s that she’s missing the parts she already feels she has, but the biological hardware doesn’t reflect that. It’s not like being born without a limb. It’s more akin to being born with a different limb than the one your brain says should be there.

Unfortunately, it’s that outer hardware that made her look like a man that led everyone to treat her like a man while expecting her to behave as such. That’s more than a little jarring. That utterly undermines a huge chunk of your identity.

Imagine, for a moment, waking up one day and having everyone treat you as the opposite gender. Imagine having to live every day, wanting to be treated like a woman, but instead being treated like a man. That’s what it’s like for many transgender individuals. She best summed it up like this.

“Trans people aren’t an especially interesting mystery once you get past the first basic fact: I’m not a man who became a woman. I’m a woman who was treated like a boy until she was old enough to fix her body without having to ask for permission.”

It’s still an amazing thought to contemplate, having an identity that is completely inconsistent with your body. The idea that our minds and our bodies aren’t on the same page is hard for anyone to imagine, which is a big reason why there are so many misconceptions about transgender people.

In a sense, I get why some get so hostile about the very idea of transgender issues. To them, gender is determined by your chromosomes and nothing else. If you have a Y-chromosome, you’re a man, regardless of how you look. It’s simple, concise, and easy to grasp. Like many aspects of biology, though, it’s only part of a much bigger picture.

Anyone who tries to reduce complex biological and psychological concepts into simple, easy-to-understand bullet points are almost always wrong to some extent. As I’ve said before, biology and human behavior are extremely complex. Chromosomes are just a small ingredient in a much larger biological cocktail.

Chromosomes are just DNA and DNA is just a blueprint. You can’t entirely define a person by their DNA any more than you can define a building by its blueprints. Sure, those blueprints are part of the process, but they’re not nearly as influential as all the hardware that actually create the structure.

A transgender person is no more defined by their DNA than anyone else. Sure, your DNA can effect you in many ways, but it’s not the only factor. Life, people, and the world around them is just too chaotic, complex, and dynamic to be reduced to something that simple.

As such, I sincerely thank this kind, patient woman for giving me this insight into a world I wouldn’t have otherwise learned about. I don’t doubt there’s a lot I don’t know. The way I write about transgender issues may still come off as ill-informed or even offensive. For that, I apologize.

However, as someone with a general interest in people and the way they see themselves, sexually, I hope to learn more. The fact that someone took the time to help me by sharing her insights makes me all the more astonished by the breadth of human experiences.

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My Top 5 Favorite Fan Theories

There are many guilty pleasures on the internet these days, although only a few require a total clearing of your browser history. I don’t deny enjoying some of those pleasures, but there is one in particular that I’ve grown fond of in recent years. It’s one of the few that requires extra thinking, but in a fun, non-tedious sort of way.

I’m referring about fan theories, also known as the biggest chunk of Reddit that doesn’t involve celebrities answering random questions about their genitals. Now, I didn’t realize how much I loved fan theories until I started exploring them. Like pumpkin spice lattes, they’re one of those strange novelties you don’t know you like until you try them.

I didn’t even know they were a thing until Cracked.com started doing articles about them. I was among those who didn’t bother reading too much into a TV show, movie, or song. I just took them in, singled out the ones that had beautiful women in bikinis, and enjoyed the extra butter in my popcorn. Fan theories inspired me to dig a little deeper and sometimes, it can change the overall experience for the better.

Granted, some fan theories are going to be much more absurd than others, as many “Game of Thrones” fans will attest. Some are so absurd that creators have to come out and shoot it down, as a “Friends” co-creator had to do when a theory involving Phoebe and meth-fueled fantasies gained popularity. Yes, these theories can get that crazy.

Sure, those crazier fan theories are good for a laugh, but I prefer fan theories that add nuance and depth to the story. Even if they require a few contrivances here and there, I find that they enhance the overall impact of the narrative. Sometimes, they can even clarify some ambiguous plot points.

As a general fan of stories that have impact, both in the heart and in the loins, there are certain fan theories that resonate with me more than others. That’s why I’d like to list my top five favorite fan theories and why I think they improve the overall story. If nothing else, I hope it gets people to watch a little closer at the media they consume. They may surprise themselves by how a little imagination can add to the experience.


Fan Theory #1: James Bond Is A Title, Not A Name

This fan theory is beautiful in its simplicity. It doesn’t require a huge stretch of the imagination. If anything, it helps connect a few dots that you didn’t even know where there. No matter which version of James Bond you prefer, from Sean Connery to Daniel Craig, this theory fits into it.

The concept is simple. James Bond, like the 007 designation itself, isn’t the name of an actual person. It’s a title. This doesn’t necessarily mean that every James Bond movie ever made fits into the same continuity. It just means James Bond is less a person and more a concept.

He represents the epitome of a spy, a badass, and a smooth-talking ladies man. In every era, from the Cold War to today, there’s a need for men like that. James Bond represents the ideal for those men. Like Navy Seals, only a few have what it takes. Those select few earn the right to go by that name that makes women of all eras swoon. I find that inherently poetic.

If you subscribe to this theory, it even enhances other movies. It ties directly into a theory about the movie, “The Rock,” and somehow it makes Sean Connery even more badass. The sheer reach of this theory is part of why it’s my favorite.


Fan Theory #2: Stan Lee Is The Watcher

As a die-hard comic book fan, which I’ve made clear on many occasions, this theory is near and dear to my heart, if only because it further immortalizes the legend that is Stan “The Man” Lee.

As anyone who has seen a Marvel movie since 2000 knows, Stan Lee often appears as a cameo in every movie. From a hot dog vendor in “X2: X-men United” to a Fed Ex guy in “Captain America: Civil War,” he seems to pop up everywhere, regardless of which studio owns the movie rights.

Well, this fan theory takes those appearances and turns them into something more than just a fun gimmick. It says that Stan is actually playing the same character in all his appearances, namely that of Uatu, The Watcher. Those who know Marvel lore understand why this is a big deal and why it makes so much sense.

The Watcher is like a cosmic historian, documenting and cataloging every major event in the Marvel universe, going back to the beginning. He’s been known to change appearance and show up unexpectedly throughout the comics. Who better encapsulates that spirit other than Stan “The Man” Lee?

This is actually one of those theories that became so popular that it was effectively confirmed in “Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 2” wherein Stan Lee is shown interacting with the Watchers. It could mean that this theory might expand the breadth of the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe, a feat that only Stan himself could hope to accomplish.


Fan Theory #3: R2-D2 And Chewbacca Are Secret Rebel Agents

I don’t deny it. I’ve seen every Star Wars movie to date in the theaters and I love every one of them, Jar Jar Binks notwithstanding. I know there’s a popular Jar Jar fan theory that helps make “The Phantom Menace” somewhat more interesting, but I don’t think it does much to enhance the overall saga.

That’s why this theory about R2-D2 and Chewbacca is much more intriguing. It claims that at the end of “Revenge of the Sith,” R2 did not get its memory wiped. Why would it? It witnessed the rise of the Empire and the fall of Anakin Skywalker. That’s very useful information for the future rebellion.

However, R2 and anyone else associated with the old Jedi order needs to lay low once Palpatine comes to power. That’s where Chewbacca comes in, who already established a relationship with Yoda in “Revenge of the Sith.” By becoming an agent of Yoda and the rebels, he can coordinate with R2 to spread intel among the rebellion right under the Empire’s nose.

It also explains how he ended up with Han Solo, a smuggler who constantly annoys the empire with his criminal activities. By being on Tattooine, he can keep an eye on Luke along with Obi-Wan while relaying intel.

More than any other theory, it provides connective tissue between the prequels and the sequels. It also makes R2 even more lovable, which in and of itself is quite an accomplishment.


Fan Theory #4: Andy’s Parents Are Going Through (A Nasty) Divorce

Honestly, who doesn’t love “Toy Story?” I question the emotional health of anyone who doesn’t. It’s such a fun, upbeat story full of heart and emotion. It helped make Pixar the gold standard for animated movies that make adults cry like children.

Well, get some tissues because this fan theory makes “Toy Story” just a little bit more emotional, if you can believe that. It helps make sense of why Andy is so imaginative, preferring to play with toys for hours on end in his room. The answer is simple, but solemn. His parents are going through a nasty divorce.

While there’s nothing in the movies that directly hint at it, the absence of Andy’s father is somewhat telling. Some eagle-eyed fans have even pointed out that Andy’s mother isn’t wearing a wedding ring. That hints that there’s something amiss in his home life. Either Andy’s father left his family or he got kicked out of the house. It also explains why the family was moving in the first movie.

I like this theory because it adds some context to Andy’s home life. It makes me understand why he loves his toys so much. He creates these wonderful worlds in his mind to escape and cope with a tough situation. Compared to what he could’ve done, I think it’s both healthy and refreshing.


Fan Theory #5: The Dinosaurs In “Jurassic Park” Are NOT Dinosaurs

The appeal of “Jurassic Park” is pretty easy to understand. In terms of summer blockbusters, it checks all the right boxes. It involves cute kids, running from monsters, and wondrous imagery that doesn’t entirely rely on CGI. It’s so wondrous that you don’t care that the dinosaurs in that movie look nothing like actual dinosaurs and the science behind making them is impossible in the real world.

That’s why this fan theory is so compelling because it adds an extra layer to that wonder. Simply put, Jurassic Park has no dinosaurs. All those creatures you see in every movie aren’t based on any actual creatures that once lived. They were all genetically engineered to simply look like what people think are dinosaurs.

While that may help make sense of why the creatures in the movies don’t resemble anything we see in the fossil record, it adds an even greater amount of intrigue to “Jurassic Park” because it gives Dr. Hammond a more subtle motivation. Why would he even ask a couple of paleontologist to visit his park in the first place?

This theory gives a more clear-cut answer in that Hammond knew that if he could fool a couple of paleontologists, then he knew he was onto something. He could call the creatures in his park dinosaurs instead of some zoo for genetic monstrosities. Remember, he wants to appeal to family and kids.

This theory, like the Stan Lee/Watcher theory, actually got some level of confirmation in “Jurassic World.” In that movie, Dr. Henry Wu flat out says that “there are no dinosaurs in Jurassic World.” Everything was engineered to up the spectacle. It’s one of those theories that makes too much sense, but in a good way.

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What If We Didn’t Have To Sleep?

Last week, I went to bed early in hopes of getting some extra sleep. The next couple of days were going to be long and busy. I wanted to be as rested as possible in anticipation. Any over-worked college student who ever tried to do this in anticipation of an exam probably knows where I’m going with this.

My hopes were quickly dashed because I ended up lying in bed for several hours, tossing and turning, trying to will myself to sleep. I was tired and usually I’m pretty good at falling asleep when I need to, but not on this night. For whatever reason, I just couldn’t get the rest I wanted.

It was frustrating, but easily resolved the next day with more coffee. However, in recalling that frustration, I found myself thinking back to all the other nights where I just lay there in bed, trying to sleep and failing miserably. It led me to one inescapable conclusion. That’s a lot of wasted time that I could’ve used to do something else.

With that time, I could’ve written dozens of more sexy novels. For all I know, one of them might have been a masterpiece and a best seller. Sure, it’s more likely that most of them would either be average or crap, but the fact is I still would’ve written them.

With that time, I also could’ve read more books written more content for this blog, or worked out more. How much healthier or more well-read would I be? Sure, a lot of those books might have been comics, but I’ve shown before that comics can provide some pretty uncanny insights.

With that time, I could’ve just done more of the mundane stuff that gives me joy. I could’ve played more video games, danced to terrible pop music, or binged-watched more of the shows that my friends and family keep recommending.

My point is that I’ve wasted a lot of time in bed, failing to fall asleep. I doubt I’m alone either. How many others out there struggle to fall asleep at night? Seeing as how the market for sleeping pills is around $58 billion, I imagine it’s more than a few.

I’m not saying sleep is a waste of time. There’s a biological need associated with sleep. Like food, not getting enough of it will actually kill you in the long run. That puts sleep just above sex in terms of the needs hierarchy, albeit not by much. While the need for sleep is somewhat of a mystery, we know we have to do it. We just don’t realize how much of it consumes our lives.

As it stands, we spend about a third of our lives sleeping. That means every day we’re alive, we’re stuck only living part of it. That’s a lot of time that we end up losing. That leads me to a simple, but colorful thought experiment. What if we could get that time back? What if we, as a whole, didn’t have to sleep or only needed a little to be refreshed?

This isn’t one of my overly sexy or overly disturbing thought experiments. This is basically akin to wondering what it would be like to have superpowers, something most people do on a daily basis when they’re stuck in traffic. Not sleeping may not be as impressive as flying like Superman, but it would incur an undeniable impact on our lives and our society.

Some of it might be good. Some of it might be bad. Some of it might be downright mundane. For certain people, not sleeping just means more time sitting on the couch watching “Star Trek” re-runs. Whatever the case, it has many possibilities for better, for worse, and everything in between.

As much as I enjoy sleeping naked, I would prefer to have more time and energy to do more things. I might even end up doing those things naked anyways so it wouldn’t be too much of a loss. Sure, that might cause some legal issues, but I’m willing to make that trade-off.

There are a lot of things I’d like to do, try, or explore. The problem is often a confluence of time, energy, and focus. I don’t always have enough of all three and sometimes one overcompensates for the other. The need to sleep is the only factor that ties into all them.

I get that there are some who genuinely enjoy sleep. I admit it’s a great feeling, waking up on a Saturday morning, feeling rested and refreshed. However, is it really worth all that time we miss? Who’s to say that what we do with that extra time won’t be just as rewarding? Like I said, there are trade-offs.

I’m not sure what I would do if I didn’t have to sleep so much, but I like to think I’d be able to do more and be better. What about you, the wonderful readers of this humble, yet sexy website? What would you do if you had an extra eight hours of life every day? Would you be more productive? Would you be happier? Would you succumb faster to the looming plague of boredom?

It’s a non-disturbing, non-sexual thought experiment that I encourage everyone to try it and share your thoughts in the comments. We’re all the mercy of our need to sleep to some extent. It’s interesting to imagine what our lives would be like or what kind of person we’d become if we had more time to work with.

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A Scary (Yet Sexy) Story Before Halloween

It’s the day before Halloween. I’m already working up an appetite for candy, I’ve binge-watched an unhealthy amount of slasher movies, and I’m eagerly awaiting the sexy costumes I’m sure to see. Halloween is an underrated holiday, is what I’m saying. I’ve said it before, but it’s worth belaboring.

In the spirit of this sweet, sexy holiday that adults and kids alike can embrace, I’d like to contribute in a way that goes beyond handing out candy, drinking pumpkin ale, or wearing my sexy male nurse costume. Yes, I have a sexy male nurse costume. Men can be sexy nurses too, you know?

While I’m sure some are burned out watching overly-censored version of “Friday The 13th” and “Halloween” on cable, I think there’s still room for a scary, yet sexy Halloween story. As it just so happens, I happen to have one that I would like to share. Hopefully, it gets everyone in the Halloween spirit. If it makes you horny too, then that’s just a bonus.

This particular story takes place during my first year of college. I’ve shared sexy college stories before, but this one is unique in that it was more a legend around campus. I wasn’t there when it happened, but it had already become part of the culture there and, being a curious freshman, it really resonated with me.

Apparently, this story had been circulating around the school for a couple years now. Nobody knew that it was true, but it sounded like it could be true and that’s kind of what made it scary. Sure, it has a sexy twist, but there’s still that creepy undertone that you only ever feel around clown, black cats, or guys wearing hockey masks.

It didn’t have an official name, but I called it “The Tale Of The Cursed Cupcakes.” I promise it’s not as corny as it sounds. I also apologize if I get some of the details wrong because it has been a while since I told this story, but I think it’s worth sharing on the night before Halloween.


The sun had just set. Halloween had officially begun. A young couple, Eric and Karen, were set to go to the biggest Halloween party on campus. This was one of those parties that only a select few got invited to. Eric happened to be a former roommate with someone who helped organize it so they managed to get in. For him and his girlfriend, it was a big deal.

They go to the party wearing their best costumes. He’s dressed as a pirate. She’s dressed as sexy school girl. They arrive at an upscale apartment just off campus. It’s a place usually reserved for students at the school who have rich parents, scholarships, or both. The food is better, the alcohol isn’t cheap, and the toilets actually work. By college standards, it might as well be a luxury penthouse.

Eric and Karen arrive at the party just after eight. They meet up with the host, a somewhat colorful character named Michael Bowers. He has a reputation throughout campus as being somewhat eccentric. His family contribute heavily to the school and works as a trainer with the football team, which gives him all sorts of access. The guy has connections and he’s not afraid to use them.

As soon as they enter the party, they find out he’s used them well. He reserves the party room at his apartment building and he goes all out. He orders multiple kegs, sets up tables full of snacks, and even hires a professional DJ. At the center of it all is this big plate of cupcakes, each designed to look like eyeballs with big blue irises. Karen finds them kind of creepy, but she figures that’s just part of the Halloween theme.

“Welcome!” Michael greets them, dressed as a vampire. “Here, have a cupcake or several. I promise they’ll get you in the spirit!”

“Whatever,” Eric says, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m just here to have a good time with my girl.”

“You’re sweet, babe,” Karen replies, giving him a nice kiss.

They both eat their cupcakes. They’re warm and sweet, definitely better than anything bought in a store. Eric ends up having another. Then, he and Karen grab some beer, some snacks, and start dancing to all sorts of Halloween-themed music.

More people arrive. Michael greets every one of them, offering everyone cupcakes. Most accept them, thinking little of it. They then join in the fun. They eat, they dance, and they laugh. Like Karen and Eric, they want to have a good time.

Then, after a couple hours or so, everyone has had their share of drinks and snacks. Intoxication takes over and inhibitions disappear. It’s fun, decadent, and everything Karen and Eric expect of a party. Then, Karen starts to notice something odd.

Eric, who isn’t that drunk, gets a little friskier than she expects. As he dances with her, he starts kissing her neck, feeling up her thighs, and even squeezing her butt. This surprises her because he’s usually doesn’t get that overt in public. He usually saves that kind of intimate touching for the bedroom. He’s kind like that.

Before she knows it, though, his touching becomes more overt. He kisses her in the middle of the dance floor and not in a romantic sort of way. He does so in a way that makes it clear he wants to fuck her.

“God, I want you, Karen,” he tells her with an almost-predatory tone. “I’m so fucking horny right now!”

At first, she thinks he’s just drunk. Then, she feels it. When he pulls her deeper into his arms, it literally pokes her right in the thigh. Eric has a raging hard-on. He doesn’t even try to hide it. When she looks down, she sees he has pitched a full tent in his pants. It’s so big and hard it looks like the seams are ready to burst.

“Eric, what has gotten into you?” Karen wonders.

That’s when she notices something else. Looking around her, she sees similar behaviors between other couples. Some are already making out. Some rushing into darkened rooms. Some are engaged in full-fledged foreplay right on the spot. It’s not coy or playful either. It’s like something has gotten into them.

“Fuck, I’m so hard right now!” she hears one man say.

“Hey! Someone get in my pants right now! I’ve got a hungry snake and he’s ready to bite!” says another.

It’s getting intense. The men around her, and even some of the women, seem possessed. Something has gotten into them and it’s not just the alcohol. They’re like animals in heat. Someone or something has provoked them and Eric is one of them.

He’s now looking at her with the eyes of a hungry animal. She’s never seen him like this before. He’s usually so polite and sweet. On this night, though, he’s a raging ball of masculine prowess and he wants to take it out on her. At first, Karen is worried that something might be wrong with him.

Then, he does it. Eric leans in, nibbles on her ear, and slips a hand between her legs. He does this because he knows it turns her on. He knows it gets her in the mood. He doesn’t usually do it unless the time is right. This might not be that time, but it’s too late. The damage has been done. Now, she’s horny too. Whatever monster has consumed her boyfriend has consumed her as well.

“Please, Karen,” he whispers into her ear with that tone he knows she can’t resist. “I want to fuck.”

“Okay,” she tells him. “Let’s go find some privacy.”

“I know just the place!”

Without hesitation, he grabs her hand and leads her away from the party. He’s been to this apartment complex before. He knows it better than most. He practically sprints across the building, eventually finding the locker room area near the pool, which has been closed for the night.

They enter. It was odd that it had been unlocked, but Karen didn’t bother making sense of it. She just followed her boyfriend inside. He then led her towards one of the changing areas, pinned her against the wall, and slid her panties down her skirt.

There was little foreplay or sexy talk, which was unlike Eric, who was such a caring lover. When he dropped his pants, though, she saw the sheer size of his erection and was convinced.

“Fuck! What has gotten into you, Eric?” Karen gasped in amazement.

“I don’t know, but I want it in you too!” he tells her.

He makes good on his desires. With that massive boner, he goes onto give Karen the hardest, rawest fuck of her life. It’s so raw and primal, as though a demon has possessed her boyfriend and the only way to exorcise it was to fuck her senseless. It was intense, but powerful. She could even feel it herself, this demonic lust filling her as he fucked her.

It’s not quick either. He ends up fucking her multiple times, blowing multiple loads. Karen finds herself climaxing more than once too. She swears she hasn’t come this many times since her prom night. For a moment, it seems as though this demonic lust was going to consume them completely.

Eventually, though, they vent their powerful lusts. They’re tired, sore, and dazed. Karen is still a little scared. What just came over them? What just happened?

“We should go,” she finally says after all is said and done.

“Yeah, we should,” Eric says, sounding just as overwhelmed.

They leave the party without saying goodbye. They make it back to the dorm where they shower, sober up, and fall asleep.

The next day is awkward and confusing. They’re still not sure what to make of it. Eric is unusually silent. Karen worries that the monstrous lust is still in him and he’s trying to fight it. She starts to worry whether that party brought out something in them they didn’t know. Did that party reveal a monstrous side to them that they weren’t ready to handle?

Then, later that day, they’re in their dorm together. Eric gets a phone call. It’s his own roommate who’d gotten him an invite to the party. At first, Karen doesn’t make much of it. Then, she hears Eric burst out laughing. Curious, she approaches her boyfriend.

“What’s going on, Eric? What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Viagra,” he tells her, still laughing hysterically. “The cupcakes had Viagra in them!”


That, my friends, is “The Tale Of The Cursed Cupcakes.” I hope it helps inspire your Halloween spirit, among other things. Again, this is a story I only heard from my fellow schoolmates. I don’t know if it’s true. I don’t think it matters. It doesn’t make the story any less sexy.

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Birthdays And Mid-Life Crisis: Should I Worry?

What goes through the mind of a person having a mid-life crisis? I used to ask that question a lot and laugh at the implications. Now, I ask that question more than I care to and often dread the implications.

Recently, I just celebrated my birthday. I’m not an old fart just yet, but I’m long past the age of celebrating birthdays with candles, puppets, and trips to Chuck E. Cheese. I can’t really call myself young anymore either. The fact I often recall my colorful college years is proof enough of that.

As of now, I think it’s safe to say I’m middle age. I’m in the early part of my 30s. I’m not married, I have no kids, and I’m single. While I’ve had a few failed efforts at online dating, I’m currently a long way away from having a stable relationship. That makes me worry that I’m on track for a mid-life crisis.

That may come off as paranoid, on my part. According to actual research on the subject, which does exist, people don’t have these things until their mid-forties at the earliest. However, I feel as though I check one too many boxes with respect to men who end up overly obsessing about where they are or aren’t at a certain point in their lives.

Maybe I’m just overreacting, after having celebrated a birthday that reminded me I’m a year older. I hope that’s the case because I don’t think I would handle a mid-life crisis well. According to WebMD, these are the signs that a man may be going through one and isn’t handling it in a healthy way:

  • You’re uneasy about major elements in your life
  • You feel that your time for taking a new direction is running short
  • You’re making unusual choices
  • You feel trapped and are tempted to act out in ways that will blow up your life

Either one of these symptoms is something I don’t think I’d handle well. In the past, I’ve shown an ability to effectively shame myself into changing my habits for the better. Who’s to say it won’t work in the opposite direction? I like to think I have enough perspective to avoid that, but I don’t know for sure what age will do to that perspective.

I’ve also had a tendency to be significantly behind the curve when it comes to social skills. Based on the particulars of a mid-life crisis, I worry that I might start pushing myself in unhealthy ways to unhealthy extremes. In a mid-life crisis, I imagine I won’t learn just how unhealthy it is until it’s too late.

This may all still be paranoia on my part. It might also be me worrying about getting deeper into my 30s, but still being single. I’ve already had that cause some issues in the past. As I get older and remain single, I’m sure those issues will continue.

It doesn’t help that a lot of friends and family members are starting to get married, have children, or get involved in long-term relationships. When I was in my 20s, I could sort of get away with being an outlier. I could just fall back on youth, inexperience, and stupidity. Those were good excuses, but like all excuses, they eventually become hallow.

Perhaps that’s what has me most worried about the prospect of a mid-life crisis. In talking about excuse banking, I’ve had to think a lot more about the excuses I’ve made in the past and the ones I still make to this day. I’m making these excuses at a time when I’m happy, healthy, and not feeling too old.

That could change a great deal after a few too many birthdays. Beyond the fact that the body always breaks down with age, the world around me is constantly changing. It’s a given that at some point in my life, I’m going to feel a certain level of stress, regret, and anxiety. That might tempted more than just extra excuses.

I’m not sure how that will manifest. Maybe I’ll go wild for a while at parties that I have no business attending. Maybe I’ll try to marry a random stranger on a trip to Las Vegas. Maybe I’ll buy a custom sex doll and name it after one of the characters in my books. It’s hard to know until it happens. I don’t want it to happen, but celebrating another birthday makes me wonder whether it’s inevitable.

In many respects, I’m well-equipped to either survive a mid-life crisis or avoid it altogether. I have a very strong support network among friends and family. I’m very close to my siblings, my parents, and my friends. A lot of them, especially my parents, know me better than I know myself. If I’m going through something, they’ll often pick up on it before I do.

Having that kind of support always helps. They’ve been a big part of what has inspired me to write this blog and my novels. I sincerely hope that one day, I can find a beautiful, loving woman to share that inspiration with as well. I’m working on that, but for the moment, I’m more vulnerable to a mid-life crisis than most.

At the moment, though, I’m still healthy, sane, and sexy as I’ve ever been. If that changes, chances are my posts on this blog will get a lot crazier and for a blog that has referenced sex robots, sex-positive superheroes, and cheesy romance movies that few men admit to liking, that’s saying a lot.

For this year, though, I’m going to enjoy all the birthday wishes I got from friends and family. I’m going to lavishly spend all the gift cards and eat all the cake. I’ll even have myself an extra beer for good measure.

Another year in this world has helped me improve as a person and as an aspiring erotica/romance writer. I want to keep improving. I also want to be ready for the moment when things in my life get rough.

I know if I can overcome them, I’ll be even better. Maybe I’ll even be able to get a few sexy novels out of them as well. If that kind of story helps me build my success, then I’m willing to endure in the name of all things sexy.

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The Moment I Realized My Flirting Skills Sucked (A Personal Story From A Comic Book Store)

In my experience, those who say flirting is an art, not a science, either look like a celebrity, are insanely rich, or have giant dicks/tits. They think they understand flirting. They don’t realize that a lot of what they do is showing off and being inherently luckier than most.

I don’t claim to be an expert on flirting. In fact, for most of my adult life, I barely qualified as a novice. My idea of flirting involved a few compliments, lots of stammering, and the kind of goofy laughing that that even the Joker would find awkward. Eventually, I did learn to have meaningful conversations with the opposite sex. I kind of had to in order to write sexy novels. However, it was an arduous process, to say the least.

I had a lot of weird problems talking to people growing up, but not in the way you might think. Talk to any one of my family members, siblings, or relatives and they’ll tell you the same thing. As a kid, I could talk for hours with other adults, even if I wasn’t related to them. When it came to talking to people my own age, though, especially women, I might as well have been a brain damaged horse.

I don’t entirely understand the forces behind that awkwardness. Even some of my old teachers found it strange. All I know is that once puberty did its thing and I felt the urge to do more than just talk to women, things got even stranger. I’m pretty sure I came off as a socially inept alien from another planet. Maybe some girls thought that was cute, but not enough to respond to my pitiful attempts at flirting.

I know the art of flirting with women is a full-fledged industry these days, but I doubt it would’ve helped make my teenage years less awkward. I’ve shared some fairly dark moments in that life, most of them taking place in high school. I’ve also shared some fun, sexy moments, most of which took place in college.

Well, I’d like to share another personal story that perfectly depicts my complete inability to flirt in a way that doesn’t make someone uncomfortable/annoyed. It involves a comic book store so it’s a story that has some added weight too. Given my documented love of comics, I think it’s fitting that I realized how inept I am at flirting at one of my favorite places to be that doesn’t serve donuts and beer.

This particular incident took place early in my sophomore year of college. At the time, I’d adjusted fairly well to college life. I thought my social skills were also improving. I think I grossly overestimated some of my improvements, but in my defense, I was still healing from the scars left by high school.

It began like most Wednesdays do for me, restless and eager. For those of you who don’t know, new comic books are released on Wednesdays so that means this is basically every comic fan’s favorite day of the week. It’s like Christmas comes every week and you don’t have to put up any decorations.

The college I went to had a comic book store right in the downtown area and every Wednesday afternoon after my final class, I made it a point to run down there as fast as I could without looking like a dog was chasing me. It was often the highlight of my week, provided I didn’t have a mid-term.

Since I didn’t have a mid-term on this week, I made my way to the comic book store feeling as giddy as dog in a asshole factory. When I got there, the guy working there, with whom I was on a first-name basis, already had my comics pulled for me. I was ready to spend the rest of my Wednesday in a state of comic book bliss. That’s when I saw her.

Out of respect for her privacy, I won’t use her real name. For now, I’ll just call her Sandra. Picture Wonder Woman with shorter hair and more eye-liner. That’s how this woman looked. Naturally, my hormones nearly short-circuited my brain and butterflies were doing nude oil wrestling in my stomach. Yes, it was that intense a moment.

While I know it sounds like a bad stereotype that inspires bad milkshake-themed internet memes, there is some truth to it. A cute girl in a comic book store, even today, isn’t just a rarity. It’s a spectacle. This girl might as well have been a unicorn riding a white rhino. Her being in that store felt like a gift from the comic gods or whatever god just thought I finally deserved some luck in my love life.

I usually spend a few minutes browsing the comics anyways so I walked up to the girl, saw what she was reading, and started talking to her. Unlike my previous efforts to communicate with women, it wasn’t that awkward and for good reason. She was reading comics. That’s something I know. That’s something I can talk about for hours without stuttering.

I think I spent a good half-hour just talking to her about the comics she was reading. She actually talked back. She even smiled at me a few times. I’m not going to lie. My heart skipped several beats and my pants felt at least two sizes tighter. If ever there was a time when I was going to get a woman interested in me, this was it.

Then, I found a way to screw it up. I’m sorry, but this story doesn’t have a happy or sexy ending.

I knew from the get-go that I was going to try and ask this girl out. Talking about comics for hours on end is one thing, though. Actually taking that step towards asking her out is another. After I sense she’s ready to leave, I try to make my move. This is where the stuttering and awkwardness returns with a vengeance. Not even Batman could’ve helped me here.

I don’t remember exactly how I worded it. I might have started speaking Greek, for all I know. She looked like Wonder Woman so maybe that helped. I do remember, though, that she gave me her number so I must have said something right. It was actually a huge milestone because that was the first time a woman had ever given me her number.

Again, this story doesn’t have a happy or sexy ending. Getting that number was the high point of this story. It all went downhill after that because I basically handled this accomplishment in all the wrong ways.

It started with me trying to call her the next day and leaving her an awkward, stammering voicemail. I’m pretty sure that voicemail alone made her change the combination lock on her panties. I then tried to call her again that evening and left another horribly awkward voicemail.

I know they were horrible because as soon as I hung up my phone, I realized how pathetic they sounded. They were not the words of someone who had the confidence to be anyone’s lover. They sounded like someone who just didn’t know how to react to a situation where he had to be articulate and flirty with a woman.

I know women well enough to understand that they have a variety of tastes when it comes to prospective lovers, but few are attracted to anyone who sounds that inept. Needless to say, I never saw Sandra again. I tried calling her erratically over the next several weeks. I think she might have answered just once, if only because she felt sorry for me. That wasn’t enough for her to give me a chance, though.

Eventually, I stopped calling her and deleted her from my phone. When I noticed her not showing up at the comic book store anymore, I took that as a sign that I’d probably made a less-than-flattering impression. I can’t say I blamed her for avoiding me. I was needy, awkward, and inept in talking about anything that didn’t relate to comics. That just doesn’t check a lot of boxes for women looking for prospective lovers.

It counts as a low-light in my love life, but one that I learned from. It was that incident with Sandra that made me realize just how much I needed to improve my flirting skills and my communication skills, in general. It seemed so daunting at the time, but it was a catalyst, of sorts. It helped me realize that these skills with women aren’t just going to come to me. I have to actually work at it.

I’m still no expert. I barely qualify as an amateur when it comes to flirting. However, I am confident in saying that I’m much better than I was on that fateful day I encountered Sandra. If she were to show up again, even if it isn’t in a comic book store, I’m confident I could do more than just talk comics with her. I’m not saying I’d get her number again, but I sure as hell wouldn’t be that pathetic.

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Another Sexy College Story (Kind Of In The Way You Think)

By now, I imagine most college freshmen are settling into their new life of exams, late-night studying, and awful cafeteria food. I understand it’s a transition. It takes some getting used to, living on your own for the first time and having to be responsible for your own laundry. It can be jarring at first, but you come to appreciate it quickly.

College is a strange, but amazing experience. It’s like the last rest stop on the road to adulthood and you’re not entirely sure if your bladder is up to task. However, once you go through and do your business, you’re off on your own and ready to be an adult. It’s scare, but you really come to appreciate being able to buy beer without a fake ID.

Compared to the prison sentence/nightmare that was high school, college was breath of fresh air and a mouth full of chocolate fudge. I learned more in those four years than I did the last ten of public school. I actually got to forge my own path, make my own decisions, and carry myself like an adult and not some brooding teenager. It might have been the best therapy I could’ve gotten at that point in my life.

As part of that process, college had its share of sexy experiences for me, but not entirely in the way you think. There were a number of events in college that really made clear to me that I was an adult now and being horny wasn’t something my health teachers would treat like a goddamn chronic illness.

I’ve already shared one of those sexy college experiences on this blog. To date, that still ranks as one of the sexiest. It involved a party, a lot of drinking, and a couple showing off their sex appeal in front of a cheering crowd that I was proud to be part of. You can’t get much more college than that without a John Belushi look-a-like crashing the party.

While that night might have been one of the most memorable experiences I had in college, it definitely wasn’t the only one. Since the last one I shared went over so well with readers, I’d like to share another. This one isn’t quite the spectacle, but it’s still sexy in a more direct sort of way. It doesn’t involve a party or anything. However, it definitely helped inspire the young erotica/romance writer in me.

This particular incident happened in my sophomore year of college. It also happened to be the first year I stayed in a co-ed dorm. It was an upgrade compared to my freshmen year when I stayed in an all-male dorm. Believe it or not, when you put a bunch of young, hormonal men in a confined building who have never been without parental supervision before, it tends to get messy.

Living in a co-ed dorm did help balance things out, somewhat. There weren’t as many fire drills at two in the morning and not as much of the building smelled like sweaty socks. Don’t get the wrong idea, though. Contrary to what “Animal House” rip-offs would have you believe, it’s not as sexy as it sounds.

You learn quickly that putting young men and women in a confined building who aren’t used to being on their own can be just as messy, but with a few twists. When the sexes mix, it changes the dynamics and not always for the better.

It’s not just that young, hormonal men do stupid things when in the presence of women they’re trying to sleep with. Sometimes, the presence of both genders just means both have more chances to do all the crazy stuff they hesitated to do when they were still living at home. This story is a nice reflection of that.

Unlike my previous story, this one doesn’t take place at night or during the weekend. This takes place in the middle of the day, on a weekday, and right around mid-terms no less. It’s a stressful time, to say the least. There aren’t as many parties going on and some of the dorms, mine included, mandate certain “quiet hours” so residents can study.

In terms of timing, it may very well be the least sexy time of year. My roommate, who had a girlfriend, seemed to understand that. I remember him being a lot less energetic during that time, even when his girlfriend was around. However, other couples on my floor didn’t get the memo.

One of those couples, fittingly enough, lived right next door to me. Now, I knew my neighbors pretty well. I often went over there and watched TV with them when my roommate needed some “alone time” with his girlfriend, of which I totally respected. On this day, though, it wasn’t my roommate who was the issue.

It starts at around two in the afternoon. I’m in my dorm, my roommate is in class, and I’ve got my last mid-term of the week in about an hour-and-a-half. Naturally, I’m eager to get it over with and take a breath. Then, just as I’m trying to study, I hear something in the dorm next to mine.

It’s moaning. Namely, it’s the very sexual kind of moaning.

At first, I thought my neighbor accidentally left his speakers on while watching porn. It was kind of an unofficial rule. If you’re going to watch porn, you wear headphones. It’s just common courtesy. Then, as I listen closer, I realize this is not coming from a speaker.

I soon recognize one of the moans as belonging to my neighbor, the same guy who was nice enough to let me watch TV with him and his friends every weekend. I don’t recognize the girl, but I do recognize real, sexy moaning. It doesn’t take a porno connoisseur to know the difference.

Needless to say, I’m a little taken aback here, but I’m also very much intrigued. Remember, these are midterms. These might be the most stressful parts of the semester for some people and yet here’s my neighbor, dealing with it by having sex with his girlfriend. I’m not saying it’s a bad way to deal with stress. I’m just saying it’s a bit surprising, given the circumstance.

I quickly find myself listening a little closer. At one point, I think I stood close to the wall, right next to my closet, to make sure my ears aren’t playing tricks on me. I determine my senses were in perfect working order. This was really happening. A couple was having sex just a few feet from me, separated only by a cinder-block wall.

They weren’t very tactful either. I heard a bed rocking. I heard gasping, grunting, and moaning. It didn’t sound like a gentle, romantic kind of sex. This was the rough stuff and they seemed to really like it. I know because the girl was pretty vocal. I heard a few things from her that would probably get her fined by the FCC, but I doubt she minded.

It created this powerful scene in my head. I could vividly picture my neighbor and his girlfriend in the bed, going at it and loving every second of it. It might not have been romantic, given the setting, but they still made it sweet in their own special way. I like to think it helped lay the foundation for my future efforts as an erotica/romance writer.

I don’t remember exactly how long it lasted. I just know that the moaning and grunting stopped. Maybe they still went at it for a bit longer, but it was hard to hear at that point. That didn’t stop me from listening a bit longer, trying to pick up on the details. Eventually, though, it got quiet again and I surmised they had finished.

All this happened and I still had a mid-term in less than two hours. I’m not going to lie, that was quite a distraction, but one I didn’t mind. If anything, I found it to be kind of refreshing, given how stressful everything had been all week. I remember eventually going to my class, taking my mid-term, and not feeling as overwhelmed as usual. I guess my neighbor and his girlfriend deserve some of the credit for that.

I saw my neighbor again a few times after that. I didn’t mention what had happened that day. Neither he nor his girlfriend brought it up either. Every time I looked at them, though, I couldn’t help but laugh a little. During a stressful time in college, in a less-than-romantic moment, these two found a way to get sexy and intimate. For an erotica/romance writer, that’s nothing short of inspirational.

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