On another planet

My plans never work out. The tracking page for my unboundbox says it has been delivered. I check my porch excitedly.  No box. I double-check. Still nothing. I check the tracking page again. Yep, it says delivered.  WTF. Only then do I notice my box has been delivered to somewhere in North Carolina. I do not live in North Carolina. I don’t even know where North Carolina is. On another planet for all the good it does me. All I know about North Carolina is the capital is named after some English drug pusher. And someone there is having a windfall of a good time with the deliciously obscene contents of my box.

I’m exaggerating in my moment of frustration here. I’m actually pretty good at geography. North Carolina is just above South Carolina. And to the left of East Carolina. But since East Carolina is completely underwater that doesn’t help much.

“The Girls” at unboundbox.com are sincerely apologetic and graciously offer to overnight me a replacement. I let them know they don’t need to go to that expense on my behalf. Three days would actually be ideal timing.

Meanwhile, rest assured that River did indeed “make it up” to me.


It’s been six days. Or four and a half, but that last was a short, but friendly and vigorous, unfinished fuck. So I’m going to say six. River’s had a really hectic last two weeks, what with school, and work, and going out of town twice, not to mention the usual crap. She turned me down last night, but said “I’ll make it up to you.”

So when she comes home from work during the day I think maybe it’s for that quickie we’ve talked about. But no, she’s just here to put on an undershirt because maybe her shirt is too see-through. As if. “You did say you’d make it up to me. Can’t blame me for my eternal hope.” “Well I have to give the world its due first.” Sigh. It’s really disheartening. Fuck the world.  Bad idea.  Fuck me instead.

But here comes my optimism again. I’m wondering what she might come up with as a make up?

I think I can help. Some months ago I was contacted by “The Girls” at unboundbox.com. (To be clear, I’ve neither gotten nor intend to get any kind of compensation for plugging them here or anywhere else, other than a discount on my first order, and the pleasure of having some correspondence with them.) What’s unboundbox.com?  “The Girls” there put together curated boxes of sexual goodies on a quarterly subscription basis. Clicking over to their site, their boxes seem thoughtfully put together and varied. But River would probably roll her eyes at them. Like she does at me, and for the same reason.

Good thing I have a friend who would put a box like that to good use. And she says her partner would be ok with me having an unboundbox sent to her. So I do. It would have been sad to just let that first-order discount burn a hole in my pocket. And “The Girls” are so sweet.

So my friend gets her first box. I’m not even sure quite what’s in it. And what does she say . . . she seems to like it, and tells me the lube was particularly great. I’m sure she’s not telling me everything. Such a tease.

Then she gets her second box. And her response is a bit of a rave. I don’t think she’ll mind if I quote her:

Sweet Baby Jeebus! It all looks deliciously obscene and looking forward to trying ‘stuff’ out… The unbound packages are very well done. Love the wrapping, the contents and also the fact that a % goes to a relevant charity. So cool!

So I respond:

Your micro-review has me wanting to get one for River. So don’t tell me what’s in it. I want to be as surprised as you.

To which she says:

OMG you soooo should!! Xxx

So I do. And that sets the stage for River “making it up” to me.  Because the box comes today.

Why do I call it that

Why do I call it fucking? Some people think that’s not a nice word. I think it’s a very nice word. It’s what River and I do, after all. We fuck.  And it’s very nice.

What about alternatives?  We don’t “have sex”. That just sounds so much like “Hmm. I know I used to have some sex. It was around here somewhere. I wonder where it’s wandered off to?”

And we certainly don’t “make love”. Eew. That’s so 70s. A decade best forgotten. Except for Devo, the Sex Pistols, and the Ramones. And sending people to the moon. And the first microprocessor.

It’s not “making love”.  Even though there’s an extraordinary amount of love involved. The love is already there, we’re not making it. Even though we’re “making it” in another sense of the term. Or is that what “making it” really means? Fuck.

Sometimes we call it “doing it”. When we’re feeling geekish it might be “mating”. Sometimes “being affectionate”. Then there’s “screwing”, but that’s for when we’re feeling extra raunchy.

So most often we call it good ol’ straight up fucking. It’s what we do.

And I hope you do too.