FJSLikesTickling
TMF Novice
- Joined
- May 3, 2005
- Messages
- 58
- Points
- 8
Back in grad school, I worked at a liquor store that carried more than two hundred distinct bottlings of single-malt Scotch. Rows upon rows of bottles, each with its own age statement, its own story, hailing from regions with names so evocative—The Highlands, the Lowlands, Campbeltown, Speyside, Islay—that Tolkien might as well have included them in The Silmarillion.
What does this have to do with me and the kink community?
Well, I’m a lot like a single malt Scotch myself.
Aged, mature, complex… dare I say intoxicating?
And I sleep in a wooden barrel. The smell of charred oak is soothing.
So, to satisfy your curiosity, here are my tasting notes:
I’m married, but my wife supports my desire to find connection in this community—and for some reason puts up with my endless tortured metaphors.
For more about me, check out my profile, read my writings, and don’t be afraid to say hello. Unlike a 47-year-old Macallan, I’m cheap. The cost of admission is merely playful banter.
What does this have to do with me and the kink community?
Well, I’m a lot like a single malt Scotch myself.
Aged, mature, complex… dare I say intoxicating?
And I sleep in a wooden barrel. The smell of charred oak is soothing.
So, to satisfy your curiosity, here are my tasting notes:
- Terroir: Long Island, Italian-American. Maker of a killer Bolognese sauce. Conversant in The Godfather, all things Scorsese, and adamant that Leo's Latticini in Corona, Queens serves the finest Italian sub in the known universe.
- Nose: I shower regularly and start each day with a single, tasteful, spritz of Polo Black.
- Body: Rockin’.
- Mouthfeel: Pass.
I’m married, but my wife supports my desire to find connection in this community—and for some reason puts up with my endless tortured metaphors.
For more about me, check out my profile, read my writings, and don’t be afraid to say hello. Unlike a 47-year-old Macallan, I’m cheap. The cost of admission is merely playful banter.
