Can You Call It A Bed & Breakfast If There Isn’t A BDSM Dungeon?

Can You Call It A Bed & Breakfast If There Isn’t A BDSM Dungeon?

For the past three years, my wife, Moon Daisy, and I have spent our time traveling in a dilapidated seafoam green 1971 Volkswagen Bus. The interior was a faded checkerboarded material that looked like cloth but felt like a damp sponge that sat in a dirty sink over the weekend. The van smelled of sex, caviar, and Drakkar Noir’s most nefarious scent, “Voyeur Connoisseur.” Throughout my years as a prolific mountain climber, award-winning hiker, and tantric sex thought leader, I have had many luxuries. I’ve dined in the finest restaurants in Hanoi. Slept on 1,000 count Egyptian sheets in Sudan. I’ve celebrated the new year with world leaders and billionaires in Club 33 in Disneyland. But one experience that separates “me” from “you” is trying to make ends meet and traveling throughout America in a piece of shit automobile for “fun.”

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Millennials Are Killing Tantric Sex

Millennials Are Killing Tantric Sex

Is there anything more blissful than a sexual session that lasts an entire weekend? Send all my calls to voicemail because the wife and I are planning on having an epic weekend-long tantric sex session that may set the Guinness World Record for “Most Erotic Weekend.” However, throughout my sexual journeys across the globe, I’ve noticed something. There are less and less younger people attending viewing parties for my tantric sexcapades. I find myself surrounded by Dorothys and Winifreds more and more and less surrounded by anyone who isn’t a card-carrying member of the AARP.

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It’s Official: Gretna, Nebraska Is Pretty Alright

It’s Official: Gretna, Nebraska Is Pretty Alright

I’ve traveled all over the world, primarily Europe, seeing all the sites and eating my way through each country. However, the fresh pasta of Italy, the delicious sausages of Germany, and the tapas of Spain have nothing on the delectable cuisine of Gretna, Nebraska… probably.

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Just Quit Your Job And Go Backpacking In Europe, You Cuck

Just Quit Your Job And Go Backpacking In Europe, You Cuck

I’m a free spirit. I move where the various winds of change blow me. That’s why my wife and I fly with the eagles across the Atlantic to see the beauty that Europe holds every six months or so. Some people say that a 46-year-old man like myself should be settled down with his wife and hypothetical kids and have a steady job. But they’re wrong. Why should I be locked away in a cubicle in restrictive clothing when I could be overseas, watching someone fuck my wife?

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