I should have chosen a lot more books on fascism. But FDT, I’m living it. So, Christmas Erotica? I’m busy playing a Christmas game. What? It has snow and guys in red. Plus, I like my women a little less bundled—Braxton, Virgil, Santa’s Studying.
Friday, December 19, 2025
Journey 171 ~Braxton, Virgil, Santa’s Studying~
Hey, Lady Sophia,
Let me tell you a story… I’m not sure I’ve ever told you this one before. What!? I’m going to write something.
No, more, FYI, between stints of “Whiteout Survival” and AI. You know, Augmenting Reality… (Grumbles). Yeah, I’m on Day One again. I might as well be MAGA, a Cracker Hat, and the orange turd in The Oval. Jolly Fat Man? That would be someone else.
Seriously, Santa. I can’t even be that to my sons, you know, the boys, my Braxton and Virgil. But I can keep buying Erotica like there’s no tomorrow—something else for the Christmas list. For me, I don’t want a tomorrow. Hell! I didn’t want a tomorrow, forty-one years ago (Cue Ben-Hur Galley Drums). I’d say that rage at myself keeps me warm while walking Virgil… And B via, his ashes in a pendant I wear. But 9th Circle bound.
“I fill my lungs with fear and I Exhale!”
It’s My Turn to Fly The Urge ‧ 2000 (Titan A.E.)
That’s me. It’s also why I read digital books more so than print—algorithm profiling.
Anyway, I’m losing the plot. Today, I wanted to tell you a story of tradition. So, according to Kindle, this started in 2019, when I read three Christmas erotica in December. If you want to blame my Ma for anything, this would be it. Plus, don’t they say boys marry girls who remind them of their mothers? That’s a whole can of worms I don’t need… Uh, M Anime? I read a lot of her dirty tales in 2025. Why did M have to eff that up? Um, ok, uh.
Anyway, my Ma accidentally introduced me to Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James. Sophia…
She actually wrote that… Willing.
You should read the horny, horrible, and horrific books of mine. I make E.L. look like Shakespeare. And I can’t get anyone to read about my “Lost Boy.” You know “My Turn To B III.” Not that I’m complaining. But like Huey Freeman said in The Boondocks, “I don’t give a damn about Christmas.” So holiday erotica isn’t my thing to write, but I read it every December, save in 2024. The orange asshole got into office, so reading about apocalypses, dystopias, and the end of the world made more sense. “This is America,” ain’t it? A guy can read about a man banging three Asian chicks on Christmas Eve.
Seriously, it wasn’t this morning gaming and putting words in mouths. Braxton, Virgil, Santa’s Studying.
1783 Days Without B III, Day 1224 of Virgil’s Arrival
B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will
