Pantless and Emotionally Unsupervised

It's a Stylistic Choice

This is the love of my life. If you see him, please give him my number and tell him I really need to meet him.

Happy Friday, my foxy foxes.

I am once again writing to you without trousers. This is not a gimmick, or branding, as many of you who have stuck around a while know by now. This is what happens when a grown man refuses to negotiate with trousers and wins.

Some people start their Fridays with gratitude journals. I start mine naked, brimming with ideas, going down Reddit rabbit holes where people who shouldn’t have opinions have entire personalities built around them.

This week has been one of those weeks. You know the kind. Where time stretches, patience snaps, and your to-do list breeds overnight like horny rabbits. I have written words I am proud of, words I am ashamed of, and words that will absolutely get me side-eyed by someone clutching pearls they don’t even own.

Art. Growth. Character development. Personal decline, etc, etc.

Let me share something that happened last week which led to a midweek epiphany. And no, it wasn’t to start wearing pants.

Last weekend I was due to drop my eighth podcast, but somehow ended up in a huge fight with my Mac, and after tears were shed, bytes were swallowed, and my Mac sat there silently like a sociopath who knows exactly what it did, that podcast got caught in the crossfire and has been missing ever since.

About eight hours of recording, editing, rerecording, re-editing, and general emotional investment and all that shit’s gone.

So by about Wednesday, I was feeling murderous and hornier than is medically appropriate for someone holding a cappuccino in public, purely so I could take it out on some poor, unsuspecting ass.

I don’t know these guys, but if you see them, please give them my number.

However, after a lengthy chat with my friend, let’s call her Dorothy, I was told to put away all tech and go chill somewhere. Although raining, I went for a long walk, got a cappuccino on the way and returned home, undressed, of course, brimming with new ideas for half my characters.

Also, I had a dream last night in which Scott from Sweat and Sawdust wanted to fuck me. Waking up this morning to realise it was a dream, and that Scott remained fictional while the rain remained very real, felt targeted. Give me a dream in which Pedro Pascal and Scott want to do things I write about to me, and you’ve got yourself a very happy Fox.

Aside from the mid-life crisis, this week was productive.

After a successful I Railed My Stepdad dropped onto an unsuspecting public (the sequel to Railing the Man She Married) I got ideas. After said walk, I came back with ideas for part three which I hadn’t even intended on doing! So, also this week, Stepdad Swallowed Me dropped. Can I tell you a little secret? Well, it’s no longer a secret now, but whatever… I came a little writing that one. Honest. To God. I regret nothing and several life choices.

Woodsmen 17 dropped. They’re getting harder. So am I. Coincidence? We’ll unpack that later. I’ve left you hanging at the door along with Gordon and Wolfie. What’s going to happen in 18? You’ll find out. Let’s just say that… someone who was previously ‘straight’ will no longer be that straight.

Officer Needs a Warm Hole 18 also dropped. Slutty Bottom Boi is up to his usual tricks, but when you can’t get them into your bed, where do you take them?

Exactly. If you know, you know. If you don’t, you’re probably a cop. And if you are a cop, please call me, my number is usually on the back of the bathroom stall door.

He’s looking for my number.

Under Surveillance 6. I know many of you like it, some of you love it, and others are thinking… Fox, where the fuck is this even going? Well, how about reading chapter 6, and you will find out. It’s like edging, right? Under Surveillance is an edging story. And we’re about to… stop edging.

But… just as you start thinking you know what’s cumming next, you’ll have to wait for chapter 7 to find out what this story is really all about. Yes, it’s a slow burn. Yes, it’s not like my usual stories. No, there is no hope in hell that you’ll ever guess where I’m going with this story. I promise you, this story is going somewhere.

Anyway. Happy Friday. I’m off to keep pretending I’m a professional while writing about men getting railed by men who look suspiciously like men I’ve railed.

Allegedly.

Fox x