Blake Sky is officially designated as a six-inch-long meat Popsicle. As such, it was grinded into its current form on a small town in Norway, shortly after the second world war. Like any sausage, you don’t want to know how it was made. With its fingerlike shape, it takes an absurd amount of patience to type inappropriate stories on its IRIX notebook; one letter at a time. You can sense its sulkiness between the lines.
Blake turnons include walks on the beach by the binary sunsets; supermodels and oral cream-pies, preferably at the same time. Blonde girls; thin girls; long girls, with long legs if at all possible; pretty girls; cute girls; and calling women, girls. Big tits; small tits; medium tits; firm tits—all kind of tits, as long as they are well placed, such that they are sufficiently comfortable mattress alternatives for its six-inch-long fingerlike frame—Blake likes to snuggle. It also enjoys high heels; thigh gaps; low-rise pants, and cropped tops—anything that gives girls an exposed midriff; small waists, flat abs, and defined six-packs. So be ready to find lots of that in its writings.
Its turnoffs include blue balls, man tits and thick people. Also, folks who try to rationalize the bikini armor in high fantasy—It’s so Red Sonja looks like a fuck doll!
Blake Sky favors writing in the present tense because it’s — look out! A three-headed monkey!