More Soloing For CBW

All the paperwork was taken care of today, and I am now completely and officially unemployed. So I won't be visiting any pros anytime soon (well, maybe a little nibble off the severance check wouldn't hurt). As such, looks like it's me and my left hand for now. So for this Wednesday, here's what I just finished doing...

Even though I see the lay-off as a good thing for me, it still has me tense. The best way to relax my tension is a good orgasm. And not just a quicky-jerk into the bathroom sink, either. So I settled myself in to allow myself to completely enjoy it.

Lately, I've been getting rid of a lot of my porn. It's mostly old, and boring to me anymore. Same goes for the erotica I have, even the old Penthouse-letters-style magazines. So I figured I would see what I could do with just my hands and my imagination, without any priming. To do this, I laid myself on my bed all stretched out and bare. I started by just running my hands over my skin, not even focusing on my genitals just yet. I'm moderately-hairy, so I can elicit a fair amount of sensation just from doing this. This isn't meant to produce the hard-on, it's just to just warming up my sensory system, get it to start paying attention.

I started to think about some of the really hot women I (used to) work with. When I am looking at a woman as a potential sexual encounter, I think about two things: what will her pussy look like as I'm about to eat it, and how will she look while sucking me off.

(There's a young-ish East Indian woman I would have loved to chat up, but she stayed tightly clustered with other Indian women all the time-- lunch, breaks, etc. She had beautiful, playful eyes. I could easily imaging looking into them as she looked up at me from between my legs. And I loved to think about how her face would reflect what my tongue was doing to her.)

Hard-on is almost 100% now. I start to actually stroke my thighs and around the base, but not the cock itself yet.

(There's J, the cute little Asian who sits/sat right next to me. The one who could drive me crazy with just plain white cotton panties, who alas is married. I have a harder time picture her going down on me, but oh can I imaging what her body would feel like in my hands while I ate her out. Barely 5'2", I could probably hold her up to my face, hoist her in my arms while licking away.)

Now I'm totally hard. Cat can't scratch it. I'm placing my hands at the base gently, and just massaging the skin there, ticking my sac with my fingertips. I lightly start to trace my fingers up the center of the underside, along the way to the head. Light, tickling caresses.

(ML has a beautiful smile, and an amazing chest. When I think about her, I fantasize that I'm laying on my back and she's sitting on my face. I want to be able to reach up and play with those fantastic breasts. Something about her, something in the way she carries herself and her sense of self-assuredness, tells me she would give killer head.)

I don't usually use lube, and I'm not using it tonight. But I do sometimes wet my fingers with saliva, and let them play along the underside of the glans, to really whip up my nerve-endings. If I'm not careful, I could set myself off too quickly this way. God, sometimes I wish I could still bend over in half and lick myself. That's what I try to simulate with my fingers-- those tentative first few times when I could only just reach the head of my cock with my tongue. I was young-enough then that even such a tentative tongue-to-cock caress could send me over the edge. But I can't do it these days. I can take the little drops of pre-come that work their way out of the tip, take them on my fingertip and rub it on my lips, on my tongue.

(EC is the ultimate, though. Beautiful red hair, gorgeous blue eyes. A few discreet tattoos in discreet places. And a very playful, flirty nature. It is so easy to picture her nibbling and nuzzling the base, the side of my shaft, before actually taking me as deeply as she can. She has porcelain skin, and I have a ruddier complexion courtesy of my mom's side of the family. I can picture her skin against mine. I wonder if she's as red below as she is above. And I somehow know she's a screamer. I can only imagine how hard she would clamp her legs around my ears when she came.)

Sometimes, when I get really close, and I'm really turned on, I have a really strong desire to taste myself again, like I used to when I could blow myself. I imagine myself twisting around into a yoga-like position so I can aim it into my mouth. Or just letting it go all over my stomach and chest, then running my fingers through it and licking them off. It's a function of my arousal level, though, because the feeling passes as soon as I'm actually climaxing.

This time, I wanted it pretty badly again. But with my foot being broken, I couldn't go the yoga route. And like I said, once I start actually coming the desire isn't as strong. After spending about 10 minutes just bringing myself to the edge and backing off, I finally let myself finish. It mingle with the hair on my chest and tummy, and I lost the urge to take a taste. But it felt so good when the moment came. I laid here another 10 minutes or so, until I had to do something about the mess on my chest.

Mmmm... a day without an orgasm is a day lost, that you can never get back again...

Dausa

Familiar Melody

I know this tune... this is the melody of me getting laid-off by a company that is also hiring at the same time.

I'm not sure what this will mean for me. I may move back to Denver. Maybe I'll apply for a work permit in the UK and go to London for a few years.

More detail to follow...

D

Links in Lieu of CBW

Still here, foot's still broken. I hobble around pretty effectively, but it's draining having to use the crutches all the time.

So for now, I can only offer you interesting links. Useful to anyone who thinks I might be their "kind of guy"...

Ten Reasons Why You Should Date a Geek

The Do's and Don't's of Dating Geeks

(taken from Erosblog.com)

Forgive Me, Readers, For I Have Sinned...

It's been nearly two weeks since my last orgasm.

According to the foot doctor, I only broke one bone, not two. I have an "Aircast", which at least lets me wear my jeans instead of the athletic shorts or running pants, none of which have pockets for my keys, wallet, etc. They gave me Vicodin for the pain, which I've stopped taking now. The pain is now pretty minor, and the V upsets my stomache and prevents me from enjoying the food I have to eat in order to keep myself on the mend.

So, part of my pondering for 2006 is what exactly I want to try and do, relationships-wise. I've already been bolder than usual, actually actively flirting. In an optomitrist's office, no less. But I'm still not clear on what I really want out of it. Part of me wants to try to hit the 100 mark this year (by my best memory, I'm at 92 partners thus far), but another part of me would be just as happy to find one person to have 8 persons' worth of sex with, instead.

As I've thought about this, I realized I haven't rubbed one out since just before I got back from Oklahoma. Of course, I haven't really been in much of a mood these past 2-3 days, with the foot and the drugs and all. This happens, sometimes, I get too busy or too preoccupied to wank for days at a time, then make up for it by going 2-3 a day for a week or so. But the first one, after such a break, that's a treat. All the pressure has built up. When I had the money to go to escorts or massage parlors, I'd prefer to break a fast like this under those circumstances. When I do next orgasm, it'll be high in both volume and pressure. It seems almost a waste to send it down the sink or shower drain. Much better to be buried to the balls inside someone, or have them taking as much into their mouth as they can, looking up into my eyes while I come.

Damn. I think I'll go break the fast, now...

D

Oh, I Needed This

I just broke two bones in my left foot. This blows, since I live in a second-floor apartment, and drive a manual-transmission car. I'm going to be on crutches for the next six weeks, and boy is it going to get in the way. Not to mention the joy of showering with a trashbag tied over the cast for the whole time.

Maybe I can at least garner a little sympathy out of it. Grrr.

D

I'm Way Too Shy To Have Just Done That

I had an optometrist appointment this morning (I've had these glasses about 8 years, and the lenses have finally gotten scratched). Now, I haven't written yet in this glorious new year, about how one of my goals is to be more social and out-going. That will come later (later today, or later this week).

Anyway, after the exam part, I'm sitting in the "boutique" part of the office as they try to find frames that stop just short of making me look like a total dork. As I am doing this, there's a cute Asian woman to my right doing the same thing. She keeps trying on the same two pairs, trying to decide. I happen to catch her eye, and nod vigorously at one pair over the other. (For the record, they really did look better than the others.) Right answer-- they were quite a bit cheaper than the others, and she was looking for an excuse to pick them (the saleslady was of course pushing the more expensive ones).

Holy shit-- it dawned on me I was actually flirting with this person.

I don't do that. I don't know how to do that. Many of you are probably thinking that I'm kidding, or just being too hard on myself. No. Part of my problem is that I have so little comfort in social-type situations. (Yeah, I'm past the 90-partner mark, but almost 2/3 of them were business transactions.) Generally, I have to be hit over the head to know when/if I'm being flirted with.

So back to this person. A little short (but then at 6'4", everyone is from my perspective), but really, really cute. And we seemed to have at least a little click over advising each other on frames-- I had turned the tables and asked her opinion on the 2-3 pairs I had narrowed my choices down to. And I picked the ones she preferred. While our respective sales-people were away doing paperwork, I actually introduced myself and asked her name. But when she was done, she said goodbye and off she went.

I hadn't gotten the courage to ask for a phone number, or give her mine.

So, in a burst of impulse totally alien to me, I walked up to where she was waiting to clear out with the office's receiptionist, and asked if she'd like to get together for a drink sometime. Gave her my cell number.

It was totally clumsy and awkward, and if she calls me I'll be about as shocked as Stephen Rea in The Crying Game. Because, you see, I just don't do that sort of thing...

D