33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 3 - Oh, It's Hard All Right

Actually, right this minute it's only about half-hard. Fleshbot presented another "take that, Dausa" moment with today's video. I don't want to wonder about the necessary mechanics of filming hardcore sex underwater, but her hair looks devastatingly sexy, flowing around her face like it does.

I came so very close to giving in. It's still way too early in this effort to crack so easily. Several enticing possibilities on the Craigslist m4m casual encounters forum. Multiple opportunities to go to someone's location, unzip, be blown, and leave without any pesky details. But that's the kind of reckless, emotionally-empty encounters I'm trying to break myself from.

It's Wednesday, known in our little sub-culture as Cock-Blogging Wednesday. So, I'm going to think about my friend a little bit, just to assure myself that this isn't about any self-loathing or anything.

The Girl has a survey she put together, asking men to make some honest judgments about how they regard their tackle. One thing I couldn't help but notice, some of her questions lack neutral answers. She asks if you (the reader) think that smaller is better or bigger. Then, asks whether you think women prefer smaller or larger. But neither question gives you an option of saying neither (other than just not ticking any of those boxes). No way to say that you think women (or at least, most of the women you've interacted with) are less concerned with size (big or small) than with skill (or lack thereof). She asks if you are happy with your own size, and if given the chance would you have a larger cock.

Well, I'm pretty damn happy with my little friend. I don't think I'd want mine much bigger, as all of my partners have been plenty happy with what I had to offer. And many of them have had lovers larger than myself (some significantly larger, in fact... at least one person has had two or more that were honestly 12" or more). And if there is anything I've prided myself on more than being an attentive lover, it's that I've managed to foster relationships where I could have these sorts of conversations in honesty. Even now, as I struggle to take this month-long break from orgasms, there's little I'd change about my dick. If anything, I'd opt to be a show-er rather than a grow-er. Neither I nor anyone I've dated has every seen a dick with such a range in growth. When soft, it's smaller than my thumb. If you see me in a completely deflated state, it's pretty unflattering. But once it grows, well, most people forget any misgivings they may have had. But first impressions do count for a lot. When I see dicks like the one Bad Bad Girl shows a picture of in this column, I can't help but be jealous a little bit. I don't have a semi-hard state like that-- for me it's either thumb-dick or billy-club. Maybe that's an erection shot... it looks more like semi-hard to me, but it could be fully-hard. Still, I wouldn't trade my cock for anyone else's, not even a porn stars. Mine makes my partners (when I have them) happy. And, more to the point, it makes me happy.

(Well, when I'm not trying to make a point to myself.)

Dausa

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 2 - OK, This Is In Fact Going to be Tough

Oh boy. I was hasty in being so flippant yesterday. Today was a whole different story. Not even 48 hours since the last time I wanked, and I was almost ready to say to hell with it. I can't do that-- give up in just two days. Twelve, maybe, or even twenty. But not just two. My own fault... I meant to go and get at least a blowjob on Sunday, before embarking on this, so that I had the memory to rest on. But I didn't, I jerked off instead, and that wasn't nearly as satisfying.

And today's trials are my own fault, of course. I was killing time on Craigslist while some long-running tasks did their thing. First mistake. This is pretty much the equivalent of being on a crash-diet and going to window-shop at a gourmet foods store. So, yeah, it's pretty dumb of me. After about 20 minutes, I had a vicious boner. It was a good time to break for lunch. After a little time away from the computer, I was OK again.

Then, a few hours later, I was looking at Fleshbot (I know, I know), and saw this.

Oh. Wow.

Just watched it again, right now, in fact. It brings back memories... I've had sessions similar to that when I've been to a massage parlor in the past. Not with oil, though, usually just skin-on-skin. And that was clearly staged, unless the customer himself had arranged for the session to be taped (i.e., it's obviously not a hidden-camera video). But that woman, oh wow. So cute, and those glasses? Icing on the cake. I was (and am again) straining against my jeans so hard just moving around in my chair was tantamount to masturbation. And another 31 days yet, to go. I'm going to be a basket case.

In other news, I'm taking advantage of the extra time spent with Blogger to go back and tag my old articles. I hope to get a tag-cloud incorporated into the layout at some point, though I suspect I'll have to convert to the new-style layout engine to get it.

Oh, and this is, I believe, my 100^th post. Yay for me!

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 1 - It's Always Easy At First

OK, obviously things are going to look easy after just the one day.

Of course, I did catch myself casually browsing over Craigslist.

Also, I may need an additional rule/exception: I all but forgot that there is someone I'd already promised to make a coffee-date with this week. It wouldn't exactly be fair to just blow her off, would it? Besides, I don't think I'm likely to click with this one anyway. But that's no excuse for leaving her hanging.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Prologue, or, This Is Gonna Hurt

In 40 Days and 40 Nights, Josh Harnett's character decides that his love life is out of control, so (despite being a very lapsed Catholic) he decided to give up sex for Lent. The ways in which this film becomes tedious and insultingly-stupid are numerous, and not worth listing here. But I mention it only as a point of reference. You see, I plan to go without for the next 33 days.

There are a lot of reasons why I choose this, and probably just as many (or more) why I shouldn't be doing it. First and foremost, while I may still cling proudly to the "unrepentant" banner, I have to admit that this is starting to seriously interfere with my life. I need to know that I can actually exert some amount of control over my own body, however small. In just under two months since returning to the bay area, I've done my "Craigslist Experiment" (which netted 3 different encounters), hooked up with two TVs whose ads I'd answered, and seen three commercial providers. I've been here since December 10. That's 8 different people in 7 weeks, and even for me that's a bad sign.

For me, addiction is best summed up in the statement, "you know it's harmful and destructive, and you do it anyway". I have no intention of trying to reign in my libido. I have no intention of becoming celibate for the rest of my life. In fact, part of the thinking behind the 33 day window is that it ends on March 3, my (and this blog's) birthday. And you can bet your soft, smooth ass that I'll be getting some form of nookie that day. Unless, of course, I've already failed in this effort.

Another facet of this, is to get back into the habit of regular posting. When I started, I wrote almost daily. Some of the blogs I read I can count on daily content, in particular AAG and Violet Blue. But I've been beyond lax in this department, and I strongly suspect it's cost me what little readership I had. The only way I know of to restore readership is to return to the regular writing of quality material. So, for the next 33 days, I shall be channeling all that energy that would otherwise be wasted on wanking into writing. One post per day. Not all of them will be quality, I accept. But maybe one or three will catch the eye of someone on some random search engine or blog-search somewhere. And maybe, along the way, I'll re-develop the habit of writing regularly again.

In this, I'm creating some rules for myself, more like allowable outs:

1. I'm not going to whack off, and I'm not going to either troll Craigslist casual encounters or any of the commercial-provider sources I generally use (CL erotic services, Redbook.com).
2. In fact, I'm not even going to try and date during this period, because I have a knack for being in someone's pants by the second or third date. Heck, the last true relationship I had lasted almost a year, and we screwed each other nearly senseless on our first date. Man, I miss her, too.
3. That said, should an offer of (free, both as in beer and as in speech) sex were to, ahem, fall into my lap, I reserve the right to punt this "33 Days" crap and tap that.
4. Each day, I will write an entry, with "33 Days, 33 Posts" in the subject line, and "33 days" in the tags. But if something really cool comes along that I want to share with my readers (what few there are that remain), I may make other posts. I doubt I'll reach Violet's throughput, but then Violet is a goddess and I can't really hope to match that anyway.
5. If I fuck up (so to speak), I'll be honest about it. Part of this is for the catharsis, and lying about things ain't gonna help.
6. There is no rule 6.
7. I still get to read sex blogs and sex-related stuff. Albeit at my own risk. I've already made the conscious decision to put my porn away in a hard-to-reach corner of one of my closets. But choosing not to wank is one thing; not reading Fleshbot or Erosblog is a whole different personal challenge.

So, there it is. 33 days, 33 posts, 0 orgasms. At least, that's the plan.

Dausa

Not So Sure Anymore...

...that I made the right choice in coming back to California.

It's taken only a few weeks to lose all the positive momentum I had after I got my new place. A little longer after that and I was back to old patterns and habits. Not just the cruising-on-Craigslist, but also indulging in commercial providers. Which I've been forcing myself to abstain from for simple reason of budget. But still, I look and consider.

My friend back in Denver pointed out that even if I'd taken the job in London, I might very well be just as depressed there as I am here, maybe even for similar reasons. But last night, laying awake trying to fall asleep, something dawned on me: at least, had I gone to London, I could say that I did something. I tried, I took steps to make a major change in my life. It might not have worked out like I thought it would, but at least I would have had the assurance of having tried. Instead, I look around my apartment, around the bay area, and think to myself: "Didn't get far, did you? Moved 8 miles, into a smaller apartment. Well played."

Saturday night, I went up to San Francisco for Perverts Put Out. As used to be the case, convincing myself to dress nicely and leave the apartment was akin to pulling teeth. The event was stunning; I'll need to do a separate post just about it alone. Of course, once there, I was enjoying myself. But eventually it was over, and I had another Saturday night to go home alone. It was so tempting to go somewhere cruise-y like Blow Buddies or Divas. But I'd spent all the persuasion I could muster just getting myself out of the house. It was the first time I've been back to SF since moving back here last month (actually, the second-- the actual first was for the memorial service for a friend's mother, thus my mind was otherwise occupied that afternoon).

I haven't made any effort to revisit my "Craigslist experiment". There's a lot to be said for quick, no-strings gratification. But just because I'm an addict doesn't mean I don't feel any emotional needs or impulses (the lack of emotional expression comes from the Asperger's, not the addictive nature). OK, that was a weak joke. I don't intuitively form those sorts of connections like others do, but I still crave them. And the CL route was just teasing the appetite, not appeasing it. To make matters worse, there's fuck-all to choose from in terms of independent video stores in my general area (that is to say, those that are not Blockbuster or Hollywood Video). So I don't even have the kind of access to porn I had at the previous address.

(On the plus side, it was around this time last year that I broke my foot, so living a live free of crutches is worth being thankful for. I'm just already dreading the steady march towards Valentine's Day, and my recent attempts at dating haven't panned out very well.)

-D

Men Are Sluts: My Own Craigslist "Experiment"

So, as I alluded to in a previous post, I'm really in awe of how slutty men are, in general. Now, don't go sending me condescending e-mails that mostly say "DUH!". I didn't say I was surprised, just in awe. Likewise, I understand that politicians on the whole are corrupt and money-driven; I'm still entitled to be in awe of the sheer hubris of people like Tom Delay.

But back to my point: the sluttiness of the male. And not just your garden-variety male, but gay and bi men in particular. See, I learned a valuable lesson a long time ago: if I'm really jonesing for a blowjob, there are plenty of gay/bi men (possibly closeted) who are more than happy to oblige.

Actually, I learned two lessons. The above, and just as importantly, that even though I am somewhat heavy-set and fairly hairy, that's not the detriment with men that it often is with women. Indeed, it can be a bonus! There's a whole sub-culture within gaydom devoted to my body-type: the bear. And there are plenty of self-identified "bear chasers" out there. So, while I'm still trying to lose weight for simple health and self-image reasons, it's not getting in the way in the meantime.

Thursday, I placed an ad on the m4m part of the casual encounters section of Craigslist in the south bay area. It was simple, and to the point: tall bear wants a no-strings-attached blowjob. Honest description of my body, and vague reference to what area I lived in.

I had responses literally within minutes of the ad being posted.

That day, I had three encounters, though to be fair the third was from an ad that I had answered, to go fool around with a tranny (more on that in a later musing). I referred briefly to the two ad-related encounters in an earlier message-- one was mind-blowing, the other disappointing. The latter was disappointing because I hadn't bothered to get a picture of the person first, and he turned out to be a much older man. Having just come my brains out a few hours earlier, it was going to be a feat to perform again so soon (I'm not as young as I used to be, and letting my health go has had other undesired effects). Unfortunately, I really couldn't. Started out OK, but it just wasn't there (even when I broke my own rules and tried to picture straight porn, or even the earlier experience, in my head).

But the first guy? Woo hoo. Younger, clean-cut, and a pierced tongue. I'm such a sucker for piercings. And boy could he use it. He worked me over from tip to taint for a good 20 minutes or more. If we didn't both have places we had to get to, we might still be at it still. I've never been with someone so adept at sensing when I was about to pop and backing off before I passed the point of no return. I can't even describe the sensations in most of the cases, but it may actually be the single best BJ I've ever had. And I've had a lot, let me tell ya. I might go see this one again, if he's amenable.

Mind you, replies continued to come in. I was going to see one person on Friday, someone who actually was hoping for more out of the encounter-- cuddling, etc. I'm not necessarily opposed to that, but it wasn't what I was looking for at the moment, so he got filed away for later. Several got deleted outright; I know it's happened to me plenty of times when I've answered ads, so I don't feel any guilt over it. I saw another one on Saturday. Also older, also less attractive, but almost as good as the guy on Thursday so what he lacked in eye-appeal he made up for with sleight-of-tongue.

Counting him, the one that fizzled, and the TV, that's four encounters in three days. So understand that when I call men sluts, I'm well aware that I'm just as guilty. I guess what shocks me is that the the sluttiness is so highly concentrated, so tightly focused. The gay bathhouse scene was a notable part of the early rapid spread of HIV in the 80's. The clubs I've gone to over the years have had strict latex rules, but only because of the damage already done; back then condoms were considered only for preventing pregnancy and thus were hardly necessary between two men. What I'm saying is, this goes back decades. I wonder sometimes if even Oscar Wilde wouldn't be a more than a little shocked at what goes on these days in the world of gay men.

Here's the rub: not all of the men cruising these ads would identify as gay or bi, even in private, even in the confidence of a therapist's office. They just don't see themselves as such. And the men who are, they know and understand this, too. Watch for ads calling for "str8" (straight) dick to suck. For some of the suck-ers, the straight-ness of the suck-ee is just as thrilling a novelty as the thought of having a guy on his dick instead of a girl is for the suck-ee. And all because we men are basically sluts, and when it comes to coming, we'll do just about anything to do so (especially if we're pretty sure we won't get caught).

You just don't hear about things like this in the world of women, regardless of orientation. I mean, I've had female friends who went through self-identified "slutty phases". One friend occasionally posts to CL casual encounters in her geographical area (and don't even bother asking me because I'm not telling). Posts looking for men, and always gets upward of 200 replies. And she's a big girl, honest and upfront about it in her post. Gives her height and her weight, so that they can't claim to be surprised when/if they meet her. Still rakes in the replies. Some of the men are bonafide "chubby chasers", but most are just so intent on fucking that they'll hook up with someone they wouldn't otherwise acknowledge on the street. But she's the exception; I'd wager that 98% or more of traffic on the "w4m" part of casual encounters these days is either commercial spam or photo-phishing (scammers collecting photos that they can then use to create false accounts and/or post false ads elsewhere, where a photo would be needed).

And if there is even 2% that's legit, in my area, either I haven't responded to them or I wasn't to their liking. Because I'm just as bad as the rest, and frequently answer women's ads in the hope of one day finding that rare gem, a real woman who'll fuck me to the point of oblivion then dress and leave. No questions asked.

(Of course, it helps that I figure any photos of me are already in the hands of all the phishers, so I have little to lose.)

Dausa

Men Are Sluts: Prologue

Before I get to the longer post tomorrow or over the weekend, let me reflect and ruminate on us men.

God, we're sluts.

I mean, it's no secret that if you're a woman, and you want to get laid right now, hop on over to Craigslist and post an ad. You'll have literally hundreds of responses in an hour, usually less. Even if you don't consider yourself attractive, there are men who will find your body-type attractive. More to the point, there are men who will simply find the fact that you are in possession of a vagina attractive.

If you're a man and straight, however, it's a different story. Lotsa luck, write and let us know when you find work.

But, if you're gay, or bi, or just unconcerned when it comes to getting sucked off, you have another option. Post in the men-for-men forum. You won't get hundreds, but you'll get replies. Why? Why else? Men are total sluts when it comes to this. This is obvious not just from the replies, but from the number of straight men who do actually go this route, and consider themselves straight all the same. They know the score.

As for me? I do identify is at least somewhat bi. I'm not a 3 on the Kinsey Scale by any stretch. More like fluctuating between φ and e on the scale, as my mood moves me. And when I turn down that road for gratification, I'm not pretending that it's a woman with a remarkably flat chest. I don't "prime" myself with straight porn and then keep my eyes squeezed shut. But I do sometimes think of Margaret Cho, when she said (something to the effect of), "I used to think I was bisexual, but then I realized I'm just slutty." I have a more-than-passing interest in this, and I think in 2007 I'll be writing a little more about that.

But my point is, if you want your dick sucked and fast and don't care if it's a guy doing the sucking, craigslist is your friend. And that is how I happened to be blown not once but twice today. One only so-so and one that was fucking amazing. But the details of that are for my upcoming post...

-D

Gay-Bi-Dar Before You Yourself Know

A short note, before I get to a longer post later on (probably tomorrow or over the weekend). When I was in college, I was in the marching band. In high school, being in band was a cause for scorn. But in college, the band was cool. And since it was cool, it was clique-ish, and I didn't fit in.

Like most my age, in a bass-ackwards place like Oklahoma, I associated accusations of homosexuality with insults and disdain. So, when I found myself regarding certain key members of the band (all male, all high in the pyramid of power) as most likely gay, I chided myself for falling into such a clichéd cycle. It's not like I would have known, anyway, straight and inexperienced as I was at the time.

Years later, I had a brief relationship with someone who had been in the band a few years before myself (she was six years older than I, and she may be the subject of an upcoming post). She knew all of these people when they themselves were freshmen first coming in. Now, I didn't ask her about their orientation... it wouldn't have come up, except that she had married someone she started dating in band, and they'd divorced fairly recently when he came out of the closet. Through him, she learned that there had been a sizable "gay underground" within the band (though, why gays would feel the need to be underground in this group puzzled me, as even though we may have been in Oklahoma this ensemble was fierce in its support of the out gay/lesbian/bi members). And wouldn't you know it, almost everyone I'd mentally labeled as gay was in fact.

Did I actually exhibit gaydar that many years before I'd start exploring my bi side?

-D