Hat Trick Of Sorts

(As a bit of an offset to the navel-gazing of the previous post...)

Speaking of "threes", I managed a bit of a "hat trick" of sorts this last Friday night: three orgasms in the span of 90 minutes or so. Considering I was just three days away from turning 40, and that I'm in terrible shape still, that's no mean feat.

I'd started the evening by hooking up with someone off of Craigslist. Went over to his place, and got a pretty decent BJ. Then, even though he had made it clear that he wasn't expecting reciprocation, I figured I could use more practice so I returned the favor. Thing is, I noticed that I had never really gone soft after my orgasm. He noticed this, too, and we ended by both jerking off. There was some hot porn on the TV, and it was generally just a pretty good scene overall.

Then I went home, and realized I was still about half-hard, so I figured why not try? I pulled up some favorite video clips from YouPorn (which I like because they give you download-links for the clips, so you can save your own copies of the ones you like the most). Next thing I know, I'm shooting a third time. I honestly can't remember the last time I was able to do that (maybe at the end of the "33 Days" experiment last year, I'm not sure).

I sure felt young again, I say that much!

-D

Three Years and Counting

In 2005, I purposefully chose to start this blog on my own birthday. That way, I knew that I'd never forget the blog-birthday. (Though, to be fair, I did forget to mark it one year.)

So, here I am, three years on, and the last year has been an especially trying one. I've come the closest yet towards feeling shame towards these traits that I'm usually embracing. I mean, I never have felt (nor will I ever feel) guilty over my enjoyment of all things sexual and the pleasure they bring. But the events last November and December really drove home how much I had been lying to myself over so many, many years, as to how much I was likely hurting people around me. Indeed, a hallmark indication of addiction, hurting those you care about without necessarily realizing it (or realizing it and just not acknowledging it). And on top of it all, I was let go from my job towards the end of February, largely because I wasn't performing up to par. So I've been dealt an emotional body-blow by all of this, and just have had next to nothing to blog about. An image I sometimes get in my head, is that of a multi-engine plane that has had most of the engines knocked out of commission... it can still fly, but it's going a heck of a lot slower than it used to, and it takes a lot more conscious effort on the part of the pilot to keep it from completely crashing and burning.

And indeed, as bad as I feel, as bad as I've felt these past months, I haven't completely crashed and burned. It may have felt like it at times, but there are plenty of people in far worse circumstances than I am. I'm just in over my own head, it's a relative measure. And it's been the motivation that I needed to get back into therapy and start trying to actually work some of these things out, rather than just perpetually running in circles. The new shrink is quite good-- that, or my decision to be 100% honest and not dodge or "creatively answer" any questions (like I have done in the past) is making a difference. Probably a combination of the two. Plus, she's much more experienced in dealing with people who suffer from Asperger's (she barely batted an eye the week that I noticed some minute detail had changed in the shelves of toys and games she keeps for her child-clients).

So, anyway, happy birthday to me (40! Freakin' 40!), and happy birthday to Dausa (a paltry 3 by comparison). And thanks to everyone who has commented on my various posts these past months, even the self-loathing ones. Thanks to those of you I chat with from time to time, those who send the occasional encouragement in e-mail (and especially thanks to the person who sent me the Valentine's card... you know who you are!). I'm not going anywhere, I assure you. And someday, hopefully soon, I'll be back to regularly posting naughtiness.

(In fact, I may even make an effort to get laid today. I mean, it is my birthday, after all, right?)

-D

Checking In, Checking Out

Things are still, well, still. I'm back in therapy, but I can't say that I'm any better yet (not that I have any unrealistic expectations, I mean, it's only been 4 weeks or so). I lost my job, due in large part to the negative effect all this mental/emotional crap has had on my ability to perform. Job-wise, that is. Hell, perform in general. The last couple of times I've been in bed with someone haven't exactly been my best form either.

Even though I'm trying to not let any real length of time go before finding a new job, part of me has a driving desire to get out of the bay area, even if only for a few days. But even that is complicated, as I don't know where to go that's both affordable and offers the promise of a truly stress-free few days. I can't go to Colorado right now... even though the friend who is angry with me would let me visit under the current (jobless) circumstance, I'm not ready myself. Part of me wants to go somewhere completely new, part of me wants the comfort of familiarity. I only know that I'm going nuts here, right now. I haven't slept in, well, a while right now. (I very rarely see 9:30 at all, let alone am blogging at such an hour.) When I close my eyes to try and sleep, well, I'm not really relaxed by what I see there.

It's been almost two months since my last entry. I do take some comfort in knowing that even if I'm not really any "better", I think I'm on track for it. It'll just take a little while yet, and I have to hope that I have the luxury of the time it needs. I dunno... I probably shouldn't be blogging on this sort of sleep-deprivation...

Shaky Start to the New Year

I'm still trying to adjust to the various fall-out from the events in my previous post. In the two weeks and few days since then, nothing has gotten better. I seriously contemplated having myself admitted for a 72-hour watch, but ultimately personal phobias and demons prevented me from doing so. Instead, I'm making arrangements to return to therapy after an off-period of a little more than two years. On the one hand, I'm not optimistic that it'll be any more effective than it was before. On the other hand, there are two relatively good reasons why it should be better: (1) this person has strong background working with adults who are diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, and (2) part of all of this mess is me finally owning up to my long history of dishonesty. I never lied to a therapist before, but I was frequently "creative" with the information that I volunteered, and minimized things a lot. I can't say that I'll be going in on the first day with absolute 100% full-disclosure, since a lot of this is reflexive in nature. But I will be a lot more straight with this person than with those past.

I still don't know who it was that tipped off my friend in Denver. It's possible that there wasn't a tip-off, that she's saying this to make me think it, knowing that I can't help but obsess over it. Like I said in the last post, having as many lies in my past as I do contributes to paranoia, so it's easier for me to believe that there really are people here acting as friends to my face, but gossiping and belittling me behind me back. I just wish that they would have the decency to either come to me directly about the things they feel are self-destructive, or just quietly exit my life. I'll probably never know who it is, and it will probably bug me for as long as my brain is able to function.

Needless to say, this has really thrown my libido off. So what posts I make for the time being will likely be more backwards-looking. I'm not being all dramatic and proclaiming that I'm "too wounded to love", or even swearing off of sex (not even for another 33 days experiment!). I'm just saying that at the moment I just can't get into it, and lack the drive to pursue it. I have to direct that energy at getting my shit together, again. Of course, if opportunity comes up and grabs me by the ear, I'm not saying I'll turn it down, either...

Lastly (for now), my friend mentioned at several points that my continuing to write this blog is silly and pointless and that the only people reading it were either laughing at me or are/were as pathetic and disgusting as she now considers me to be. She also mentioned that she felt I must want this negative attention to feed my own self-pity, or else I would have shut this down and started a new blog under a different name. Well, all I can say on these counts is this: I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not abandoning this. Even if it reaches the point where I'm the only one reading it. As to the people who currently read, I know she's wrong there-- there are at least a few people reading that I've either met personally or corresponded with. People who are in fact living happy, healthy lives. Happiness and health that I hope one day to have in my life, too. It's worth pointing out that this same person has many times dismissed the notion of people in happy, healthy polyamorous relationships, even though I know literally dozens of people first-hand who themselves are. It doesn't matter how many people I know who are happily poly, she won't believe it. And likewise, it doesn't matter how many people I know (or who respond here) who are readers and who are not here to laugh at what a loser I am or just scour my stories for jerk-off material, she probably won't believe that either.

I have neither delusions of grandeur nor illusions of relevance. But no-one out there launches a web browser only to find themselves forcibly directed to this page. If you don't like what's here, nothing is keeping you here.

Lies and the Lying Liar

(I almost made "liar" plural, in keeping with the reference to Al Franken's book. But I don't know that I've been lied to, so this is just about the one liar... me.)

I lie a lot. Mostly to myself, of course. I lie about my lying. And after all these years, the scaffolding that holds up my life is collapsing. My Denver friend is through with me, angered and hurt over the event of this post. And with every right-- I lied to her face about it. Of course, I didn't talk about that part of the story in the post. It didn't fit the narrative for one thing, and I had already justified it to myself. Naturally. It's what I do, it's what addicts do.

See, when I went out with that person, my friend was pretty sick. And yet, I borrowed her car to go on a date with the hopes of getting lucky. And when I got back to the house, I lied about having gotten lucky. I didn't want to hurt her feelings. Mind you, it's obvious that my concern for her feelings didn't stop me from going out in the first place. Or renting a room.

What has me feeling a mix of worry, hurt, fear and anger is how she found out. Like most addicts and habitual liars, it's much easier for me to focus on how I was found out, than on my actual level of blame or responsibility in all this. Apparently someone I know, someone close to me, is still in touch with her. They read this, and they called her. I don't know who they are. She won't tell, and whoever it is hasn't seen fit to share with me the fact that they're reading this blog. She sneered at me over the phone as she pointed out that I'm quite findable via Google. This is true, but finding Dausa and finding the real-life person behind him are two different things. I've only given this URL to an extremely small number of people I know in real-life. As in, you could count them on one hand and still have enough fingers to make a rude gesture in England. But it doesn't matter-- what matters is that someone is reading, and that said someone is concerned but not enough so to talk to me directly. She says that whoever it is laughs at me and makes fun of me for these things, behind my back. And the problem with being a habitual liar, you never know for sure when you can really believe someone. Is she trying to lash out at me? Or is she 100% honest, knowing that in this case the truth is just as damaging (if not more) than any lie she could offer?

I use SiteMeter for some simple traffic-analysis. It's not terribly thorough, and there's only so much you can tell from traffic-analysis anyway. I've found the tracking record from her visit a few days ago, but I have no way of really pin-pointing a visitor prior to her, that would likely be the third-party. So I'll never know who it is that's laughing at me behind my back, unless they decide to own up and face me about it. There's some traffic from around here in the bay area, a visit from the Minneapolis area that has a strange feeling to it (because this confrontation started with a seemingly-random question about whether I'd recently heard from someone we used to know, who lived in that area last time I'd had any contact with them), and plenty of traffic that I have no idea of it's relevance (if any).

But back to the lying. This blog is, after all, all about me me me. And much as I've tried to hide it, this is who I am. I started lying extensively when I moved from Arizona to Oklahoma and started living with grandparents who were Evangelical Pentecostals. Fundamentalists, basically. Essentially everything I did was something to be ashamed of, so I learned to lie about almost all of it. And even once I left that house and lived first in dormitories then in my own apartments, I've continued to instinctively lie about anything that brought feelings of shame. And don't be fooled by the "Unrepentant" in the title-- all those years of church-learnin' have made certain that I pretty much always feel shame over anything and everything sexual that I think about, feel, or experience. I've spent gods-know-how-much over nearly 11 years on therapy, and all I have to show for it is a diagnosis of mild Asperger's Syndrome. Which explains some of the social anxiety I experience, but doesn't really cover the shame or the rampant lying. I've tried everything I could think of, even a course on meditative techniques, but nothing has stuck with me for longer than a few months. Short of beating my head against the pavement or playing hopscotch on highway 101, I don't know what else I can do that will have an actual lasting effect on my life.

I didn't want this to sound so whiny and self-loathing as it seems to have become. But it's nearly 1:45 in the afternoon and I'm still in bed. I can't make myself get up, even to eat. I don't know what I'm going to do at this point, whether I'll ever write here again or not. I don't know if I'll manage to even leave my apartment today (not true, actually... I have a regular Thursday activity that I'm somewhat obligated to attend, so I will eventually have to get up and go). All this shit has finally come home to me, and yet I have the audacity to be surprised by it. I just don't know anymore.

I know this: whoever you are that know me in real-life and aren't telling, I would appreciate it if you'd grow up and talk to me directly. If you're really that concerned for me, then you owe me that much. And if you aren't, then leave my life entirely. In the long run, we'll both be better off for it.

-D

And Another First!

After my previous post, something quite unexpected happened: the person in question found out about it!

I mean, this isn't the first time that someone I wrote about here later read the post-in-question. But what happened in this case was much more unique. The post got picked up in Fleshbot's Sex Blog Roundup that week, and someone who knows the person I was with read it. Then re-read it, and decided, "Hey, this sounds just like something J would do. In fact, it sounds exactly like her." So he wrote to J with the URL, who confirmed it.

Then hopped on IM with me and let me know that she knew.

Of course, at first I panicked because I was afraid she was upset with me blogging about our little tryst. Luckily for me, the opposite was the case: she was quite amused by it (and flattered by the "glowing review", to use her words). Plus, it basically validated everything that she'd been telling this person she was capable of. Now he knows she isn't just bragging. And I know that it's safe to let out the breath I was holding...

-D

OK, Cupid, Maybe You CAN Get Me Laid

I've actually had very little success with the OKCupid matching site. And that's a shame, really, because I love their tests and I think their approach to questions (allowing multiple "right" answers, weighting the importance of various questions) is probably one of the best thought-out of the dating-website diaspora. And yet, until this week I'd never gotten lucky with anyone I met there. A number of first dates, but rarely a second date.

And then, this happens. I'm currently in Denver, and will be for a few more days. Last year, when I lived here for a few months, I'd tried to date a little using OKC (and a few others) as a source, to no avail. I don't remember how I found the particular ad, but after moving back to California I stumbled across an ad from someone in Boulder. An almost idea match-- polyamorous, close (-enough) to my age, and many shared interests including Russian. I sent a brief e-mail that basically joked, "Where were you last year when I was in Denver for 8 months?" Funny-enough, she wrote back and said I should drop her a line next time I was headed to the area. So a few weeks ago, I did. But this story actually isn't about her, and you'd probably prefer I get to the sex part, anyway...

When I wrote to her, as is the wont of OKC I saw a few suggested profiles for people in the same general area that are similar (by OKC's measure) to the person I just wrote to. One of them really caught my eye, as her views on sex and poly relationships was very close to mine. I was hesitant, though, because there was a larger age-gap than I would normally pursue. But I sent a fairly harmless message anyway. She replied and seemed to be really interested in me. We exchanged some OKC messages, and moved one evening into actual chat. Started on OKC, moved to Yahoo IM. I still wasn't sure she was actually interested in getting together, but the chat was enjoyable.

Then it started getting slightly suggestive. I was being a good boy, I swear! But after a bit, I had to start teasing a little in return. You know, like self-defense. Sorta. Anyway, so we decided to meet somewhere last Saturday, after she got off work. Picked a nice, reasonably-quiet bar. I got there and immediately recognized her from her pics. Oh yeah... pics. Did I mention that by way of teasing me, she had sent me links ("private guest passes", in Flickr terminology) to several Flickr photo sets she had, that were carefully locked? And for good reason... these included several strip-tease sets, a set from her first orgy (which also proudly pointed out that she herself had organized it), and a set called "not alone", that comprised of pics of her with others (but which did not belong to the orgy set). As George Takei would say, "Oh my."

So, yeah, after deciding that despite a clear case of mutual lust (I had only a few pictures to offer, but sent them in order to be fair) it would not be wise for one of us to drive the 30 or so miles to the other at 2AM for a quickie, we made the Saturday plans. And so it came to be that I was having a pint of Guinness (food of the gods), across from her and her simple white wine. We talked for hours, joking, flirting just a little. And as it was getting late, we left and went to my car (well, the car I borrowed from the friend I'm staying with out here). At this point, I was hopeful but a little unsure... aside from semi-anon hook-ups on Craigslist, my actual dating-life has been pretty cruddy for quite a while. This person was neither a professional, paid to tolerate my advances, nor a fellow CL cruiser, who may have simply decided that I was "good enough" for that evening's efforts. No, this was a real, ordinary person with fairly ordinary dating instincts. But as we sat and contemplated each other, I boldly made the move for a first kiss. And 10 minutes later, we broke off long enough to consider our dilemma:

• Driving to my place was out because (a) it was 30+ miles away and (b) my friend was already annoyed that I had made a date to spend time with someone other than her (despite the fact that we are only friends, not romantically-involved, and despite the fact that in previous visits she herself had tried to get me laid... I don't understand, so please don't ask...)
• Her place was out because she currently was living with a parent while returning to school after a few years' break
• There was no doubt we needed to find someplace, and fast

So we did something I hadn't actually ever had to do before: we found a cheap motel, and rented a room solely for the purpose of sex.

Once in the room, we didn't waste any time. But that was largely because we didn't have a lot of time to waste... it was already late, and she had to be up early Sunday for work. But we had enough time for my two favorite Latin words. Who am I kidding... for me, there's always time for going down!

After we spent more time making out (this time, doing so while deliciously undressed), I kissed my way down her body and took a moment to gaze at her V. Very nice, indeed: neatly trimmed, without any actual shaving. I could play to my heart's content without worrying about either stray hairs or razor stubble. So I went in and started in on my usual tricks and technique. I know I've said it over and over, but I fucking love going down on a woman. I don't know why, maybe because I got conditioned to consider it "forbidden fruit" earlier in my sexual history. But it's just heaven for me. So, I'd made sure she knew that I was a lover of this activity, and also more than happy to go as long as it took for her to get off... I didn't just consider it some obligatory foreplay. And she had warned that she rarely gets off from just oral. But that's OK... I'm just lovin' life, for now. Licking, suckling the clit, lightly nipping the labia, long slow broad strokes of my tongue. After a while, at her request, I work a few fingers into her and start massaging the general area of the G-spot (which I tend to have more trouble locating than the clit itself). But sure-enough, after about 20 minutes or so, she stops me and tells me that she thinks she'd have a better chance of getting off if I continue to use the fingers inside her, but let her work her clit with her own fingers. You know, some guys might take offense at this, or at least feel like they weren't effective. Not me. I'm just happy to see my partner get off, especially if I can have a hand in it (oh, that was a bad pun... sorry). And after another 5 minutes or so, I got what I wanted to see: her in the throes of a great O, so much that almost her entire body lifted up from the bed.

Then it was my turn. As sometimes happens, I had gotten very focused on what I was doing to/for her, and my own excitement had... faded. But she had bragged about her oral skills, and felt the need to back up her bold words. And she did. I can no longer point to a single person as the hands-down "best" oralist I've had the pleasure of enjoying, but she was pretty damn good. When she took me over the edge, I felt almost as if I was coming so hard my feet were shrinking.

Alas, at that point I knew I was spent for the night, and she still had work to dread, err, look forward to. So we parted ways, me driving her back to the bar to get her car, and her saying good-night with a hungry kiss that made me wish it were 3PM instead of AM. But part we did, and drove back to my house and she to hers. Neither of us knowing for sure if our schedules (hers consisting of school and work, mine consisting of remote website work and house maintenance/repairs) would let us get together again.

Turns out they do-- tomorrow morning. And on that note, I need to get some sleep :-).

-Dausa

London Calling. Errr, Again.

Tomorrow I'll be on a flight to London, this time to spend a good week (almost) there before heading north-ish to Telford. I'll be kicking around from the 3rd on to the 9th or so. Any suggestions for places to check out are greatly appreciated. I love this city, and plan to see as much as I can in the six or so days I'll have. And if you're a London-area blogger and are interesting in chatting over a pint, that too might be possible (though one evening is already spoken for at this point).

Ta!

-D

Memory Lane: First Threesome

(For lack of any current goings-on, I'm reaching into the memory-vault for this one. Not that I don't like recalling the high-points of past sex-capades, but that is a limited resource. If I don't add some new memories to the vault eventually, the well will run dry.)

My first threesome involved Nine Inch Nails, suggestive dancing, and a water-bed. It did not, however, involve penetration.

I don't remember exactly when it was. I do know that it was after the release of Nine Inch Nails' Closer, and it was around the time that NIN toured for the album with Marilyn Manson and the Jim Rose Circus. The album came out in 1994, so it was probably that year. From what I remember of the weather, it was either late fall of '94 or late winter of '95. Come to think of it, it was after a trip I'd made to New Orleans, so I'm going to go with the '95 estimate.

I was involved with PC, someone I've mentioned here before (since we were together for so long). By this point, I knew she was bisexual. Mind you, this wasn't something she told me until we'd known each other quite a while, and had been intimate for some time, as well. I don't know why she took so long to tell me. It could be that she was tired of guys assuming that she'd hook them up with a 3-way when they learned. Or maybe she didn't think I could handle it. I was awfully naive when she and I met, much more so than I ever realized at the time. Whatever the reason, once I found out I never tried to get her to set us up, which may be why she finally did so on her own. Well, sort of on her own.

There was this stunning Amazon of a woman that we knew, JR. 5'11", lovely curvy proportions, dark red hair. Bisexual and polyamorous, and very open about both. At some point a few months earlier, I had learned two interesting things at separate times: JR thought PC was hot, and PC felt the same about JR. On the minus side, JR lived in Minnesota. On the plus side, however, she worked as a flight attendant for a major airline and tended to hit Denver 3-5 times a year. Besides a shared attraction, they had another interest in common: Nine Inch Nails. Who were going to be in Denver at some upcoming date, at a time that coincided with one person's birthday (JR's, I think). So I got tickets for us all, and JR used her latitude as an airline employee to come visit and go to the concert.

The night of the concert, I was a nervous wreck. Was this really going to happen? Would I really be having a threesome? Or would I be left out, again? See, some months earlier, PC had tried to set something up around my birthday. A woman she met who was pretty openly-sexual and who seemed to like PC, invited us out for drinks. A fourth person came along, but that didn't bother me. But the evening went in a direction that is so far beyond wrong, I can't even go into it here. Besides, this story is about the evening that went right. So here I was, nervous after a previous disaster, but what did I have to complain about? I was at a concert of Marilyn Manson and NIN. Manson (who I wasn't really into) had just finished, and the Jim Rose Circus was on stage. Amazing show. But we really wanted to see NIN. So as much as we liked Jim Rose, we were happy when he finished.

The NIN show was fantastic. I've seen them on other occasions, but this one was the best. Maybe because of other events, I've come to romanticize it, but I really do think they were in top form. And the three of us, well... we went from just cheering to dancing in place in our seats, to dancing close and intimate during "Something I Can Never Have". And believe it or not, I was so distracted by these two women, that the irony of the title as applied to my current situation was completely lost on me!

That song, that dancing, changed the whole dynamic of the evening. Up to that point, I think all three of us were entertaining "what if?" thoughts. After that point, "if" transformed to "when". Touching that had been just light and fleeting became more deliberate, and lingering. As much as we loved the concert, we all seemed ready for the last encore to end. Of course, this was a huge concert at an arena, so it took for-FUCKING-ever to get out of the parking lot and back home. By this time, it was no longer such a sure thing... we were more tired than we'd been, and less wired. The time spent getting out of the lot and home had let some of the intensity wane. But under it all, we all three still wanted this. That's one of the best parts about looking back at this: I can see with certainty that unless they had wanted it as badly as I did, there were dozen of excuses and chances to get out that could have been used.

Instead, we all climbed into my king-sized water-bed, and spent some time building the intensity back up. At first, we kind of all looked to one another a little sheepishly. I knew even then that neither of them were strangers to sex where N > 2, but it seemed right to do, to take some time to push out the frustration of the traffic, the residual noise of the concert. I don't know how long we waited, but eventually the waiting turned back into mutual caressing. And the caressing turned into kissing. I had never seen two women kiss before this. Oh, I'd seen it in porn, and some short kisses in mainstream films. Heck, I'd been to the art-house theater and seen a few lesbian-themes movies, even. But this was real, it was right in front of me. And the real thing is just so much better than film can ever be! So it's a cliché, so it's typically-male of me to say: two women who are truly into each other, kissing passionately, is totally fucking hot.

I don't know how long we'd been at this point. It might have been two hours, it might have been fifteen minutes. But JR looked in PC's eyes and said to her, "I want to taste you". A younger me would probably have shot his wad at that moment. Instead, I scooted towards the edge of the bed to allow them room, so they wouldn't feel crowded by me. And I got to watch.

Did you know that women don't really make love like the way it's portrayed in mainstream porn? Yeah, not exactly a revelation. And I knew that at the time, but I didn't know it, if you understand my meaning. But I started to understand it. Watching JR as she worked her way so slowly from kissing PC on the mouth, to kissing her throat, her breasts, her nipples, her belly... until finally she buried her face between her legs. I was so rapt by this, I didn't even stroke myself. I just watched, hoping that I'd be able to recall this until well into old age. It was just so beautiful. It was the first time I'd been able to watch two people like that at all, hetero or not.

After JR had worker her magic, I slid in and also went down on PC. I don't even think I felt threatened or anything, I wasn't doing it in an effort to prove to her that I could still get her off. It just seemed right... she was still laying there, glowing from the first orgasm, so I wanted her to have another. Then the two switched places, and PC started in on JR. This was definitely a side of my SO I hadn't seen before! I mean, I knew first-hand how talented her mouth was, but this was different. The look in her eyes as she locked them with JR, it was completely unlike the looks she gave me. Oh, and I did mention that it was already quite clear that JR was indeed a natural red-head, right? PC was in a sort of goth phase at the time, and the contrast of her jet-black hair on JR's thighs, spilling over to the edges of her auburn-red bush, well, I did suddenly remember that I was capable of stroking myself. When she came, JR came almost completely off the bed, her back arching and her head tilted backwards until from her vantage point the headboard seemed directly above her. When she calmed down, it was a given that I would go in, much as I had previously.

This was the strangest-feeling part of it, for me. I hadn't been with anyone else since PC and I started dating. Oh, we considered ourselves in an open relationship, but my job was so demanding of my time that I only had time to spend with her. She would occasionally see someone else, just to get out and have some fun. But I wasn't jealous-- I wanted her to be able to have her own me-time, much as my hobby and hobby-club meetings were for me. But here I was, about to put mouth to clit on what was really only my third vulva (recall that I was a latecomer to the whole cunnilingus thing), and my partner was settling in to watch me with (it looked like) every bit as much interest and fascination as I'd had while watching her. I was more nervous, this time. When I had just done this with my partner, I knew what she liked, what turned her on. But with JR, it was a whole new time of discovery. Every lick, every flick of the tip of my tongue, I was paying attention anew, hoping for signs that would tell me if this was adding to or distracting from the experience for her. I must have done something right, because I got the same reaction PC had. And it felt so good to have brought that out in her.

As fate would have it, we ended it there. I wish I could say that PC leaned in and shared in the licking, but that's another thing that tends to be only in the realm of porn; there just wasn't really room for both of us at once. I wish I could say that next it was my turn, and that they dueled tongues like swords around my throbbing cock. But the reality was, by this time it was pretty close to 4AM. The next morning, I would have to get to work, PC would have to get her son to school, and afterwards JR back to the airport. So instead, we cuddled up together and slept.

And I don't regret that at all. It was an almost-perfect night, and I'd rather have stopped it when we did than push ourselves and risk spoiling it. Besides, it was pretty clear that this wouldn't be a one-time thing, and I'm nothing if not patient... but I'll leave that for another post.

-Dausa

Two Recent Links that Piss Me Off

Life is still nuts. I've been interviewing with Large Well-Established Internet Portal on multiple occasions (with a variety of groups) over the last few weeks. Looks like I'll be leaving Current Job over the next few weeks. Plus, I'm getting ready for another trip to London in early November.

For now, here are two things that are making my head hurt:

• Who's the best choice to be responsible for U. S. contraception programs? Apparently, someone who's strongly against the concept of contraception.
• A sex worker agrees to a service at a price. Instead, the client pulls a gun and (along with three friends) forces her to have unprotected sex for free. According to the judge, this wasn't rape, it was "theft of services".

Bed, now. Other posts later.

-D

The (Unsolicited) Book Review

As has been noted on some of the finer sex blogs out there, there have been some less-than-honorable publicity moves on the part of the U.S. release of The Girl's book. Now, this blog is not prominent-enough to have been tempted with the "opportunity" to shill an edited, probably watered-down version of the book in question. Maybe, before I practically fell off the face of the earth for the better part of 2006, I might have had enough traffic to warrant an invite. But I didn't get one. Which is OK, because if you checked either of those first two links, you'll see that I'm not inclined to go along with what they were planning, anyway.

Instead, I'm going to write my own review. The cover-image to the right links to the UK Amazon store (it's actually the link that Abby herself uses on her site, so if there is any Amazon Associates code or similar, it will be her that benefits from it, not me... to use my code would link this blog to my "real life" too closely anyway). I recommend that if you are interested in the book (and hopefully you will be by the time I'm finished), that you'll buy it from the UK even if you're in the US, as I am.

I bought the book on a whim, earlier this year. I mean, I planned all along to get the book, of course, but I hadn't gotten around to it (not even on my trip to London last November). On a (separate) whim, I was perusing the Amazon.co.uk site looking for a rare, out-of-print classical CD. If, by the way, you like either of Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition or Respighi's Pines of Rome, I cannot recommend this recording highly-enough. I lost my original in a car break-in years ago, and had been searching for a replacement every since. I couldn't be satisfied with any other interpretation. But I digress. At long last, I had found it. And I was so happy, I decided to add another item or two, as long as I was shopping. But what? Then I remembered Abby expressing some disdain as what she was hearing about the plans for the US market release of her book. Why not get it in the original Queen's English edition? Perfect!

So I get the book. Now first off, let me say that I've been reading her blog since about April of 2005. It was one of the first few sex-blogs that I came across from checking out other blogger's link-rolls. I was speechless as the wry wit and general sense of, well, fun that she seemed to be putting into each blog post. So I was already a big fan. When I heard that there was going to be a book, I knew I'd eventually get it and read it. Just a matter of "when", not "if". So how did the book stack up to the blog experience?

Quite well, if I may say so.

These are two very different media. It sounds obvious when I say it, but it's surprising how many people don't get this simple fact. Violet Blue gets it. Xeni Jardin gets it. Lots of people do, but they're sadly in the minority. So to do this thing, you have to understand that difference and make the material that you wrote for one form of expression work in the other. She does this, and in my feel for reading the book, she does it well. It turns the blog content back into the diary-form that blogs grew out of. But she has created content over the course of her blog that doesn't quite fit into this model, yet is top-notch content and should be included. How to do this? A little re-arranging, a little re-organizing, and you have excellent filler pages that are not only as good as the rest of the pages, they do a handy job of breaking up the logical sections of the narrative.

Know this before you buy it: if you're looking for a book to jerk off to, you might want to stick with Penthouse Letters. There are some hot pages in this book, and I was plenty hard on several occasions. But this is a more emotional than salacious book. While there are plenty of detailed descriptions, many of those descriptions are of how she's feeling about the latest emotional let-down, the latest punishment for letting her guard down. I winced in places, seeing the accident about to happen but unable to jump into the page and warn her. I envied her (or more accurately, her partner) when the stars aligned and the sex was had. And when I got to the last page, I wanted very badly to see "To be continued".

So in case it isn't clear, I recommend this book whole-heartedly and without reservations. More to the point, without any "coaching" from the sleazy US publicist. I don't know if she plans on more books in this vein. The fall-out over her identity being spread by London tabloids did quite a number on her personal life, and pretty much ended her professional life. But if she has anything else in the works, blog, memoir or fiction, I think I'll pre-order it this time around.

From Amazon UK, of course. It really is a global economy, after all.

-Dausa

Lighter-Note Links

To offset the crankiness in the previous post, here are some recent links I've been enjoying and sharing with others:

• Slow Jerk: I've watched this over and over, and still laugh my ass off at it. Might just be a guy thing, though. Video, might be marginally NSFW.
  
• Tales of MU: An ongoing piece of fantasy fiction. Fairly typical reverse-world: science is the "great leap of faith", which magic and magical beings are common place. The writer weaves these elements in seamlessly, and very creatively (down to an argument about whether the magic spell that makes the light inside a fridge actually goes off or not when you close the door). There's very little explicit erotica in it, but the subtle sexuality that is present is hawt. It's mostly lesbian in nature, and very heavily leaning towards BDSM. Lot's of control, humiliation, spanking, etc. Some of the stuff I don't usually find that hot in other erotica, but this writer is, well, let's just say gifted.

Thought I had more, but I can't find the other's in my history or bookmarks...

-D

N Things I Hate About Porn

Borrowing a phrase from my college math days, "For some values of N". After all, I might find new gripes in the future and want to update this list...

I recently picked up some on-the-cheap porn DVDs from a local bookstore. I had dumped a lot of my porn last year when I thought I was moving to the UK (mostly VHS, which wouldn't have been any use over there, and it was getting old anyway), and I haven't had a lot of luck finding useful porn on the 'net. I mean, let's be honest: SEO-gone-horribly-wrong has made searching specifically for porn online an exercise in abject frustration.

So I've bought a few DVDs here and there over the last few months. And thrown almost half of them away after viewing (some I didn't even bother to finish). I can't even claim that the ones I've kept are particularly great, but they didn't suck as badly and/or they had one or more scenes that made them worth keeping.

So here, in no particular order, are N things I hate about porn. I reserve the right to add to this list in the future, should porn continue to suck at its current rate.

1. Predictability. For crying out loud, not every scene has to follow the same pattern. And when I say "same", I mean I can write it out as a symbolic expression, much as we computer-types do to specify languages. First, one of the two performs oral on the other. Then they switch places. Then it's vaginal sex, maybe in two or more positions. This is followed by anal, occasionally in more than one position. Lastly, the guy spews onto the woman's face. Technically-speaking, there are three variables I see in this equation: Who goes down on whom first, who starts out on top for the vaginal, and whether the anal is doggy-style or missionary. Mix it up some, guys. To be fair, this is in some part exacerbated by my next point.
2. Professionalism. It seems like everyone with a video camera and enough seed-money to sign a DVD-duplication contract is creating their own amateur porn series. That isn't bad in and of itself, but let's be honest: the majority of the people in these scenes wouldn't be third- or even fourth-string talent at a place like Vivid Video. And that's just the women. The men? With the exception of perhaps Peter North or Randy West's series, the men doing these videos look a lot like they might not be getting much action were it not for the camera and the money that's being paid to the actresses on a per-scene basis. I'll be fair here: I don't know the details of how the business works, but I don't think people do these scenes for the "life experience". No one's ever expected to be nominated for an Oscar for their work in DP-gangbang scene, but compared to the amateurs cropping up left and right, Tera Patrick may as well be Meryl Streep. As far as bodies go, just to clarify: I don't just mean non-Barbie body-types. I'm actually all for that... overdone breast jobs are just as off-putting. I mean people with visible rashes. Sagging breasts and loose skin usually associated with heavy meth use. And since most of these scenes represent the only time the director/actor is going to fuck the woman, they're more likely to try and do everything within that one scene (the source of most of my frustration laid out in the previous point).
   
3. Safety. I sat through a compilation DVD (well, fast-forwarded through most of it) that I bought recently. According to the 2257 disclaimer at the start of the program, pretty much all of the scenes were shot in or later than 1999. Some as recently as 2006. And more than half of them featured uncovered vaginal (and in several cases, anal) penetration. You just don't do that in this day and age. I look forward to the day when I meet someone I end up being with and staying committed to, to being able to be fluid-bonded to that person, to only using condoms for birth-control purposes. But until that day, I'm far too aware of the dangers of HIV to risk it. And there have been too many porn HIV scandals, for people to be taking these risks. And not no-name amateurs like my last point referred to, I mean names like Belladonna. Of course, the "condom-only" approach was all voluntary, and varied largely on a studio-to-studio basis. Maybe I'm just too practical, that I can't just sit back and let fantasy take me away. But I can't watch uncovered anal sex and not thing about the dangers. What's next, though, just compounds it.
4. ATM. Who the fuck on this planet decided that it was sexy for the man to take his cock directly from the woman's ass and stick it in her mouth? I mean, most men won't even kiss their girl immediately after she goes down, but they think this sort of thing is hot? Not just scenes that could have been done with clever editing-- I mean scenes in which the dick goes back and forth many, many times within the full camera frame. Sure, you can cleanse the area, use enemas, etc. But it's still the one of the most bacteria-ridden parts of the body. Ask any sex educator and they'll stress the importance of not moving directly from anal back to vaginal without first cleaning oneself. Maybe they're on to something. And yes, I know this is personal preference (clearly, if it's being done as much as I'm seeing in my small sample, someone must be driving the market). But then, it's my bitch-list, too.
5. Gulp. Having a fondness for the blowjob myself, I have a... proclivity towards buying (or renting) titles that are heavy on the oral action. And the last 4-5 I've (for lack of a better phrase) come across, all seem to have one thing in common aside from facial finishes: at some point, usually several such points, the guy forcefully gags the woman with his dick. Usually pretty hard, usually in rapid succession. Sometimes it's milder, the woman just pushes herself as far down as she can go, and holds herself there until her eyes water and she coughs around/against the dick. Like the ATM, someone must think this is sexy, because it's all over the place any more. To me, it's distracting at the very least. Maybe I'm just missing the chromosome that makes the sound of trying not to vomit sexy. Given my (growing) list of complaints with porn, it could just be me I suppose.
6. Lesbi-ain'ts. I think that before any director is allowed to shoot a girl-on-girl scene, he (or she) should be compelled to watch actual lesbians having sex. Note the total lack of inch-long nails. Take care to observe that the body language generally involves facing each other while kissing, not both women facing the camera while their backs lay on the same geometric plane. I know mainstream porn thinks lesbians are just waiting for the dick to magically appear, but that's no reason to face the same direction. Shouldn't someone should be looking in each direction, so it doesn't sneak up on them?
   

I think that's enough for now. Needless to say, it ain't easy for me to find porn I like these days. And when I do find something boner-inspiring, I end up watching it until I'm tired of it. But at least the looking and test-viewing part is entertaining!

-D

In Which I (Almost) Get My First Facial

Usual warning here: this post contains bi content. It is, in fact, almost 100% man-on-man. So if that takes you to the scary place, just move along and I'll try to put up some safe (hetero) content soon(-ish).

OK.

So, I haven't written in quite a while. It's hard to blog about sex that I'm not having. For reasons that I'll expound upon in a later entry, I'm not indulging in commercial sex these days, nor am I cruising Craigslist as often as I was earlier this year. But occasionally I do skim over the CL ads, and rarer still I'll send out an answer or two. Last Saturday was one such time.

I've been interested in exploring my bi side for the last few months. Part of the reason I haven't been doing the CL thing as much is that I'm actually more interested in finding someone I can do more with than just get blown. Even after the experiences I've had, I'm still surprised at how many people (at least on CL) are interested in giving head while not wanting any reciprocation. Well, don't get me wrong... I still love getting head. Love it love it love it. But, and I never thought I'd see the day when I am the one saying this, but: there's more to sex than just getting blown.

So Saturday, late, I saw and answered an ad. Someone fairly close to my age, close to my locale, who wanted to trade head. Had a picture of his erection, and it looked pretty suckable. I mean, when I say that I'm speaking from a vantage of only having had my mouth around a dick four times previously. Two of those were cross-dressers, and one was a pre-op transsexual (who was more hung than I am, while still being fully feminine in terms of facial features, skin, etc., and possessing an awesome rack... WTF is up with that?). So I get directions and head (heh heh) over.

Sorry, I can't start in with the sex part yet, because he was apparently more nervous than I was. His last email had said he'd be waiting for me while "watching movies". I figure I'll get there and there'll be some decent porn on. Nope. He's watching SpikeTV, and it's a lame cop-caper flick with Stephen Dorff and Natasha Henstridge. So we sit and watch for a bit. Play with his cat a bit. Finally, in an uncharacteristically-bold gesture, I chuckle (at least, I think it came out as a chuckle) and say that when he said he was watching movies, I thought he meant porn. He says he does have a couple of new pornos, but the only working DVD player is in the bedroom. Cool. Works on two levels.

We move on in, and he starts it up. Straight porn, of course. A M/F/M threesome with no M/M contact. He's into it, so we sit on the bed and watch. Scene ends, he skips over some fairly generic ones until he gets to another 3-way. Watch that a while. It starts to work on me, so I pull myself out and start stroking. I mean, someone clearly needs to take the initiative, here. He starts telling me how he got started down this sordid path of cock-suckery: apparently, he used to have a roommate who, when he'd stumble home drunk, would pressure this guy (JB) for head. Kept telling him how they'd take turns, it would feel great, etc. So eventually he gave in, and found that he did like it. I guess they don't room together, since JB has been forced to turn to CL to satisfy his shameful desires. I shouldn't be so snarky, but he did make it sound like he was practically seduced by the dark side of The Force into blowing his (ex-)roommate.

By this time, the scene on the DVD has switched again, now we're seeing a one-on-one with a cute Asian woman. I can tell he's about to skip it, but I mention I think she's cute, so he leaves it. Good call-- this scene has some fantastic close-ups of her working over her partner's erection with lips and tongue. Seriously boner-inspiring stuff. He says, "let me start on you." So we both strip, and I lay back. I watch the porn, he enacts the porn.

And he's pretty damn good.

He works me over really well, and he does a good job taking me pretty deep. Just recalling it now is getting me ready to go again. He changes angles a few times, and is expert at stopping before I get too gone, and letting me cool off before starting again. After a while, he has me stand up beside the bed, and he gets on his knees in front of me. This is fun, too. I look over at the TV, which is the only source of light in the room. We're right in front of it, so his face is bathed in the glow of porn. A new scene is on now (I got caught up in what he was doing and missed the ending of the Asian woman's scene), this one is a slender brunette. She looks a bit like the Twitter icon of a certain sexblogger I regularly read (and follow the Twitters of). So now I'm getting some really good head, and watching some really good head, and wondering if what I see on screen is anything like how she gives head, and then I realize that I'm having to bend my knees slightly to lower my pelvis to his face-level, and my thighs are starting to rebel. So we move back to the bed. Now, on the screen, the brunette is on the receiving end of some breath-play from her partner. Which also reminds me of that someone. I look from there, to the mouth that's actually on my dick, and that's all she wrote. Thank goodness for latex, because I didn't even have a chance to warn him that I was going to shoot. Even with head, I can have trouble coming with a condom on, but not this time. Woof.

He gets me a towel to clean up with, and I catch my breath (coming that much can be hard work!). Now, the moment of truth. I can count the number of times I've done this on one hand and still have a finger free to scratch an itch. And none of those times, have I actually brought the person off. I've had to come to the depressing conclusion that giving a blowjob is not an innate skill. And at present, I'm not very good at it. Made all the more frustrating because I am pretty damn good at going down on women, even if I do say so myself. But just like the way you get to Carnegie Hall, what I need is practice, practice, practice.

So I have him lay back, and I get down between his legs. Note to self: you've always been good about remembering to wash yourself really good before hook-ups, especially around the creases where pelvis meets the top of the leg. Now you know what it's like if you DON'T do that. But I'm strong-enough to soldier on. He was still at full-mast when I came, but the break we've taken has let a little air out of the tube.

Which is good, because, well, I did mention I'm still fairly new at this, right? I mean, he's not as big as me. Nor does he get to be, once he's fully erect. But I'm already having problems fitting it all in my mouth. And anyone who knows me says I can have a big mouth at times. Just clearly not at the times that count. But I'm trying. I'm also trying to do some fun things with my tongue along the underside of the shaft. It looks a lot easier in the porn videos. The women in those can take bigger dicks than this and STILL flutter their tongues along it as they go up and down. But boy, is this harder than it looks, pun intended. And the more I try to stretch my "depth", the closer I get to gagging myself.

So now, here's the score: I've been doing him for about 1/4 the time he spent on me. Already, I'm fighting the urge to purge in the back of my throat, and my eyes are watering from my attempts to take him deeper. I'm madly making sure I keep my teeth covered by lips, because I know how much I hate feeling teeth. On the plus side, he really seems to be enjoying himself. But I realize I'm going to have to resort to the trick I hate seeing done in porn: I'm going to have to use my hand on the shaft.

See, when I see this in porn, it feels like a cop-out. The woman seems as though she's less interested in giving pleasure than in just getting the guy off. She reverts to what is basically a handjob with her sucking on the tip. I'd rather see a more sincere blowjob that only goes halfway down the shaft. Now, however, I realize that there are hips on the other end of that shaft, and sometimes they "encourage" a deeper level of, shall we say, commitment. So now I'm using my hand, as well. And in my own defense, I am at least using my mouth on more than just the tip. Just... not as taking it as deep as I was before.

All this time, I can't help but think that I'm just not doing this very well. I mean, he seems to be enjoying it... he's moaning a lot and bucking plenty (hence the manual intervention). So I'm probably just being hard on myself (*snicker*). But what it boils down to is this: I know that if I were getting this exact blowjob, I'd be unimpressed.

Luckily, I'm not the one on the receiving end, and the one who IS on the receiving end must be enjoying it, because the next thing I know, I hear him say, "I'm coming!". Completely forgetting that there's a safe layer of latex in place, I draw back instinctively. And realize that had there not been a condom, I would have succeeded in not being given a mouthful, but I would have instead glazed myself like a Krispy Kreme gone very, very bad. This guy must have been saving it up for a week or more, because I could swear the condom's tip more than tripled in size. Might just have been my vantage point, I suppose.

At that point, it was really late. Like, 5AM late. So we said good-bye as I found my own way to the door and he hit the shower. But at least I can say that I've made a man come with my mouth. And maybe someone of you reading this can remember far-enough back in your own sexual histories, to remember when you too might have considered that an accomplishment.

I'm still hoping to find a nice, smooth very-femme twink who'll let me explore more in-depth than I have thus far, but this was a good time. And when I got home, I slept the sleep of the satisfied.

Dausa

Twitter-pated

Among the many Twitter users I follow, is AlwaysArousedGirl. But the application I use to follow the feeds (I can never remember to log in to instant-messaging clients) croaked over the weekend, letting several "events" queue up. When I restarted it, I got the last three things AAG had twitter'd, all in rapid succession. Which, well, altered slightly how one might have interpreted them were they to have come through with more delay between them:

aagblog: Gettin' ready for 24 Hours of Sex. Be afraid. :)

aagblog: Recovering. Can barely speak. Everything sore. Happy. Happy. Happy.

aagblog: Thank the good lord above for the teletubbies.

Really. I think that last message was part of a different line of thinking. Otherwise, I need some steel-wool for my eye-meats.

-D

Best Gang/Gay Pun EVAR

From the ever-lovely Violet Blue's SF Chron column this week:

...and all I could do now was spill a little Smirnoff Ice on the corner of Market and Castro for my fallen homos.

Nuttin' but love for ya. Peace-out.

-D

When Sex-Addiction Isn't So Cute

I'm back in Denver for a week, to see a friend's son graduate from high school. It's a nice, quiet vacation, a needed break from the job I've been at for almost 6 months now.

In coming back, I was reminded of one of the few people I fooled around with while I was living here last year. I didn't write about it here (I don't think... I should probably check the archives to be sure, but if I did write it was only briefly), because it was actually a little unnerving for me.

See, this person is also a sex addict. But compared to her, I'm just a wanker trying to justify himself. And I don't consider myself a wanker trying to justify himself. This person doesn't have issues, she has subscriptions. But I'm happy to say that she does try very hard to keep her life on an even keel. With varying degrees of success, of course (as do we all). But one thing I found from exchanging a few e-mails then checking out her MySpace page, was that the local alternative weekly had done a story about her back in February. A story that is pretty candid, and one that revealed even more details of her rough times than even she or her ex-husband had ever mentioned in person back when I was living here and occasionally hanging out with them:

One Wild Ride

Reading this, I am actually grateful that my own addiction is fairly mild by comparison. I wish you only the best, hon.

-D

ABM: F%&!ing Ouch!

(I am still desperately clinging to my attempts to pass the "Ass-Blogging Monday" meme into the mainstream sex-blog-o-sphere.)

So, apparently I was a bit hasty in assuming that I had forever blown my chances with the TV I had seen several times before. After apologizing and making a heartfelt offer to be more attentive and less selfish, I was given a second chance last Saturday night. Now, I happen to know that I wasn't her first choice. The ad I cited in that previous article? She posted a second one several hours later. Finally, around 3:30AM she replied to my last e-mail and invited me over. So right off the bat, I knew that she probably had waited as long as she thought she could, hoping that someone else would answer and agree to visit. But like I said, I'd been (mostly) in the wrong (mixed signals or no) so I accepted that.

I headed over, and we spent a good part of the first hour or so just laying side-by-side and talking. Eventually, though, inevitably one might say, talking turned to caressing, caressing turned to stroking, and stroking led to getting undressed. This time was different in a lot of ways. First of all, it was the first time I penetrated her. Now, I'm not actually that into anal. But sometimes that's your only avenue, so you enjoy it. After due time spent enjoying this, we took a break to catch our second wind. Somehow, the conversation turned to whether I had ever been on the receiving end. I hadn't, and I admitted as much. So, she suggested giving it a go. And since I was in an accommodating mood, I said, "Sure!"

That. Fucking. Hurt.

OK, first of all, I'm not sure if I should continue using the feminine pronoun when it's her pegging me. Hell, I don't even know if it counts as pegging since a real penis was being used. I'll keep using the feminine out of habit, I suppose. Anyway, maybe she was out of practice on being on the pitching end, but she was sure as shit lacking in subtlety. And another thing... to quote Orlando Jones in Evolution, "There's always time for lube!". But other than what was on the condom itself, she seemed to have forgotten that detail.

I know some of you out there really groove on anal play. But I gotta say, I'm not digging it from my (admittedly limited) first-hand experience. It was about 6:00AM when I left, and yes, I was walking a little gingerly.

-Dausa

In Which I Learn I Was a Selfish Lout

Since the end of the "33 Days" experiment, I haven't really been getting out much, let along getting much. Part of it was due to my depression kicking in, part of it just from lack of time (and energy) to pursue things. But I did see the TV a couple more times. This was the person that I first saw back when I did my so-called "Craigslist Experiment". In fact, she had placed an ad I answered, she wasn't someone answering the ad I had placed. She also was amazing to fool around with, so after I got past the 33 days, and after I started getting my shit together again, I saw her a couple of times.

Then, a few weeks ago, she stopped replying or calling me.

Mind you, it's not as though she always jumped every time I replied to her. Some nights, I imagine someone else got there first. But for several ads in a row, I heard nothing. Then, earlier this week, she replied.

In the reply (which I didn't save, so I can quote verbatim), she said she was a little hurt by the fact that the last time or two I'd been over, I basically got my rocks off and split, with barely even any chit-chat. And she was right-- I had done exactly that. Of course, I hadn't really thought about it until she said something, and since then I've been kicking myself for it. I don't want to be that kind of person, so it sucks to learn that I was doing so despite my best efforts. Not only that, but it cost me an otherwise very fun, very accommodating play-partner.

Now, in my defense, her ads generally had the gist of, "Come use me as a cock-slut, this is what I like." I'm not playing blame-the-victim, here. The person very much likes the submissive role, and emphasizes this in her ads. In fact, she has on up right now:

Last night was beyond dead. Hopefully tonight I will encounter all kinds of dick in desperate need of my special oral attention. I serve as a hot Latina crossdresser ( very passable ) and always hot for a good piece of dick! Requirements for you this evening are simply this, you must be available to travel to XXXXXXXXX ( don't ask me to come to you! ), you must be clean in decent shape and know how to serve that tool between your legs ( size is not an issue but how you use it )and last you must foward a photo with a brief description of yourself and your sexual needs for this evening.

And that ad is actually quite tame compared to most of them. It was all very confusing for someone who doesn't pick up on social cues very well. The ads seemed to stress one thing, and yet she complained about something else. But in the end, it comes down to me not being very considerate, and that sucks. I don't know if I'll see her again or not. But if I don't, it's my loss more than hers.

Dausa

Penis Power vs. Vagina Power

Video, safe for viewing at work. Though you might want to wear headphones, depending on the environment:

http://www.devilducky.com/media/60668/

Still very much in depression. Burying myself in my Russian studies for now. But the video was too good not to share. I'll be back, I promise...

-D

Break Time's Over

I needed a break after the 33 Days thing. I've got some material to write, that'll show up over the next few days (allowing for a brief trip down to Orange County this weekend). I didn't really get the sort of, well, "enlightenment" (for lack of any remotely better word) I had hoped the exercise would bring me. Fact is, I'm not really doing that well right now, but I don't yet know how to express it.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Epilogue - What I Have (Not) Learned

Well. Here I am. I didn't get around to writing this yesterday. Unfortunately, it wasn't because I was going buck-wild but rather because I'm suffering from a pinched nerve that makes it really hard to sleep, and thus am not as well-rested as I should be.

I'm not really sure that I learned anything from this. At least, not anything constructive or useful. Certainly I can do This Thing where I don't orgasm for some set period of time. But hey, I just turned 39. That's not the news story it was 20 years ago. I certainly learned that it doesn't diminish the amount I think about sex. Predictably-enough, it boosted it pretty heavily. If anything, I learned that I'm prone to self-sabotage in a big, big way. If I weren't reporting in daily, I never would have made it a week.

Of course, I went out and got laid. I made a valiant effort to pick someone up through Craigslist, but it didn't pan out. Instead, I went to a provider I'd seen before, one that I knew I could count on for a good session. It wasn't the mind-blowing experience I'd had the first time with her (first times are always more exciting, I guess), but it was worth the expenditure. And boy did I spend... she was clearly impressed with the forcefulness of my orgasm, and the quantity of DNA left behind. I also squeezed out a couple on my own, later. I had tried to find something late-night on CL, but no dice. Not to worry, I'm still one of my best lovers.

Unfortunately, without this driving my posting, I fear I may drop off drastically again, and I don't want that. But there is so little new in my life, I'm going to eventually run out of past experiences to mine. Oh well, I'll burn that bridge once I've crossed it. I have some stuff I can still draw upon that should hopefully entertain, at least over the next few days.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 33 - Wow

I can't believe I've made it. Granted, I had help in the form of being sick for nearly a week. And I had a semi-wet dream at one point. And let's be clear: I handled myself plenty, I just never allowed myself to orgasm. I couldn't help it-- when laying awake at night with a raging boner, I have to hold it.

I'm not sure, to be honest, what I've learned from this (except that I don't think I want to try it ever again). I'm going to sleep on it, and write an epilogue tomorrow. But first, I do want to thank everyone for the words of encouragement. It really helped more than you would think. Plus, it's just nice to know you're being read and that people enjoy reading you. Again, thanks.

(No, even though it is now officially the 3rd, I haven't wanked yet, because I still want to actually be engaged in sex with another person when I break this fast. To that end, I'm going to sleep before I get any bright ideas...)

Dausa

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 32 - My Nuts Are the Center of my World

Blue, blue, my balls are blue /
Blue are my balls, on day thirty-two.

(sung to the tune of "Love is Blue")

I can't even touch myself for any length of time. Washing myself in the shower gets me hard, and by the time I'm rinsing the soap off I feel like just dropping to my knees and getting it all over with.

The concept of blue balls is real enough (and you can't imagine how pleased I am to find it covered in Wikipedia). The belief that you could die from it is, of course, wrong. But don't ask me about that right now. Right now, I feel like I have more spooge in my sac than I've ever had before. I can't think straight. And I mean that literally-- I'm at a point where I'm truly equally interested in men or women. Which is to say, I'm so horny at this stage my only concern would be whether I find the person attractive or not. Plumbing is not an issue.

I know there is just the one day left. I know that I'm just so close to reaching my goal. But every nerve-ending I have is screaming out for a release. And tomorrow is Friday; most nights I've gotten home from work late-enough, been tired-enough, that I only worried and fretted on a mostly intellectual level. But tomorrow I'll have all evening to dwell on my plight. Tomorrow will be a long night.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 31 - So Close, So Far

I'm in a weird state (and I ain't just talkin' about California! *rimshot*). Weird dualities-- I'm keenly-focused on how badly I want to rip my jeans off and wank myself until there are no more juices left to come out, yet at the same time I feel no need to do so. I'm anxious to cruise Craigslist and find a man or a TV or any consenting human to suck me until only dust remains, but I'm supremely confident that I'll manage through the next two days.

(And to clarify, I meant 33 complete days. That means lasting until past midnight on the 2nd. Or more specifically, making it until the 3rd, my birthday.)

I'm giving a lot of thought to how I want to deal with Saturday. I was chatting with one of my favorite bloggers this afternoon, who seemed to think I shouldn't go immediately for the commercial route, that I should try pulling. Well and good, but I don't have the confidence in my chances for success. Believe it or not, I'm cripplingly shy in person. I'm crap at being suave in bars, because I'm crap being suave anywhere. It doesn't help that I have more self-esteem issues around weight (I'm not obese, but I'm big-enough to put a lot of women off), and while I am currently losing weight at a steady pace, I'm not going to be Brad Pitt by Saturday. Hell, I'm not even going to be Paul Giamatti by then. (Though at least I'm a lot taller than he is.) So while I obviously don't have to choose a course of action right this minute, come Saturday (heh heh heh... I said "come") I'll have to decide. Because I don't want my first release to be of the manual-override variety. I'll have plenty of time for that, later. (And to my chat-partner, I haven't forgotten my promise of before-and-after pictures!)

I don't have any real issues of guilt or regret over commercial sex, like I did at first. I try very hard to see people who at least appear to be self-representing, that aren't being controlled by a pimp or exploited in an Asian massage-parlor setting. So guilt isn't the issue. More like longevity, on two levels: on the more base level, I may want more than just an hour. I've got a lot of fluid to move. On the more enlightened level, there's always that one-in-a-hundred chance that I might hit it off really well with the pick-up. It's happened to me before, after all. One thing that's certain: that first orgasm is going to involve another person.

-D