We meet by one of the city termini, me hung over from the previous escapade, she beautifully turned out, no; dressed up, heels, cuffs, coat, the whole thing. We walk to a quirky home made pizza place that serves up onto one communal table, where we perch on surrounding stools. There is no space for your legs under the table. You just perch and dangle.
We talk. We're there for 2 1/2 hours which surely is a record for the place. We talk about everything, we agree there's no rush, and what will be, will be.
At one point, she literally pulls me to her with her strong arms. She pushes my head onto her shoulder and holds me for a long time.
We say nothing. Everything is silent. Everyone around the table is looking at us.
Eventually she lifts my head up, kisses me on the lips, says:
'We should stop because the man over there has tears in his eyes'
We disengage and I sneak a look in the direction.
She's right...
We leave and walk to the tube station.
I say to her 'I want to touch you'
She says, 'Well, you can hug me, this time'
We hug, arms wrapped tightly round each other, not kissing, until she moves to the ticket barrier
Whilst some doubt and questions linger, she seems genuine and real.
txts follow at the weekend, an awful weekend for me with people in my house that I don't want there. I don't dislike them, it just does n't work at the moment.
At the end of the weekend, sunday night, I call her. We talk for over an hour. She is one moment flirty, naughty, and the next serious, contemplative.
She drives me crazy.
We're going dancing tuesday. I'll keep you posted.
Monday 19 November 2007
Saturday 17 November 2007
A hell of a week
Ladies and Gents,
I had the most random date thursday night.
It all started on Monday morning with a craigslist posting from Sunday, an ad that pinged out on the Alex radar - 'very good looking' understanding', 'wanted man for regular fun' etc.
I reply and get into a fun and playful email exchange. By monday night we had exchanged pictures. I liked what I saw and apparently so did she.
Tuesday - We exchange mobiles.
Wednesday - I call , we have a cool conversation. Possible date Thursday. I'm very intrigued. She sounds fascinating on the phone. I cancel Alex's thursday drinking night.
Thursday. I call, 'how's it looking for tonight?'
'Yes, good , I'm free, If you're ok,'
'I want to meet you. Where and when?'
'I'll txt you in a second'
I text her an address of a funky bar in the west end. She replies ok.
She calls at 4 - 'I'm unexpectedly free now, can you make it here?.'
Damn, no I can't - still got a meeting which I can't cancel.
'Umm, no sorry , can make it later if you want to go home in the interim or whatever.
'No, its fine see you at 6'
I arrive nervously at 5.55 new trousers, aftershave, deodorant applied, trying to look casual, yet interesting!
6 comes and is long gone, I'm sipping my second drink. The bar area is not crowded. I force myself not to look at the door every 30 seconds. I'm just about to call her when she calls - 'Sorry traffic bad, I'm just parking, see you in about 5 minutes. How will I know you?
'Cos I'm the only guy standing at the bar'
I hurry to the toilet for a last minute check. fuck it, can't change anything anyway.
I'm calmer now. A minute later in she walks, beautiful and perfectly dressed up , coat, short black dress, fishnets, heels, scarf, big handbag.
I smile reassuringly across the bar and watch her move towards me.
I take both her hands in mine, still smiling, kiss the fingertips of one hand and air kiss both cheeks. She's lovely! No, she's stunningly beautiful, graceful, impeccably presented. She's also unhappy because she has mislaid one of her favourite gloves.
We order Champagne, tell each other about each other. We smile , laugh, giggle, touch gently.
'Do you want to come to my club for a drink?'
uh oh. Club? what sort of club, Go with it Alex, go with it.
'Yeah sure, is it close by?'
'it's just up the road', she murmurs in her West African intonation.
What is this woman, a hooker, a pimp, a gambler?
We arrive at the club, stepping up the lavishly ornate entrance stairs. I sign the guestlist, and deposit my coat, my worst fears confirmed. They all know her, greeting her familiarly, move us smoothly into the bar where I order and pay for champagne at scary prices. We continue to chat. She announces she's hungry and need to eat Tiger prawns. There is a restaurant here. We decide we want to eat. You have to go up a kind of back stairs. It all feeds my fevered imagination. I imagine the worst.
We arrive at a very classy restaurant. More drinks, followed by mains. It's beautiful. We have talked by now about subjects ranging from African civil war in the 20th century, to her masturbation techniques - 'When I get my vibrator going'...
I've given up trying to work out what's going on. I'm just going with the flow and having a great time.
The club downstairs opens at 11.30. Guess what,it's 11.30. Lets' go.
We arrive where she is surrounded by a bunch of admiring young blades. She extracts herself eventually and we dance. We drink more . We dance more, she moves well, grinding her gorgeous ass against my crotch. We're a bit of a spectacle because there's not many people on the dancefloor.
We leave, 1.30. She waits for her car. It's only a Porsche convertible!. I'm worried about her, she slightly pissed and driving home through the london night.
I say, rightly or wrongly 'How about lunch tomorrow?'
She looks at me 'you want to meet me for lunch?'
'Yeah'
'Ok I'd love to do that. Call me tomorrow and let me know'
She roars off into the dark, without a sideways glance. I cab home. What is this woman?
I toss and turn all night.
I had the most random date thursday night.
It all started on Monday morning with a craigslist posting from Sunday, an ad that pinged out on the Alex radar - 'very good looking' understanding', 'wanted man for regular fun' etc.
I reply and get into a fun and playful email exchange. By monday night we had exchanged pictures. I liked what I saw and apparently so did she.
Tuesday - We exchange mobiles.
Wednesday - I call , we have a cool conversation. Possible date Thursday. I'm very intrigued. She sounds fascinating on the phone. I cancel Alex's thursday drinking night.
Thursday. I call, 'how's it looking for tonight?'
'Yes, good , I'm free, If you're ok,'
'I want to meet you. Where and when?'
'I'll txt you in a second'
I text her an address of a funky bar in the west end. She replies ok.
She calls at 4 - 'I'm unexpectedly free now, can you make it here?.'
Damn, no I can't - still got a meeting which I can't cancel.
'Umm, no sorry , can make it later if you want to go home in the interim or whatever.
'No, its fine see you at 6'
I arrive nervously at 5.55 new trousers, aftershave, deodorant applied, trying to look casual, yet interesting!
6 comes and is long gone, I'm sipping my second drink. The bar area is not crowded. I force myself not to look at the door every 30 seconds. I'm just about to call her when she calls - 'Sorry traffic bad, I'm just parking, see you in about 5 minutes. How will I know you?
'Cos I'm the only guy standing at the bar'
I hurry to the toilet for a last minute check. fuck it, can't change anything anyway.
I'm calmer now. A minute later in she walks, beautiful and perfectly dressed up , coat, short black dress, fishnets, heels, scarf, big handbag.
I smile reassuringly across the bar and watch her move towards me.
I take both her hands in mine, still smiling, kiss the fingertips of one hand and air kiss both cheeks. She's lovely! No, she's stunningly beautiful, graceful, impeccably presented. She's also unhappy because she has mislaid one of her favourite gloves.
We order Champagne, tell each other about each other. We smile , laugh, giggle, touch gently.
'Do you want to come to my club for a drink?'
uh oh. Club? what sort of club, Go with it Alex, go with it.
'Yeah sure, is it close by?'
'it's just up the road', she murmurs in her West African intonation.
What is this woman, a hooker, a pimp, a gambler?
We arrive at the club, stepping up the lavishly ornate entrance stairs. I sign the guestlist, and deposit my coat, my worst fears confirmed. They all know her, greeting her familiarly, move us smoothly into the bar where I order and pay for champagne at scary prices. We continue to chat. She announces she's hungry and need to eat Tiger prawns. There is a restaurant here. We decide we want to eat. You have to go up a kind of back stairs. It all feeds my fevered imagination. I imagine the worst.
We arrive at a very classy restaurant. More drinks, followed by mains. It's beautiful. We have talked by now about subjects ranging from African civil war in the 20th century, to her masturbation techniques - 'When I get my vibrator going'...
I've given up trying to work out what's going on. I'm just going with the flow and having a great time.
The club downstairs opens at 11.30. Guess what,it's 11.30. Lets' go.
We arrive where she is surrounded by a bunch of admiring young blades. She extracts herself eventually and we dance. We drink more . We dance more, she moves well, grinding her gorgeous ass against my crotch. We're a bit of a spectacle because there's not many people on the dancefloor.
We leave, 1.30. She waits for her car. It's only a Porsche convertible!. I'm worried about her, she slightly pissed and driving home through the london night.
I say, rightly or wrongly 'How about lunch tomorrow?'
She looks at me 'you want to meet me for lunch?'
'Yeah'
'Ok I'd love to do that. Call me tomorrow and let me know'
She roars off into the dark, without a sideways glance. I cab home. What is this woman?
I toss and turn all night.
Sunday 11 November 2007
Crushes and moves
Reading Marcelle's latest post has made me think about me and E. I basically have a big crush on her right now. It's all daydream stuff, movies playing in my head, unrealistic futures together, you know the sort of thing. I've wanked over her in my thoughts a couple of times, Well..., Why not?
Anyway, big deal, Men have crushes all the time. i'm not sure that women do sooo easily, but what do I know?
But, but, I resolved to make it clear to her that i fancied her. Which I did, last tuesday. I don't want to faff around. And I don't want to faff her around. So she knows. Yeah, she knows, she probably worked it out anyway, would n't be difficult. But it's still up to me to push it to the next level. Before we go to the concert or after? - which is about 5 weeks from now.
What is the next step, people?
How do I progress from newly acquainted mates after a long gap; to fuck buddies or more?
Oh, I answered a couple of craigslist ad's, just to keep fighting on a broad front,as it were. 1 reply so far so we'll see next week.
I can't bring myself to go and get a 'massage'. I want to, but it all seems so...dunno...so unclean somehow.
Did have a seeing to with the missus though, friday night. Bit fraught though, because of our issues. Maybe we're turning a corner. But, you'd have been proud of me, ladies, pulled out at the end, after she'd cum of course, for the classic pop shot spraying all over her tits....mmmm.
Anyway, big deal, Men have crushes all the time. i'm not sure that women do sooo easily, but what do I know?
But, but, I resolved to make it clear to her that i fancied her. Which I did, last tuesday. I don't want to faff around. And I don't want to faff her around. So she knows. Yeah, she knows, she probably worked it out anyway, would n't be difficult. But it's still up to me to push it to the next level. Before we go to the concert or after? - which is about 5 weeks from now.
What is the next step, people?
How do I progress from newly acquainted mates after a long gap; to fuck buddies or more?
Oh, I answered a couple of craigslist ad's, just to keep fighting on a broad front,as it were. 1 reply so far so we'll see next week.
I can't bring myself to go and get a 'massage'. I want to, but it all seems so...dunno...so unclean somehow.
Did have a seeing to with the missus though, friday night. Bit fraught though, because of our issues. Maybe we're turning a corner. But, you'd have been proud of me, ladies, pulled out at the end, after she'd cum of course, for the classic pop shot spraying all over her tits....mmmm.
Friday 9 November 2007
Hello, do you come here often...
No, I have n't used that corny line. Hopefully no one ever, ever utters those cringeworthy words. But, here's the thing. In my new 'out there' life I roll up in a number of bars with a number of people lately. And one overriding consistency is - I am absolutely shit at approaching people (girls) in a Bar.
I 've run through the reasons (excuses).-
Not the right Bar.
Not the right girl.
Too pissed. - that is a valid one to be fair
Not pissed enough.
I've forgotten how to do it.
I'm not used to this.
I can't.
I'm unattractive.
I'll look stupid/say something stupid/say the wrong thing.
I'm too scared of the thought of rejection.
That's it, the last one. I don't think I'm scared of actual rejection, I think I'm scared of the thought of it.
I see the movie running in my head, but legs won't walk me over to her.
Ladies, you would honestly not believe the power of that fear. The thought of rejection. Here is a man, outwardly confident, reasonably successful marketer, for fucks sake, can stand up in front of 100 people, done a lot of public speaking, but put me in a bar, art gallery, shop, or wherever and see what happens. You would probably piss yourself laughing.It's hilarious, and pathetic.
I am gonna break this one, people. I surprise myself sometimes but freeze far too regularly. I read somewhere recently that you have to overlay the 'approach pain' with the memory, laying in your bed later, looking up at the ceiling, unable to sleep; of the utter weakness and frustration in not following that instinct and making the moment your own.
I 've run through the reasons (excuses).-
Not the right Bar.
Not the right girl.
Too pissed. - that is a valid one to be fair
Not pissed enough.
I've forgotten how to do it.
I'm not used to this.
I can't.
I'm unattractive.
I'll look stupid/say something stupid/say the wrong thing.
I'm too scared of the thought of rejection.
That's it, the last one. I don't think I'm scared of actual rejection, I think I'm scared of the thought of it.
I see the movie running in my head, but legs won't walk me over to her.
Ladies, you would honestly not believe the power of that fear. The thought of rejection. Here is a man, outwardly confident, reasonably successful marketer, for fucks sake, can stand up in front of 100 people, done a lot of public speaking, but put me in a bar, art gallery, shop, or wherever and see what happens. You would probably piss yourself laughing.It's hilarious, and pathetic.
I am gonna break this one, people. I surprise myself sometimes but freeze far too regularly. I read somewhere recently that you have to overlay the 'approach pain' with the memory, laying in your bed later, looking up at the ceiling, unable to sleep; of the utter weakness and frustration in not following that instinct and making the moment your own.
Heading for the buffers
It's everywhere.
Popping out of the woodwork.
Appearing from all sides. Contagion.
Relationships, either in conflict, meltdown, armistice or grim resignation. I've spoken to quite a few people now and the state of our marriages or cohabitations seems pretty poor. Several of my friends , who I would have bet good money on them having excellent relationships, have foundered in the late 30s.
Some are plodders, don't give up, stiff upper lip and all that.
Here's one example from a lovely female friend of mine:
'I woke up one morning about 5 years ago and realised I could n't hide from him anymore that i did n't love him. There was n't anyone else and there stil isn't. I just had stopped loving years ago. We stayed together because of the children' they are still together functioning as a 2 man team for their kids. That's all. When I suggested how much more there could be, she shrugged,
'I know, just don't think i'm gonna be able to get that kind of relationship, that's all'
hmmm, does n't want it or too frightened to try?
Surely that's the worst of all worlds. Stating your case and leaving it. Feeling comfortable enough to be with someone but having little in common and whittling through your life, ticking off the days.
Nooooo.
There 's more to life than that, people.
General feeling of relief, it's not just me.
I'm taking her to lunch next week. Of course I am. She suits my purposes perfectly.
Popping out of the woodwork.
Appearing from all sides. Contagion.
Relationships, either in conflict, meltdown, armistice or grim resignation. I've spoken to quite a few people now and the state of our marriages or cohabitations seems pretty poor. Several of my friends , who I would have bet good money on them having excellent relationships, have foundered in the late 30s.
Some are plodders, don't give up, stiff upper lip and all that.
Here's one example from a lovely female friend of mine:
'I woke up one morning about 5 years ago and realised I could n't hide from him anymore that i did n't love him. There was n't anyone else and there stil isn't. I just had stopped loving years ago. We stayed together because of the children' they are still together functioning as a 2 man team for their kids. That's all. When I suggested how much more there could be, she shrugged,
'I know, just don't think i'm gonna be able to get that kind of relationship, that's all'
hmmm, does n't want it or too frightened to try?
Surely that's the worst of all worlds. Stating your case and leaving it. Feeling comfortable enough to be with someone but having little in common and whittling through your life, ticking off the days.
Nooooo.
There 's more to life than that, people.
General feeling of relief, it's not just me.
I'm taking her to lunch next week. Of course I am. She suits my purposes perfectly.
Thursday 8 November 2007
At night I drink myself to sleep...
. . .and pretend I don't care that you're not here with me. REM
The barman asks what he can get me , literally 10 mins after he just served me. Errr, that would be nothing; given the 2 drinks he poured for me are still there in front of me. Can't a man stand at a bar and have a drink? Fucks sake.
Further along there is a man wearing Farah's. They used to be cool in like 1981. wanker. They're playing 'night fever', not kidding, before that it was Bangles 'Manic monday'! Shit tuesday more like. . .
The reason why I am here alone is because of E. I txt her monday am.
'up to much this week?'
'busy all week, could meet after an event mid evening.' I don't know what an event is...
'ok lets do tuesday. Let em know when you finish, if you still feel like it.'
I'm trying to get the balance of persistence and being cool. I don't want to be too cool. And I want to be clear about things. I'm flying pretty blind, feeling a little foolish but want to see where it goes.
So I managed to get the Harem out for one , after which they vanish into the night to do what ever girls do. They promised a big one next thursday, but I'm not holding my breath.
So I'm waiting for her txt. Eventually 'we're in such and such a place.' It was quite a way from where I was and what's this 'we' stuff? I'm nervous, what am I doing, just go home for fucks sake...
I get over there, slowly, confidence building as I walk and find to my relief, her and a girlfriend, who stays for 20 mins and buggers off. wheew. It's now perfect.
So we have a real heart to heart. She knows everything. She does n't understand it.She likes me, I can just sense something. She needs something. She needs me probably like a hole in the head, but whatever. I don't think she's had many relationships. She promotes her feistiness. She looks fantastic. She uses my name a lot, I love that. I hold her hand as we talk, over and over. Our knees touch. I touch her necklace. Her neck is beautiful.
I tell her I want to make love to her. She looks down then back and smiles.
'Alex, I need to go, tonight. But. . ., I know...and...it's ok.
We embrace briefly, snatching a kiss as she misses a taxi. I let her go and walk off into the night. I feel elated beyond measure. The doubts come in the morning. I mean the self doubts. I want to see her again.
It was n't shit tuesday.
The barman asks what he can get me , literally 10 mins after he just served me. Errr, that would be nothing; given the 2 drinks he poured for me are still there in front of me. Can't a man stand at a bar and have a drink? Fucks sake.
Further along there is a man wearing Farah's. They used to be cool in like 1981. wanker. They're playing 'night fever', not kidding, before that it was Bangles 'Manic monday'! Shit tuesday more like. . .
The reason why I am here alone is because of E. I txt her monday am.
'up to much this week?'
'busy all week, could meet after an event mid evening.' I don't know what an event is...
'ok lets do tuesday. Let em know when you finish, if you still feel like it.'
I'm trying to get the balance of persistence and being cool. I don't want to be too cool. And I want to be clear about things. I'm flying pretty blind, feeling a little foolish but want to see where it goes.
So I managed to get the Harem out for one , after which they vanish into the night to do what ever girls do. They promised a big one next thursday, but I'm not holding my breath.
So I'm waiting for her txt. Eventually 'we're in such and such a place.' It was quite a way from where I was and what's this 'we' stuff? I'm nervous, what am I doing, just go home for fucks sake...
I get over there, slowly, confidence building as I walk and find to my relief, her and a girlfriend, who stays for 20 mins and buggers off. wheew. It's now perfect.
So we have a real heart to heart. She knows everything. She does n't understand it.She likes me, I can just sense something. She needs something. She needs me probably like a hole in the head, but whatever. I don't think she's had many relationships. She promotes her feistiness. She looks fantastic. She uses my name a lot, I love that. I hold her hand as we talk, over and over. Our knees touch. I touch her necklace. Her neck is beautiful.
I tell her I want to make love to her. She looks down then back and smiles.
'Alex, I need to go, tonight. But. . ., I know...and...it's ok.
We embrace briefly, snatching a kiss as she misses a taxi. I let her go and walk off into the night. I feel elated beyond measure. The doubts come in the morning. I mean the self doubts. I want to see her again.
It was n't shit tuesday.
Sunday 4 November 2007
Gunpowder Treason and Plot, or Fairytale in NY
Friday comes after thursday, and comes after pissed Alex on thursday night. Alex was out with E. here .
So, E texts friday early. -
'Sorry to lag behind last night. Do you fancy fireworks and dinner tonight?'
hmmm, that's quick, given the last time I saw her was 6 months ago. Forget crazy bargirl. I can't, cos I promised the kids a local display and I don't want to fuck around with that. Well, I could...but I followed my brain.
Reply - 'Would love to - prior engagement, firework and kids related'. (She knows about my kids)
Later 'fireworks good?'
reply 'I'm on my couch, decided against'
Did n't go cos I didn't ? getting scary already.
Random one ' The Pogues play london next month. Interested?.
Straight back - 'Brixton academy? Def up for that. Love em.'
Alex 'consider it sorted, let you know'
How funny is that! I don't know anything about her musical tastes, if you can call liking the Pogues actual music.(don't know much about them either, need to do some research)
So me and E are going to get beer poured over us and generally shout ourselves hoarse on the 18th Dec.
How funny is that?
But don't worry , gentle reader, I feel we will be seeing more of each other before then.
So, E texts friday early. -
'Sorry to lag behind last night. Do you fancy fireworks and dinner tonight?'
hmmm, that's quick, given the last time I saw her was 6 months ago. Forget crazy bargirl. I can't, cos I promised the kids a local display and I don't want to fuck around with that. Well, I could...but I followed my brain.
Reply - 'Would love to - prior engagement, firework and kids related'. (She knows about my kids)
Later 'fireworks good?'
reply 'I'm on my couch, decided against'
Did n't go cos I didn't ? getting scary already.
Random one ' The Pogues play london next month. Interested?.
Straight back - 'Brixton academy? Def up for that. Love em.'
Alex 'consider it sorted, let you know'
How funny is that! I don't know anything about her musical tastes, if you can call liking the Pogues actual music.(don't know much about them either, need to do some research)
So me and E are going to get beer poured over us and generally shout ourselves hoarse on the 18th Dec.
How funny is that?
But don't worry , gentle reader, I feel we will be seeing more of each other before then.
The post with no title
05 00 Monday, tired but can't go back to sleep.Can't be bothered thinking of a title either.
Here are the developments: very open discussion re splitting up. accommodation, timing, money, the whole raft.
It's gonna happen, I think.
So I said to her, 'look, just call the other guy, tell him things have really changed now with us, get back with him, make yourself happy, fix yourself.'
Because, it does n't matter to me, really, and she has the right to happiness as much as the next person.
Turns out she readily admits she still feels for the other guy. But guess what? They fell in love while he was seeing someone else. And while he was falling in love with my wife he was marrying someone else. While he was honeymooning with someone else he was txting wife.
What a fuck up.
She says she finished it cos the whole thing was untenable but obviously, they still feel for each other.She also says he is afraid of his in-laws...
What a fuck up.
Anyway, I said to her - Do what your heart wants- I know what I would do,... call him . If this is really the one, you can work it out.
They had some pretty deep chats cos allegedly he agreed to take on my kids....
I feel very unemotional about it. The hate, anger and fear has gone. It's pretty clear now. I want it sorted with the least fallout possible.
I'm cool. I really think I am.
Bring on this week...
Here are the developments: very open discussion re splitting up. accommodation, timing, money, the whole raft.
It's gonna happen, I think.
So I said to her, 'look, just call the other guy, tell him things have really changed now with us, get back with him, make yourself happy, fix yourself.'
Because, it does n't matter to me, really, and she has the right to happiness as much as the next person.
Turns out she readily admits she still feels for the other guy. But guess what? They fell in love while he was seeing someone else. And while he was falling in love with my wife he was marrying someone else. While he was honeymooning with someone else he was txting wife.
What a fuck up.
She says she finished it cos the whole thing was untenable but obviously, they still feel for each other.She also says he is afraid of his in-laws...
What a fuck up.
Anyway, I said to her - Do what your heart wants- I know what I would do,... call him . If this is really the one, you can work it out.
They had some pretty deep chats cos allegedly he agreed to take on my kids....
I feel very unemotional about it. The hate, anger and fear has gone. It's pretty clear now. I want it sorted with the least fallout possible.
I'm cool. I really think I am.
Bring on this week...
Friday 2 November 2007
You think Time is just a magazine
Irrelevant title but a great line from the new Eagles Album.
Well, last night was quite random. The work harem were playing silly buggers so I took up my friend E 's idea of gatecrashing her mates. E is cute, pretty, smart. She says she does n't have a boyfriend. When we're together we have easy, fun, flirty chat. Never gone further. I think she invited me down to stay with her between xmas and new year, unsure cos I was a bit pissed. Note to self - check that later -
Good, low key night but Alex seems to do the wrong thing at the wrong time.
This is the conversation at the bar. I swear it. The others had gone out to have a fag while I was ordering drinks.
Me 'Hi, 4 pints of Kronenburg and a bottle of Shiraz, please.'
Bargirl, stops and staring 'OMG, you 're so intense, wow, I like it'
Bargirl is stroking my arm as I lean on the bar.
I mean, you just don't do that, do you? It was me that was pissed, not her!
Bargirl 'I'm finishing in 20 minutes'
Me - dumb fuck- 'give me your mobile number' why oh why.
Bargirl 'Someone's waiting for me when I finish'
E, returning 'What's the matter?'
Me 'Nothing, nothing at all'
I walk away. WTF is going on? What aura am I radiating?
Focus, Alex, focus.
Well, last night was quite random. The work harem were playing silly buggers so I took up my friend E 's idea of gatecrashing her mates. E is cute, pretty, smart. She says she does n't have a boyfriend. When we're together we have easy, fun, flirty chat. Never gone further. I think she invited me down to stay with her between xmas and new year, unsure cos I was a bit pissed. Note to self - check that later -
Good, low key night but Alex seems to do the wrong thing at the wrong time.
This is the conversation at the bar. I swear it. The others had gone out to have a fag while I was ordering drinks.
Me 'Hi, 4 pints of Kronenburg and a bottle of Shiraz, please.'
Bargirl, stops and staring 'OMG, you 're so intense, wow, I like it'
Bargirl is stroking my arm as I lean on the bar.
I mean, you just don't do that, do you? It was me that was pissed, not her!
Bargirl 'I'm finishing in 20 minutes'
Me - dumb fuck- 'give me your mobile number' why oh why.
Bargirl 'Someone's waiting for me when I finish'
E, returning 'What's the matter?'
Me 'Nothing, nothing at all'
I walk away. WTF is going on? What aura am I radiating?
Focus, Alex, focus.
Wednesday 31 October 2007
Long road out
Can someone explain this - walking past the many holes dug in London streets; dug and left, ignored, neglected, with plastic barriers surrounding- why oh why is it that there is always an empty can of Stella floating in a puddle of water in the bottom?
Somebody sat opposite me on the train this morning. The book he was reading was entitled 'Does anything eat Wasps and 101 other questions'. Maybe I 'll wrestle it off him and scour the pages for answers to that burning question and the 101 others. I hope at least 1 of them covers my favourite -Why are people so fucking stupid?-
Alex is happy tonight, he's worked out and feels good. He's managing his drinking. However, he's looking forward to tomorrow night when 'Alex's drinking club' runs it's second week. Contradictory I know. Last week was carnage. He gained notoriety cos one of the guys couldn't make it into work friday.. ..a subject of conversation in the office. If you can't stand the heat. . .give them something to talk about. This time we will have girls attending from the outset, a novel development, without paying them either!! He just needs to arrange a venue which will be the priority task for tomorrow.
Alex wants some action tomorrow night. . .oh does he ever want action.
blue balls don't even start to cover the issues.
I want to . . . . .
Somebody sat opposite me on the train this morning. The book he was reading was entitled 'Does anything eat Wasps and 101 other questions'. Maybe I 'll wrestle it off him and scour the pages for answers to that burning question and the 101 others. I hope at least 1 of them covers my favourite -Why are people so fucking stupid?-
Alex is happy tonight, he's worked out and feels good. He's managing his drinking. However, he's looking forward to tomorrow night when 'Alex's drinking club' runs it's second week. Contradictory I know. Last week was carnage. He gained notoriety cos one of the guys couldn't make it into work friday.. ..a subject of conversation in the office. If you can't stand the heat. . .give them something to talk about. This time we will have girls attending from the outset, a novel development, without paying them either!! He just needs to arrange a venue which will be the priority task for tomorrow.
Alex wants some action tomorrow night. . .oh does he ever want action.
blue balls don't even start to cover the issues.
I want to . . . . .
Wednesday 24 October 2007
Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun
He heads for the rising sun arcing up from the east, the cradle of humanity, affirming another day. He passes the remnants of an all nighter, spilling out onto the riverside, guys and girls swigging from a brandy bottle, watching the miracle of a new day.
He had left the house at 7, emerging into the onset of a cold northern european winter.
He was seeking that exercise nirvana, when physical effort transcends the clamour of your mind, your heart, your soul.
His weapon of choice was the usual one.
He did n't have that deep purple track - 'smoke on the water', but he should have had, to accompany him on his riverside journey, following an ancient trail, mist burning off the water's surface as the sun gains in power.
He passes derelict industrials hinting at a despised past, reflecting his own internal decay like some fast isotope from Oppenheimer's own hand.
His legs finally fall into that magical rhythm where the miles peel away beneath the rubber .
His shadow follows him, a waving absolute in a world of change. Here is the vapour trail of issues that followed that man:
-- They have fallen out of love with one another
-- She has fallen in love with someone else
-- He is in the grip of a cold blooded MLC
Can he renew himself like the planners had with the lonely docks and storehouses all around him?
Can he cure the urban blight of his marriage?
Can he revive the failing edifice he had so painstakingly built up?
Truth is - He did n't want to . . .
He rode back, passing windows, hundreds of them, thinking of the lives being played out behind each one. He wanted to play out his life, not behind a window or in front of a mirror but on a stage.
He had left the house at 7, emerging into the onset of a cold northern european winter.
He was seeking that exercise nirvana, when physical effort transcends the clamour of your mind, your heart, your soul.
His weapon of choice was the usual one.
He did n't have that deep purple track - 'smoke on the water', but he should have had, to accompany him on his riverside journey, following an ancient trail, mist burning off the water's surface as the sun gains in power.
He passes derelict industrials hinting at a despised past, reflecting his own internal decay like some fast isotope from Oppenheimer's own hand.
His legs finally fall into that magical rhythm where the miles peel away beneath the rubber .
His shadow follows him, a waving absolute in a world of change. Here is the vapour trail of issues that followed that man:
-- They have fallen out of love with one another
-- She has fallen in love with someone else
-- He is in the grip of a cold blooded MLC
Can he renew himself like the planners had with the lonely docks and storehouses all around him?
Can he cure the urban blight of his marriage?
Can he revive the failing edifice he had so painstakingly built up?
Truth is - He did n't want to . . .
He rode back, passing windows, hundreds of them, thinking of the lives being played out behind each one. He wanted to play out his life, not behind a window or in front of a mirror but on a stage.
Friday 19 October 2007
When you're in love
It's 10 past 4 saturday morning. tired, can't sleep. Long painful talk last night. It was n't exactly that she had an affair but she 's fallen in love with someone else. I would have preferred an affair somehow. She says the falling in love bit is over now. I don't know who it is and unsure how important this is at the moment. I don't know if it's over or not. I don't know how I feel and I don't know how she feels.
This probably does n't make much sense, that's good cos it does n't make much sense to me either.
This probably does n't make much sense, that's good cos it does n't make much sense to me either.
Thursday 18 October 2007
Lady luck apologizes
When someone says to you: 'You made my night' you know you're doing something right. That someone was K. She's interesting. She works in a bar in the west end, she's a big untidy blonde fraulein, with perfect english. Not my type at all. She made me laugh when I was there, which is unusual for bar staff in London, mostly miserable, busy or both. So I complemented her sense of humour, an unthinkable thought before. While my boring client vanished to the loo, I asked for her mobile. Unthinkable. It was n't possible due to the po-faced landlord, so I told her i' m gonna put in an advert in the lovestruck column of thelondonpaper. Something new, another step.
I discovered craigslist yesterday. Interesting. Registered but not posted yet, looking at the form. There are some very specific requests made there . . . .
23 year old cancelled her date yesterday, citing 'boyfriend not happy' That would be going nowhere then. I still see her training, but that's gonna be all. I like her though.
So, that leaves Jo the kiwi fruit eater. Not sure about that one, she's a bit crazy. Says off-beat things. Kinda like her for that.
Then I literally bumped into J. yesterday, the lady that I had long dances with at a dreary corporate bash a few weeks ago. She's older than me and just wants to have fun.
But things are up on the home front too. Yes: we had sex this morning, maybe a little sleepy and a bit stilted, I think we were both embarrassed it was happening. But she came, which was a relief if nothing else.
Don't judge me, gentle reader, no one likes betrayal, but I have been betrayed also. There is the greater good........
I will keep you posted
I discovered craigslist yesterday. Interesting. Registered but not posted yet, looking at the form. There are some very specific requests made there . . . .
23 year old cancelled her date yesterday, citing 'boyfriend not happy' That would be going nowhere then. I still see her training, but that's gonna be all. I like her though.
So, that leaves Jo the kiwi fruit eater. Not sure about that one, she's a bit crazy. Says off-beat things. Kinda like her for that.
Then I literally bumped into J. yesterday, the lady that I had long dances with at a dreary corporate bash a few weeks ago. She's older than me and just wants to have fun.
But things are up on the home front too. Yes: we had sex this morning, maybe a little sleepy and a bit stilted, I think we were both embarrassed it was happening. But she came, which was a relief if nothing else.
Don't judge me, gentle reader, no one likes betrayal, but I have been betrayed also. There is the greater good........
I will keep you posted
Tuesday 16 October 2007
See the world through troubled eyes
I'm still at home. We're circling each other somewhat warily. No angry words. I went out on the bike last night, favourite way of contemplation, mind soothed by physical exertion.
I think my friends know something's up.Others have been great. There is a lady at work, who has plenty of her own problems, who asks me every day if I am OK. I love her for that. I wish I could name her. She's worth it.
I also speak regularly to a guy called Tony. He is a lovable rogue who has been through the same things as me. He is out on the other side now , several girlfriends, full life again, but carries an underlying sadness, melancholy, that glints beneath the facade.
Is this what the future holds ?
Might I find another person? Out there somewhere?
Or?
I think my friends know something's up.Others have been great. There is a lady at work, who has plenty of her own problems, who asks me every day if I am OK. I love her for that. I wish I could name her. She's worth it.
I also speak regularly to a guy called Tony. He is a lovable rogue who has been through the same things as me. He is out on the other side now , several girlfriends, full life again, but carries an underlying sadness, melancholy, that glints beneath the facade.
Is this what the future holds ?
Might I find another person? Out there somewhere?
Or?
Monday 15 October 2007
Steps
I promised my friend Marcelle Manhattan, that I would blog the little victories of breaking down barriers to talk to people. Smile and talk with another random human being. Make contact.
People - I hate doing this. Going up to a stranger and saying hello. It's difficult. If you met me you would not think 'He's shy' - hate that word but there I've said it, but I have a real problem with talking to people I don't know. But, but, I'm going to beat it. It's part of my plan.
So 2 scenarios then from last week.
1- Thursday night, on the way home, late, surprisingly. Dark haired Girl sits down opposite me on the train. I smile at her. She immediately starts talking. She offers me some baby kiwi fruits. A spark going on, absolutely. She tells me where she works. I will meet her on thursday for a coffee. Happy Alex, simple things , baby steps.
2 - Sunday morning. In the depth of my depression, I walk into the local starbucks, spy a sofa opposite a girl, head down, writing. For no reason, I approach her.
"Anyone sitting here?"
She looks up, pauses,shakes her head. I sit down. Easy one.
"Are you writing a book?" Banal, I know.
"My diary" she replies, looking startled that someone dare speak to her in a starbucks.
"Will you blog it later?"
She says no, no one would be interested, I reply that she may be surprised. I never thought anyone would be interested in my ramblings.
She continues "Besides I'm not sure I want the things I write here to be made public"
I nod and smile " Aaah, that's the beauty of it, try it, it soothes the soul and rests the mind"
No spark going on, no chemistry, but what the hell?
baby steps, Alex, baby steps.
People - I hate doing this. Going up to a stranger and saying hello. It's difficult. If you met me you would not think 'He's shy' - hate that word but there I've said it, but I have a real problem with talking to people I don't know. But, but, I'm going to beat it. It's part of my plan.
So 2 scenarios then from last week.
1- Thursday night, on the way home, late, surprisingly. Dark haired Girl sits down opposite me on the train. I smile at her. She immediately starts talking. She offers me some baby kiwi fruits. A spark going on, absolutely. She tells me where she works. I will meet her on thursday for a coffee. Happy Alex, simple things , baby steps.
2 - Sunday morning. In the depth of my depression, I walk into the local starbucks, spy a sofa opposite a girl, head down, writing. For no reason, I approach her.
"Anyone sitting here?"
She looks up, pauses,shakes her head. I sit down. Easy one.
"Are you writing a book?" Banal, I know.
"My diary" she replies, looking startled that someone dare speak to her in a starbucks.
"Will you blog it later?"
She says no, no one would be interested, I reply that she may be surprised. I never thought anyone would be interested in my ramblings.
She continues "Besides I'm not sure I want the things I write here to be made public"
I nod and smile " Aaah, that's the beauty of it, try it, it soothes the soul and rests the mind"
No spark going on, no chemistry, but what the hell?
baby steps, Alex, baby steps.
You can check out anytime, but you just can't leave...
This is the first day of the rest of my life. Unsure how I feel right now. Free? Hardly.
Having difficulty focusing at work (no, that's a lie, I'm doing nothing today, going through the motions,staring at my screens).
I'm gonna take one day at a time. If you don't know what I'm talking about, refer previous post. I need to get something out of my system. Or I need to change my life. Or both. My wife admitted yesterday that she did n't blame me because she had pushed me away and everything I had accused her of was true. That was honest of her to admit that.
So, am I a free agent? Are discreet affairs in order? I'm sure many people have no such qualms or dilemmas. I'm not like that. Things have to be right and the reasons have to be right in order for me to move outside my current activities.
But the force of my desires are something else. They clamour constantly for urgent attention. I'm changing too slowly, beginning to do different stuff outside the zone.
So the conflict is between dick, heart and head. The license is there, the possibilities are endless.
Having difficulty focusing at work (no, that's a lie, I'm doing nothing today, going through the motions,staring at my screens).
I'm gonna take one day at a time. If you don't know what I'm talking about, refer previous post. I need to get something out of my system. Or I need to change my life. Or both. My wife admitted yesterday that she did n't blame me because she had pushed me away and everything I had accused her of was true. That was honest of her to admit that.
So, am I a free agent? Are discreet affairs in order? I'm sure many people have no such qualms or dilemmas. I'm not like that. Things have to be right and the reasons have to be right in order for me to move outside my current activities.
But the force of my desires are something else. They clamour constantly for urgent attention. I'm changing too slowly, beginning to do different stuff outside the zone.
So the conflict is between dick, heart and head. The license is there, the possibilities are endless.
Sunday 14 October 2007
Find comfort in Pain, Tears and Rain
He walked out of the house early today. He had nothing with him except sunglasses, phone & ipod; no bags, no accumulation of life's belongings, no plan, although he should have had.
He walked through the quiet London streets for miles, constantly pushing , hurrying, half running, exhausting himself.
Finally he came to one of the green open spaces that london is so generously blessed with, found a bench, fell onto it and stared into the distance. Traffic, starting to trickle through the park, by some quirk of the wind, was silently moving across the landscape.
It seemed like he was the only person there. Anyone passing would have seen a tall figure, unshaven, hunched over, grim, forbidding. His thoughts were twirling like the leaves.
His mind went back to last night, the drunken row, the storming out, the extraction of his passport from the safe, the repetition of the arguments once stated so eloquently, now a wounding litany of blame and accusation. He has cried, something rending inside, gulping for breath, a pain in his chest and throat.
By the time he reached the bar, already drunk, the evening could only go one way. Powering through beers, behaving like a real asshole with the singer, swaying and dancing to himself to the sad songs, making an approach to a woman while her husband was outside smoking.... She protected him by pretending to know me when he returned, introducing him and covering him. Lucky escape, because the guy started shouting at someone else soon afterwards. He did n't have a chance to thank her either. He can't remember much more except he went home, alcohol fueling the homing instinct on auto pilot, before crashing on the sofa.
He moved away from his bench, continued to walk aimlessly, turning over the problem in his head. Well into the afternoon, the decision was reached.
He hurried back and tentatively offered:
"The best solution, for the moment, is for us to remain together, for the specific reasons we talked about. But i'm not going to pretend to you about being faithful any more, given your own hypocritical stance"
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"You can continue with your lovers, all you like, but I want us to treat one another civilly, stop the arguments. I want to be free to choose someone if I wish"
She nodded silently.
"So I take it we're agreed?"
"Agreed" she replied. Then more softly "Sorry ....."
"I'm sorry too" He whispered. But inside his heart was picking itself up.
This could be the solution they were both looking for.
Wishful thinking, over simplistic? He did n't know.
I think you know who this man is..
He walked through the quiet London streets for miles, constantly pushing , hurrying, half running, exhausting himself.
Finally he came to one of the green open spaces that london is so generously blessed with, found a bench, fell onto it and stared into the distance. Traffic, starting to trickle through the park, by some quirk of the wind, was silently moving across the landscape.
It seemed like he was the only person there. Anyone passing would have seen a tall figure, unshaven, hunched over, grim, forbidding. His thoughts were twirling like the leaves.
His mind went back to last night, the drunken row, the storming out, the extraction of his passport from the safe, the repetition of the arguments once stated so eloquently, now a wounding litany of blame and accusation. He has cried, something rending inside, gulping for breath, a pain in his chest and throat.
By the time he reached the bar, already drunk, the evening could only go one way. Powering through beers, behaving like a real asshole with the singer, swaying and dancing to himself to the sad songs, making an approach to a woman while her husband was outside smoking.... She protected him by pretending to know me when he returned, introducing him and covering him. Lucky escape, because the guy started shouting at someone else soon afterwards. He did n't have a chance to thank her either. He can't remember much more except he went home, alcohol fueling the homing instinct on auto pilot, before crashing on the sofa.
He moved away from his bench, continued to walk aimlessly, turning over the problem in his head. Well into the afternoon, the decision was reached.
He hurried back and tentatively offered:
"The best solution, for the moment, is for us to remain together, for the specific reasons we talked about. But i'm not going to pretend to you about being faithful any more, given your own hypocritical stance"
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"You can continue with your lovers, all you like, but I want us to treat one another civilly, stop the arguments. I want to be free to choose someone if I wish"
She nodded silently.
"So I take it we're agreed?"
"Agreed" she replied. Then more softly "Sorry ....."
"I'm sorry too" He whispered. But inside his heart was picking itself up.
This could be the solution they were both looking for.
Wishful thinking, over simplistic? He did n't know.
I think you know who this man is..
Thursday 11 October 2007
Thirsty Thursday
Yesterday my mood was as black as the london weather. I'm surrounded by people but I'm so fucking lonely....
Today, lighter and sunnier, mood and weather.
I walk to the place where I do most of my blogging, but I pass a guy outside his office smoking a cigarette. (I have no problem noticing guys, although was once accused of being gay because I am relaxed about saying things like - 'he's a very good looking bloke' or something. People often find this difficult handle, oddly; also; I am very, not, gay).
Anyway, I pass and notice his good dress sense, expensive shirt , good cuffs, expensive suit, elegant shoes, waxed hair in the way that it should be. So what, you say, another face in thousands of city boys. Well, he was in a wheelchair my fine friends.
What problems do I have when I see something like that? I felt humbled and ashamed of myself.
2 good things that are happening:
The young lady, let's call her Mandy, who I have been mildly flirting with, has turned into a proper date next Wednesday. I'm excited, I just have a good feeling about this. I know what she wants, because she told me, a no strings attached relationship. It's what I need right now. 'll blog this one as it unfolds.
I'm out tonight with the boys and girls from work. Carnage, hopefully!
In the Metro, that last bastion of free impartial reporting, this morning, there was an article which reported that studies have proved that lap dancers make more in tips if they are not on the pill, than if they are. Males can sense the heat or oestrous, apparently. Interesting .....
Take care
Alex
Today, lighter and sunnier, mood and weather.
I walk to the place where I do most of my blogging, but I pass a guy outside his office smoking a cigarette. (I have no problem noticing guys, although was once accused of being gay because I am relaxed about saying things like - 'he's a very good looking bloke' or something. People often find this difficult handle, oddly; also; I am very, not, gay).
Anyway, I pass and notice his good dress sense, expensive shirt , good cuffs, expensive suit, elegant shoes, waxed hair in the way that it should be. So what, you say, another face in thousands of city boys. Well, he was in a wheelchair my fine friends.
What problems do I have when I see something like that? I felt humbled and ashamed of myself.
2 good things that are happening:
The young lady, let's call her Mandy, who I have been mildly flirting with, has turned into a proper date next Wednesday. I'm excited, I just have a good feeling about this. I know what she wants, because she told me, a no strings attached relationship. It's what I need right now. 'll blog this one as it unfolds.
I'm out tonight with the boys and girls from work. Carnage, hopefully!
In the Metro, that last bastion of free impartial reporting, this morning, there was an article which reported that studies have proved that lap dancers make more in tips if they are not on the pill, than if they are. Males can sense the heat or oestrous, apparently. Interesting .....
Take care
Alex
Tuesday 9 October 2007
Alex Wandered into Manhattan
I wandered over to the address she had handed to me at our brief lunchtime meet. We had been emailing for a while, and by the happy coincidence of a stateside business trip, we had previously decided we could exchange something more substantial than email.
At lunch, it had seemed right, had felt right. We had n’t touched, apart from double air kisses, the European way, while we had sized each other up. But I had been immediately relaxed in her company and loved the way she had looked and moved, smoothing back her dark shining hair, throwing her head back in unaffected laughter.
I hoped with all my heart that she felt the same way about me.
My nerves did n’t prevent me from playing the English boy. The ironic bemusement; the wonder that being in Manhattan engenders in all non-locals; the gentle sarcasm.
I rang the bell and waited, heart tripping. She had already informed me that there would no one at home apart from her and the cats. The door opened and a dim light spilled out. She was wearing a short dark dress which seemed to shine in the silhouetted light.
I became sure I was in the right place at the right time. . . . .
She remained motionless, then beckoned with an outstretched finger, her face flushed and smiling in welcome. The memory of the dress tricked in the back of my mind …..of course; the PVC number she had abused so readily. It hugged around her body, setting it off to perfection, not too tight but holding her breasts together around the depths of her shadowing, maddening cleavage. I closed the door behind me.
She looks at me, smiling “You are a naughty, naughty boy, Alex.” We stand in her hallway before moving through to her kitchen. I stare at her, not trusting myself to speak. “Come on, English boy, do something” she demands.
I move past her to the opened bottle of wine on the top, pour a mouthful into the empty of the two glasses. Replacing the glass, I finally move, holding her and bending to kiss her blood red mouth. As our lips meet I release the mouthful in my mouth, into hers. She chokes slightly, swallows and breaks away, green eyes flashing.
“Alex, you swine, what do you think you’re doing?” I wait for a slap, but this woman is in control, she grabs my shirt and pushes me down to my knees, crushing my face to her cleavage, holding me, suffocating me into her unyielding vinyl frontage. I gradually ease away and pull her down to me. We both kneel together, knees touching, faces inches apart. I reach to hold her face, with both hands and kiss her deeply, wetly. Time stands still.
“For fuck's sake Alex”, she breaks away, “you sure know how to make a girl comfortable, don’t you?” There’s no anger in her voice, only a detached amusement, a smile flickering beneath the flush. She is so cool, so much in control and so obviously enjoying, savoring, each moment. I am trembling.
She stands up and beckons again. This time, finally, I am ready for her. As she moves into her bedroom, the inner sanctum of her desires, I reach for her and pull her down on top of me, on top of her bed. She draws her leg between mine gently nuzzling her knee up to my crotch. I groan, the pressure of my confined cock building.
I don’t know how long we writhed together on the top of her bed. At some point she had ripped my shirt off while I had pulled down the straps and bodice of her dress, her beautiful breasts springing clear, hard nipples pointing up and out, seeking the heat of my mouth. She had cum, just my leg between hers, my lips gently sucking her breasts, crying out and arching her back , sweat breaking out in her hairline and chest.
I was dizzy with blood pumping into my crotch; she was looking into my eyes. “Go on, Alex, do what you want to, just come back, that’s all”
I nodded and limped into her adjoining bathroom, gasping as I survey her empty wash basket and her clothes strewn on the floor. I fall among them, reveling in her smell.
“Here” her low voice floats through. I am struggling to pull off my jeans and pants, a beautiful pain building in my crotch.
She is standing in the doorway, naked, her left hand working at her pussy, her right hand throwing me a wispy scrap of material. It floats down to cover my face. I inhale the rich, smoky, pungent smell of her cunt as my cock jerks and my hands travel downwards. But she’s kneeling on my legs, one hand working furiously at herself, a deep flush covering her upper body, breasts swinging freely, as she reaches for the head of my cock starting to pump me with her hand, perfect, exquisite pressure and reach. Her body goes rigid and she cries out my name.
Panting, she stops working me and holds my head, looking at me, looking at each other. She moves now between my legs, croons “cum for me, baby, cum for me”. We maintain eye contact as she repeats those beautiful motions, her head lower now, mouth opening, sweat dripping from her face, my orgasm building, but I’m still now, tension sucking out of my body, my cock at the centre of a world of absolute sensation.
She whispers again “cum, baby”. It is rising, seemingly starting from a point deep inside the earth’s crust, channeling through my shoulder blades, shooting down my spine, rising up between my legs, through into my balls, a wave of fluid moving unstoppably towards it’s conclusion.
I try to call her name, but can’t, an agonized rictus preventing speech. She knows, the tightening of my balls, the reflexive twitch. She bends lower, breasts swinging out and up as the first jet of cum shoots up to hit the underside of her jaw. She catches the second spurt in her mouth before bending further to imprison the head of my penis between her bared teeth. I hear screams as I jet a further 3 or 4 spurts into the warmth and wetness of her mouth. She releases me and sucks me deeply into her mouth, taking away all my pain. I realize the screams are coming from my own throat.
Slowly I relax as she topples over and comes to rest beside me on her bathroom floor, amid the contents of her washing basket. Her chin and jaw is sticky with my cum. What she did with the rest I did n’t see…
She turns to me, still smiling, entwining her hands to both of mine.
“Will you fuck me now ?" she says.
At lunch, it had seemed right, had felt right. We had n’t touched, apart from double air kisses, the European way, while we had sized each other up. But I had been immediately relaxed in her company and loved the way she had looked and moved, smoothing back her dark shining hair, throwing her head back in unaffected laughter.
I hoped with all my heart that she felt the same way about me.
My nerves did n’t prevent me from playing the English boy. The ironic bemusement; the wonder that being in Manhattan engenders in all non-locals; the gentle sarcasm.
I rang the bell and waited, heart tripping. She had already informed me that there would no one at home apart from her and the cats. The door opened and a dim light spilled out. She was wearing a short dark dress which seemed to shine in the silhouetted light.
I became sure I was in the right place at the right time. . . . .
She remained motionless, then beckoned with an outstretched finger, her face flushed and smiling in welcome. The memory of the dress tricked in the back of my mind …..of course; the PVC number she had abused so readily. It hugged around her body, setting it off to perfection, not too tight but holding her breasts together around the depths of her shadowing, maddening cleavage. I closed the door behind me.
She looks at me, smiling “You are a naughty, naughty boy, Alex.” We stand in her hallway before moving through to her kitchen. I stare at her, not trusting myself to speak. “Come on, English boy, do something” she demands.
I move past her to the opened bottle of wine on the top, pour a mouthful into the empty of the two glasses. Replacing the glass, I finally move, holding her and bending to kiss her blood red mouth. As our lips meet I release the mouthful in my mouth, into hers. She chokes slightly, swallows and breaks away, green eyes flashing.
“Alex, you swine, what do you think you’re doing?” I wait for a slap, but this woman is in control, she grabs my shirt and pushes me down to my knees, crushing my face to her cleavage, holding me, suffocating me into her unyielding vinyl frontage. I gradually ease away and pull her down to me. We both kneel together, knees touching, faces inches apart. I reach to hold her face, with both hands and kiss her deeply, wetly. Time stands still.
“For fuck's sake Alex”, she breaks away, “you sure know how to make a girl comfortable, don’t you?” There’s no anger in her voice, only a detached amusement, a smile flickering beneath the flush. She is so cool, so much in control and so obviously enjoying, savoring, each moment. I am trembling.
She stands up and beckons again. This time, finally, I am ready for her. As she moves into her bedroom, the inner sanctum of her desires, I reach for her and pull her down on top of me, on top of her bed. She draws her leg between mine gently nuzzling her knee up to my crotch. I groan, the pressure of my confined cock building.
I don’t know how long we writhed together on the top of her bed. At some point she had ripped my shirt off while I had pulled down the straps and bodice of her dress, her beautiful breasts springing clear, hard nipples pointing up and out, seeking the heat of my mouth. She had cum, just my leg between hers, my lips gently sucking her breasts, crying out and arching her back , sweat breaking out in her hairline and chest.
I was dizzy with blood pumping into my crotch; she was looking into my eyes. “Go on, Alex, do what you want to, just come back, that’s all”
I nodded and limped into her adjoining bathroom, gasping as I survey her empty wash basket and her clothes strewn on the floor. I fall among them, reveling in her smell.
“Here” her low voice floats through. I am struggling to pull off my jeans and pants, a beautiful pain building in my crotch.
She is standing in the doorway, naked, her left hand working at her pussy, her right hand throwing me a wispy scrap of material. It floats down to cover my face. I inhale the rich, smoky, pungent smell of her cunt as my cock jerks and my hands travel downwards. But she’s kneeling on my legs, one hand working furiously at herself, a deep flush covering her upper body, breasts swinging freely, as she reaches for the head of my cock starting to pump me with her hand, perfect, exquisite pressure and reach. Her body goes rigid and she cries out my name.
Panting, she stops working me and holds my head, looking at me, looking at each other. She moves now between my legs, croons “cum for me, baby, cum for me”. We maintain eye contact as she repeats those beautiful motions, her head lower now, mouth opening, sweat dripping from her face, my orgasm building, but I’m still now, tension sucking out of my body, my cock at the centre of a world of absolute sensation.
She whispers again “cum, baby”. It is rising, seemingly starting from a point deep inside the earth’s crust, channeling through my shoulder blades, shooting down my spine, rising up between my legs, through into my balls, a wave of fluid moving unstoppably towards it’s conclusion.
I try to call her name, but can’t, an agonized rictus preventing speech. She knows, the tightening of my balls, the reflexive twitch. She bends lower, breasts swinging out and up as the first jet of cum shoots up to hit the underside of her jaw. She catches the second spurt in her mouth before bending further to imprison the head of my penis between her bared teeth. I hear screams as I jet a further 3 or 4 spurts into the warmth and wetness of her mouth. She releases me and sucks me deeply into her mouth, taking away all my pain. I realize the screams are coming from my own throat.
Slowly I relax as she topples over and comes to rest beside me on her bathroom floor, amid the contents of her washing basket. Her chin and jaw is sticky with my cum. What she did with the rest I did n’t see…
She turns to me, still smiling, entwining her hands to both of mine.
“Will you fuck me now ?" she says.
Monday 8 October 2007
Train Wreck
Watching the scenery slide by, heading back to London - the return journey from a tedious meeting with a major client. Out of town clients are a major pain in the ass - they have to be loved specially.
"So glad you came down to see us" they barbed, intimating the length of time since the last visit. 'Yeah yeah' I think, 'fucking losers, but thanks for your contribution to my monthly bonus while I sit in my ivory tower like some demented captive'
Was I sitting comfortably? No, the virus was biting, hard. My testicles and lower groin were swollen, hot and uncomfortable. The first class compartment where I was sitting was empty. A daily rag was spread on the table in front of me, my left hand had slipped irresistibly down to my crotch, the rational part of my mind subsuming to the desire to release.
My cock stiffening uncomfortably now, I gently rubbed it's head through my trousers and jocky's.. there was only one way to go from here...
The train ground to a stop at a provincial town as I hurriedly removed my hand, so lately massaging my crotch and shifted gingerly in my seat.
I hear the door slam behind me as the train restarted it's journey. A moment later the carriage door slid open and a slim dark haired woman in a business suit pushed in towing a wheeled case, which was dumped adjacent to my seat. She moved forward 3 rows to sit in front of me.
I speculated my approach - 'hello, welcome to the first class wanking compartment,I 've started , would you care to join?
She looks at me as the tip of her tongue touches the middle of her lips.
'hmmm' she breathes, 'it's just what a girl like me needs'
She wriggles her skirt over her hips and brings her finger down to the top of the strip of lace which was masquerading as her panties....
I snapped from my reverie and found it was my hand that was moving south. She had not moved but her head was lolling slumberfully and I heard the whisper of a snore reach my ears.
Must have been a good lunch...
Fighting the impulse and failing miserably, my right hand moved to her case and unzipping the top compartment revealed what she had hurriedly placed inside before her meeting; her tightly rolled pants.
Trembling now, I extract them, re zip the case and spread them out on my lap below the table.
They are black and lacy with a heavy white discharge on the piece where her pussy had pressed into. Below the white stain was a small area of dark red.
Caught short with an early period on a business trip, with Mr Panty-fetish to find them.
How wrong.....but how right....
I slipped out of my seat and locked myself into the adjoining lavatory, heart pounding, palms sweating. I released my swollen member before encasing it in her soiled undies. This was not going to take long. I unloaded my sperm into the crotch of her knickers in several hard, hurried spurts, groaning silently, the pain subsiding almost immediately. I gathered them up in my hand, adjusted myself and returned to my seat.
To my horror, the case had disappeared. Panty-miss had woken and claimed her bag while I was cumming into her pants next door. Craning my head , I noticed she has opened the side zip to remove some papers , the top zip remaining closed.
I waited. We were crawling through suburbia now, heartbeat returning to normal, her pants now squelching with my cum, held in my left hand.
As the train slowed to it's final destination, she stood and made for the door. I waited then got up and stood behind her, my left hand balled into a fist. As she reached to open the door, I spoke,
"Excuse me, I think these are yours"
As she turned, I reached and offered her the soiled evidence. She instinctively reached out and looked down, horrified as she realised the scenario that had played out as she felt the material wet through her fingers. Her mouth opened.
"You, you, you, bloody wanker! how dare you"
I smiled, agreed and moved past her into the cocooning rush hour crowd.
I did n't look back.
"So glad you came down to see us" they barbed, intimating the length of time since the last visit. 'Yeah yeah' I think, 'fucking losers, but thanks for your contribution to my monthly bonus while I sit in my ivory tower like some demented captive'
Was I sitting comfortably? No, the virus was biting, hard. My testicles and lower groin were swollen, hot and uncomfortable. The first class compartment where I was sitting was empty. A daily rag was spread on the table in front of me, my left hand had slipped irresistibly down to my crotch, the rational part of my mind subsuming to the desire to release.
My cock stiffening uncomfortably now, I gently rubbed it's head through my trousers and jocky's.. there was only one way to go from here...
The train ground to a stop at a provincial town as I hurriedly removed my hand, so lately massaging my crotch and shifted gingerly in my seat.
I hear the door slam behind me as the train restarted it's journey. A moment later the carriage door slid open and a slim dark haired woman in a business suit pushed in towing a wheeled case, which was dumped adjacent to my seat. She moved forward 3 rows to sit in front of me.
I speculated my approach - 'hello, welcome to the first class wanking compartment,I 've started , would you care to join?
She looks at me as the tip of her tongue touches the middle of her lips.
'hmmm' she breathes, 'it's just what a girl like me needs'
She wriggles her skirt over her hips and brings her finger down to the top of the strip of lace which was masquerading as her panties....
I snapped from my reverie and found it was my hand that was moving south. She had not moved but her head was lolling slumberfully and I heard the whisper of a snore reach my ears.
Must have been a good lunch...
Fighting the impulse and failing miserably, my right hand moved to her case and unzipping the top compartment revealed what she had hurriedly placed inside before her meeting; her tightly rolled pants.
Trembling now, I extract them, re zip the case and spread them out on my lap below the table.
They are black and lacy with a heavy white discharge on the piece where her pussy had pressed into. Below the white stain was a small area of dark red.
Caught short with an early period on a business trip, with Mr Panty-fetish to find them.
How wrong.....but how right....
I slipped out of my seat and locked myself into the adjoining lavatory, heart pounding, palms sweating. I released my swollen member before encasing it in her soiled undies. This was not going to take long. I unloaded my sperm into the crotch of her knickers in several hard, hurried spurts, groaning silently, the pain subsiding almost immediately. I gathered them up in my hand, adjusted myself and returned to my seat.
To my horror, the case had disappeared. Panty-miss had woken and claimed her bag while I was cumming into her pants next door. Craning my head , I noticed she has opened the side zip to remove some papers , the top zip remaining closed.
I waited. We were crawling through suburbia now, heartbeat returning to normal, her pants now squelching with my cum, held in my left hand.
As the train slowed to it's final destination, she stood and made for the door. I waited then got up and stood behind her, my left hand balled into a fist. As she reached to open the door, I spoke,
"Excuse me, I think these are yours"
As she turned, I reached and offered her the soiled evidence. She instinctively reached out and looked down, horrified as she realised the scenario that had played out as she felt the material wet through her fingers. Her mouth opened.
"You, you, you, bloody wanker! how dare you"
I smiled, agreed and moved past her into the cocooning rush hour crowd.
I did n't look back.
Friday 21 September 2007
I guess that's why they call it the blues
If asked to describe the way she wanks me off, I would say -methodically -She is slow and thorough, exploring my groin, rubbing and stroking. She makes occasional mewing sounds of encouragement.
She does it her own way, dancing to her own tune.
She does it whether I need it or not.
She grips my penis firmly, too firmly. I have told her. She agrees with me, nods, smiles, mews, mumbles something in her broken english, and never changes her grip or stroke .....
She is kneeling between my legs, slightly hunched over, using both hands. She is stripped to the waist, having left her top and bra on my bathroom floor, always peeing for a long time before presenting herself with just her trousers on at the bedroom door. I motion her to come in and it starts again, a well rehearsed, long running play in 1 act.
She won't edge me, this does n't fit with what is running in her head.
She must see me cum.
I look into her eyes.
I never touch her.
When I am ready and start to move my hips in response to the feeling building deep inside, she reaches down with one hand to cup and squeeze my balls hard, too hard. She pushes her chest towards me as I cum, breasts swinging up as if to summon my juices, offering herself as a breakwater to the storm of my flow landing thickly on her naked chest.
She smiles as I ejaculate, counting the spurts quietly, releasing my balls, working harder on the down strokes after each jump of my cock. The pain builds, I tell her to stop, it's enough -
She reaches for tissues to wipe down her breasts and belly and leans in again with moist tissues to clean me.
I lie back, she smiles, I smile. She asks if she was good.
I nod my thanks. She finishes cleaning me and moves to get dressed.
She takes away the pain for a time , as she cleans my house, slowly and methodically.
She shouts her farewell up the stairs. I hear the front door slam, I lie motionless.
I don't know where she comes from or where she goes to.
She is my house cleaner.
Take care
Alex
She does it her own way, dancing to her own tune.
She does it whether I need it or not.
She grips my penis firmly, too firmly. I have told her. She agrees with me, nods, smiles, mews, mumbles something in her broken english, and never changes her grip or stroke .....
She is kneeling between my legs, slightly hunched over, using both hands. She is stripped to the waist, having left her top and bra on my bathroom floor, always peeing for a long time before presenting herself with just her trousers on at the bedroom door. I motion her to come in and it starts again, a well rehearsed, long running play in 1 act.
She won't edge me, this does n't fit with what is running in her head.
She must see me cum.
I look into her eyes.
I never touch her.
When I am ready and start to move my hips in response to the feeling building deep inside, she reaches down with one hand to cup and squeeze my balls hard, too hard. She pushes her chest towards me as I cum, breasts swinging up as if to summon my juices, offering herself as a breakwater to the storm of my flow landing thickly on her naked chest.
She smiles as I ejaculate, counting the spurts quietly, releasing my balls, working harder on the down strokes after each jump of my cock. The pain builds, I tell her to stop, it's enough -
She reaches for tissues to wipe down her breasts and belly and leans in again with moist tissues to clean me.
I lie back, she smiles, I smile. She asks if she was good.
I nod my thanks. She finishes cleaning me and moves to get dressed.
She takes away the pain for a time , as she cleans my house, slowly and methodically.
She shouts her farewell up the stairs. I hear the front door slam, I lie motionless.
I don't know where she comes from or where she goes to.
She is my house cleaner.
Take care
Alex
Thursday 20 September 2007
(self) love struck (1)
Things I have wanked into/onto:
my hand, obviously. .
bed
toilet
shower
the sea !
tissues
towels
the carpet
knickers into the crotch or tied onto my dick
a bra
a pillow
a dress
the ground
someone's pussy
someone's tits
someone's back
someone 's face
the wall behind my bed
myself
a condom
a hot tub
the gap between the mattress and the divan
porn mags
hello magazine
page 3 of the sun
my pants
cycling shorts
a hole in the wall with a load of chicks behind it in a bar in mexico
a sock
curtains
a plastic bag
shopping catalogues
pics printed off FLICKR
I think there are a few more, I will give it some serious thought and come back to you soon.
take care and have a good life,
Alex
my hand, obviously. .
bed
toilet
shower
the sea !
tissues
towels
the carpet
knickers into the crotch or tied onto my dick
a bra
a pillow
a dress
the ground
someone's pussy
someone's tits
someone's back
someone 's face
the wall behind my bed
myself
a condom
a hot tub
the gap between the mattress and the divan
porn mags
hello magazine
page 3 of the sun
my pants
cycling shorts
a hole in the wall with a load of chicks behind it in a bar in mexico
a sock
curtains
a plastic bag
shopping catalogues
pics printed off FLICKR
I think there are a few more, I will give it some serious thought and come back to you soon.
take care and have a good life,
Alex
Monday 17 September 2007
letting go
I saved reading sexegesis' entry here until the right time presented itself to me when I can savour her excellent prose while edging my painfully stiff cock ...Anyway, that was the plan when I started to read her wonderful account "Ex-Egesis", having earlier stopped at the fateful line "that night I shaved my pussy" .
When I returned later, I had been edging for a while and wanted to finish off urgently. I was firmly in the pre-ejaculatory phase, where the slightest additional pressure would be enough to send me to that place of no return where my milky fluid would pump out of me. I had a soiled agent provocateur g string tied below the head of my cock so that by varying the pressure of the 2 side strings, -hence double squeezing my cock head between silky cords - , could maintain the keen edge of my orgasm.
The towel I was sitting on contained pools of precum and I was in a state of oblivious anxiety. Anyway, I think you get the picture.
When she mentioned you had to pee, I considered just letting go there and then as I love reading about and seeing women peeing or obviously needing to (ain't alcohol wonderful?)
and was forced to remove the string in order to struggle to continue through the story. (I am getting aroused again writing this and hope you are too).
Having taken a short break, I retied the string and continued reading. I literally could n't sit still in my agitation and desire to explode with runny juice.
Needless to say , when I read the part about her peeing in the middle of her orgasm, without any further pressure on my cock, it simply erupted , tearing spurt after spurt of cum out of me. having not touched my cock during orgasm I was able to stand up and have another full orgasm and 3 or 4 more going to dry before my knees buckled beneath me. I realised I was shouting her name as I came.
When I returned later, I had been edging for a while and wanted to finish off urgently. I was firmly in the pre-ejaculatory phase, where the slightest additional pressure would be enough to send me to that place of no return where my milky fluid would pump out of me. I had a soiled agent provocateur g string tied below the head of my cock so that by varying the pressure of the 2 side strings, -hence double squeezing my cock head between silky cords - , could maintain the keen edge of my orgasm.
The towel I was sitting on contained pools of precum and I was in a state of oblivious anxiety. Anyway, I think you get the picture.
When she mentioned you had to pee, I considered just letting go there and then as I love reading about and seeing women peeing or obviously needing to (ain't alcohol wonderful?)
and was forced to remove the string in order to struggle to continue through the story. (I am getting aroused again writing this and hope you are too).
Having taken a short break, I retied the string and continued reading. I literally could n't sit still in my agitation and desire to explode with runny juice.
Needless to say , when I read the part about her peeing in the middle of her orgasm, without any further pressure on my cock, it simply erupted , tearing spurt after spurt of cum out of me. having not touched my cock during orgasm I was able to stand up and have another full orgasm and 3 or 4 more going to dry before my knees buckled beneath me. I realised I was shouting her name as I came.
Tuesday 11 September 2007
The gates of oblivion
The empty house beckoned eagerly. I had the vital ingedients for a perfect wanking session - an internet connection, a selection of panties, a hard penis, a willing hand and solitude. The planets had aligned specifically to enable me to stroke out my wildest fantasies. I had been building up to this for the day at work, surfing my favourite blogs and sites and now anxiously awaited fulfillment. I slowly worked up to an edging frenzy until i could not touch my cock with my fingers otherwise I would cum. I could only gently, very gently stroke around it's base with the silky knickers. Any touch further up my penis would preciptitate a flood of cum. I willed my penis to go flacid, pulled the panties away,closed down the browser window, only to return all to the same state. This I did over 4 complete cycles going from flacid to pre-ejac more and more rapidly. The 4th cycle, I allowed the sweaty precum stained knickers to float gently down onto my rock hard cock. That action coupled with a pic of an hirsute goddess holding herself wide , made my cock jump and kick over into full orgasm mode, I rode it, knees buckling as I pumped out 6 heavy spurts of cum. While still hard I was only able to have 4 more orgasms.
Hirsute does n't normally do anything for me . . . it wasn't my pic of choice having clicked the wrong link in pure desperation. . .
in another post, -- things that do and things that don't , turn me on,
Enjoy your life, there is no reason not to pleasure yourself today and every day!
Hirsute does n't normally do anything for me . . . it wasn't my pic of choice having clicked the wrong link in pure desperation. . .
in another post, -- things that do and things that don't , turn me on,
Enjoy your life, there is no reason not to pleasure yourself today and every day!
Monday 10 September 2007
Asian babe & Yankee Girl, or - Don't leave your gym kit lying around
In the mid 90s I worked an evening shift at a large investment bank in the city of London. It was a very boring job but enabled me to have access to a large amount of wanking material and plenty of wanking opportunities.
Late in the evening, I would wander round the deserted trading floor, looking for gymbags. I had already worked out where the good looking girls sat and most of them worked out regularly. What they did not do was to take their kit home with them, but left them under or next to their desks. I suppose they must have rotated their clothing or simply enjoyed working out with sweaty clothes on.
While I accept rifling through people's private property is , how shall we say, unethical, my lust for sweaty female clothing overrode any qualms I had.
I had 2 favourite girls, others came and went...
The first was "asian babe" - a petite Asian 30-something. She always took the opportunity of changing her work knickers after her session, so there were 2 precious objects left in the bottom of her gym bag:- her knickers from the morning , always rolled tightly mirroring the way she had rolled them off her pussy and down her legs in the changing room. The second was her sweaty gym shorts. I would note with interest the colour & style of her panties - ranging from sensible white pants often with heavy staining, to silky, filmy g-strings.
My other favourite was a loud blond American girl of about 35 . she wore high heels in the office which were kicked under the desk when I was there and sneakers to work. Her sportware was expensive and her underwear was always tiny white rich smelling g strings.
On a typical night I would check out the contents of the bags, extract the goodies and retreat to my desk letting the anticipation build. Under my desk I would take out my already stiff cock and rub their knickers up and down it, holding it gently encased in a pair of soiled,sometimes quite dirty yankee or asian sweaty girl panties . absolute bliss!!
The Asian was not fussy at wiping herself, her pussy or her butt. Her knickers were often soiled with dark urine stains, blood and other crusty matter. All grist to my mill!
When I could hold back my sperm no longer a dilemma presented itself to me - do I cum directly into the panties or pump out my need into a kleenex held in the other hand? I tried to avoid the former too many times . . . .
All that remained was for me to calm myself down, clean up and return the item from whence extracted. I never kept them.
When I finally linked with yankee girl, after we had fucked for the first time, I told her the whole story. She loved it and used to wank me off with my cock encased in her dirtiest knickers, I once persuaded her to wear the same ones for a week including after her period started. But that my friends is another story. . . .
Late in the evening, I would wander round the deserted trading floor, looking for gymbags. I had already worked out where the good looking girls sat and most of them worked out regularly. What they did not do was to take their kit home with them, but left them under or next to their desks. I suppose they must have rotated their clothing or simply enjoyed working out with sweaty clothes on.
While I accept rifling through people's private property is , how shall we say, unethical, my lust for sweaty female clothing overrode any qualms I had.
I had 2 favourite girls, others came and went...
The first was "asian babe" - a petite Asian 30-something. She always took the opportunity of changing her work knickers after her session, so there were 2 precious objects left in the bottom of her gym bag:- her knickers from the morning , always rolled tightly mirroring the way she had rolled them off her pussy and down her legs in the changing room. The second was her sweaty gym shorts. I would note with interest the colour & style of her panties - ranging from sensible white pants often with heavy staining, to silky, filmy g-strings.
My other favourite was a loud blond American girl of about 35 . she wore high heels in the office which were kicked under the desk when I was there and sneakers to work. Her sportware was expensive and her underwear was always tiny white rich smelling g strings.
On a typical night I would check out the contents of the bags, extract the goodies and retreat to my desk letting the anticipation build. Under my desk I would take out my already stiff cock and rub their knickers up and down it, holding it gently encased in a pair of soiled,sometimes quite dirty yankee or asian sweaty girl panties . absolute bliss!!
The Asian was not fussy at wiping herself, her pussy or her butt. Her knickers were often soiled with dark urine stains, blood and other crusty matter. All grist to my mill!
When I could hold back my sperm no longer a dilemma presented itself to me - do I cum directly into the panties or pump out my need into a kleenex held in the other hand? I tried to avoid the former too many times . . . .
All that remained was for me to calm myself down, clean up and return the item from whence extracted. I never kept them.
When I finally linked with yankee girl, after we had fucked for the first time, I told her the whole story. She loved it and used to wank me off with my cock encased in her dirtiest knickers, I once persuaded her to wear the same ones for a week including after her period started. But that my friends is another story. . . .
Friday 31 August 2007
Catching the virus - 2
If you are following these rambles, you will immediately discover that my prime obsession is masturbation. There, I've said it. Somehow , seeing it there in black and white immediately makes me feel an urge to justify or explain it. It makes me want to explain things like: I'm a normal person ; I live a normal fulfilled life; I have many friends, relationships, family ; I 'm not some weirdo etc etc. Given everybody does it , why is it a big deal?
I can't justify it or explain it, I just love doing it, it's that simple.
It's something you can carry with you all the time. It must be the best addictive substance/device of all time. It helps you get through the day , it helps you go to sleep , it helps you wake up in the morning, it has helped my sex life massively in terms of controlling my orgasm and being able to get erect again quickly--, and it's good for you!! it reduces the risk of prostate cancer and other problems with men's plumbing . It fills in time in boring work meetings thinking about it, planning the next session, remembering previous sessions....
OK here's the explanation
I first wanked myself at age 11- when I should point out I was very innocent about everything!I was n't trying to wank, for a very simple reason- I did n't know you could. very sheltered upbringing, no big brothers etc. I accidentally (or instinctively) touched my cock, when drying myself after a shower - it grew hard and felt lovely, so for whatever reason, I started to move my foreskin back and forward over my now engorged head. Within what seemed like seconds , I felt the most amazing sensation that I had ever had literally all over my body, from my balls, going up my back right up to the top of my head.
I immediately stopped and took my hand away. I was actually frightened! My penis was twitching but I had not reached what I subsequently learnt to be the point of no return, and my cock gradually subsided and grew soft. It took me a while for my body to stop shaking though!!
I said nothing to anybody and did the exact same process a few more times without cumming.
Relecting much later as an adult, I wonder if that is why I have such good control over my orgasms now, I can edge for a very very long time. . . . . .
Anyhow soon the inevitable happened. I was touching myself a few weeks afterwards and had my first proper orgasm with emmission - wow how utterly utterly amazing that felt.....I have n't stopped since.
one thing led to another and I discovered I had the happy ability to achieve multiple orgasms, up to 9 or 10 per wanking session. In my teens , wanking sessions were daily, by the way. They needed to be because the "virus" had bitten me hard, no question about it, and was not going to let me go, so by the time I first had "proper" penetrative sex , I had cum 100's of times.
The rest , as they say, is history. . . . . .
I 'm sure this is a common experience, would love to hear of others
next time - top wanks? or wanks that could have got me into serious trouble?
what do i wank over? , I will let you know all
I'm thinking about it
I can't justify it or explain it, I just love doing it, it's that simple.
It's something you can carry with you all the time. It must be the best addictive substance/device of all time. It helps you get through the day , it helps you go to sleep , it helps you wake up in the morning, it has helped my sex life massively in terms of controlling my orgasm and being able to get erect again quickly--, and it's good for you!! it reduces the risk of prostate cancer and other problems with men's plumbing . It fills in time in boring work meetings thinking about it, planning the next session, remembering previous sessions....
OK here's the explanation
I first wanked myself at age 11- when I should point out I was very innocent about everything!I was n't trying to wank, for a very simple reason- I did n't know you could. very sheltered upbringing, no big brothers etc. I accidentally (or instinctively) touched my cock, when drying myself after a shower - it grew hard and felt lovely, so for whatever reason, I started to move my foreskin back and forward over my now engorged head. Within what seemed like seconds , I felt the most amazing sensation that I had ever had literally all over my body, from my balls, going up my back right up to the top of my head.
I immediately stopped and took my hand away. I was actually frightened! My penis was twitching but I had not reached what I subsequently learnt to be the point of no return, and my cock gradually subsided and grew soft. It took me a while for my body to stop shaking though!!
I said nothing to anybody and did the exact same process a few more times without cumming.
Relecting much later as an adult, I wonder if that is why I have such good control over my orgasms now, I can edge for a very very long time. . . . . .
Anyhow soon the inevitable happened. I was touching myself a few weeks afterwards and had my first proper orgasm with emmission - wow how utterly utterly amazing that felt.....I have n't stopped since.
one thing led to another and I discovered I had the happy ability to achieve multiple orgasms, up to 9 or 10 per wanking session. In my teens , wanking sessions were daily, by the way. They needed to be because the "virus" had bitten me hard, no question about it, and was not going to let me go, so by the time I first had "proper" penetrative sex , I had cum 100's of times.
The rest , as they say, is history. . . . . .
I 'm sure this is a common experience, would love to hear of others
next time - top wanks? or wanks that could have got me into serious trouble?
what do i wank over? , I will let you know all
I'm thinking about it
Wednesday 29 August 2007
catching the virus -1
I am going through a dry period in my sex life. I don't blame my partner or even myself, it's just one these things that happens sometimes. As a result wanking has moved right up the priority list. It's always been there but has taken priority right now. in fact it's my favourite thing to do.
I have always considered masturbation and sex as being complimentary pleasures but in a sense separate, almost not related. I have masturbated since the age of 11 and continued through all the relationships I have enjoyed. It does n't replace love making, far from it, it enhances it. I feel comfortable masturbating in front of (with) my missus , but she is not comfortable with i so it remains a private matter currently.
I love the way the desire to wank (the wanking virus) slowly builds up over time between orgasm sessions. Sometimes wanking makes me hornier afterwards, at other times, it slays the virus for days. The virus can return to catch me unawares at the most unexpected times. Often the virus attacks after a period of concentration or focus, a business meeting, a business trip, whatever, reading a passage from a book, seeing a pretty girl, watching my wife undress, pictures in a magazine and yes of course, blogging, top shelf mags, dvd's, underwear, or even women's shoes , a beutiful girl walking along the road, a day out at the beach and hundreds of other things. At other times it forms stealthily and gradually over time (never longer than about 3 days). Once the virus is operating, there is only one possible conclusion, as many orgasms as possible - yes, I am a fortunate male that can have multiple orgasms and multiple emissions!! -- until there is only left the rawness of a spunk free climax with every tube and gland emptied.
Once the virus has reared it's head, as it were, then I am operating in a hightened consiousness. It's just a question of time, Do I have a hurried furtive shuffle at work, do I wait for the comfort of my own home, do I beg my wife for sex, do I have a "long shower", do i use "professional services"? Do I wait until I have a decent amount of time put aside on my own or do I sacrifice comfort over my growing need to bang one out.
At the moment I am settling for the once a night quick session in our bedroom while my partner is elsewhere using her knickers to speed things a little from the washing basket. The problem with a quick once a day is the cycle is too small and needs daily repeats.
What is my break out??
I have always considered masturbation and sex as being complimentary pleasures but in a sense separate, almost not related. I have masturbated since the age of 11 and continued through all the relationships I have enjoyed. It does n't replace love making, far from it, it enhances it. I feel comfortable masturbating in front of (with) my missus , but she is not comfortable with i so it remains a private matter currently.
I love the way the desire to wank (the wanking virus) slowly builds up over time between orgasm sessions. Sometimes wanking makes me hornier afterwards, at other times, it slays the virus for days. The virus can return to catch me unawares at the most unexpected times. Often the virus attacks after a period of concentration or focus, a business meeting, a business trip, whatever, reading a passage from a book, seeing a pretty girl, watching my wife undress, pictures in a magazine and yes of course, blogging, top shelf mags, dvd's, underwear, or even women's shoes , a beutiful girl walking along the road, a day out at the beach and hundreds of other things. At other times it forms stealthily and gradually over time (never longer than about 3 days). Once the virus is operating, there is only one possible conclusion, as many orgasms as possible - yes, I am a fortunate male that can have multiple orgasms and multiple emissions!! -- until there is only left the rawness of a spunk free climax with every tube and gland emptied.
Once the virus has reared it's head, as it were, then I am operating in a hightened consiousness. It's just a question of time, Do I have a hurried furtive shuffle at work, do I wait for the comfort of my own home, do I beg my wife for sex, do I have a "long shower", do i use "professional services"? Do I wait until I have a decent amount of time put aside on my own or do I sacrifice comfort over my growing need to bang one out.
At the moment I am settling for the once a night quick session in our bedroom while my partner is elsewhere using her knickers to speed things a little from the washing basket. The problem with a quick once a day is the cycle is too small and needs daily repeats.
What is my break out??
Wednesday 1 August 2007
stimulation 2
I generally avoid stting opposite attractive girls especially those wearing revealing clothing on the way to or from work. Why ? Because I am so visually stimulated and because there are so many sights out there in summer. So there I was innocently minding my own business on tuesday morning when a woman sat down diagonally opposite me in the next compartment. She was not conventionally pretty, medium height with short dark hair, but she had the most perfect breasts I have seen in along time. They were large, perched high on her ribcage and perfectly round. They were well trussed into a capable bra, which they needed to be, the straps of which were outlined clearly against her tightly fitting top. The view was absolutely stunning. Why does she show them in that way, I feel (sortof) sorry for the guys in her ofice with those distractions! Is it because she likes to flaunt her assets, does she like people to have a good look, or does she feel ambivelent towards her own body or does she not even realise the havoc she is causing?
Friday 27 July 2007
stimulation
I am a 30 something man living in London, so out of tune with his surroundings. I work in the city and commute in from close by like thousands of others converging on their respective work places. I endure and sometimes enjoy my job, maintain a multitude of friendships, have a good relationship with my wife, have a lot of fun with my kids. On the face of it just another normal bloke doing normal stuff.
Underneath the facade lies another person for which the whole basis of my life is sexually driven. It's what wakes me up in the mornings and keeps me up (pun intended) or puts me to sleep at night. It is what makes me decide which side of the road to walk down and where to stand in the Pub. It decides my favourite Pub based on the bar maids. It decides where I sit on the train or tube. I just like being around women whether my friends, most of which are women or people that don't know me. I am not a stalker, follower, starer or anything like that. Far
from being desensitisied from the siren call of sex in advertising, sex in the media, sex in everyday life, the constant views of cleavage. leg and belly on the train, in the office, in the Pubs and restaurants where I go for lunch , or just walking around the city , I find myself constantly stimulated. I am keenly aware of a woman walking past me with say a nice pair of shoes on , or a nice top, or a shapely arse or a lovely cleavage or pretty much anything. I am not saying that I am the only man to do this but feel controlled by it to a large extent, I simply can't help noticing things which arouse me. I state again, it could be almost anything about a woman, I will organise a proper favs list later. These images get saved and added to the vast database inside my head, most of which to be fair get erased quickly but some remain for years.
I am not asking whether this is normal and not asking to be judged. I may later go into detail about particular situations but will see how this develops.
Further background will be provided later.
Underneath the facade lies another person for which the whole basis of my life is sexually driven. It's what wakes me up in the mornings and keeps me up (pun intended) or puts me to sleep at night. It is what makes me decide which side of the road to walk down and where to stand in the Pub. It decides my favourite Pub based on the bar maids. It decides where I sit on the train or tube. I just like being around women whether my friends, most of which are women or people that don't know me. I am not a stalker, follower, starer or anything like that. Far
from being desensitisied from the siren call of sex in advertising, sex in the media, sex in everyday life, the constant views of cleavage. leg and belly on the train, in the office, in the Pubs and restaurants where I go for lunch , or just walking around the city , I find myself constantly stimulated. I am keenly aware of a woman walking past me with say a nice pair of shoes on , or a nice top, or a shapely arse or a lovely cleavage or pretty much anything. I am not saying that I am the only man to do this but feel controlled by it to a large extent, I simply can't help noticing things which arouse me. I state again, it could be almost anything about a woman, I will organise a proper favs list later. These images get saved and added to the vast database inside my head, most of which to be fair get erased quickly but some remain for years.
I am not asking whether this is normal and not asking to be judged. I may later go into detail about particular situations but will see how this develops.
Further background will be provided later.
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