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Sex on the Brain: Trading Two in the Bush for One in the Hand

Sex on the Brain? Guilty. And if you’re reading this blog, then I assume you’re as guilty as I am. Well… maybe not quite. You see, I think I may have jumped the shark into a whole new bag of crazy when it comes to the pursuit of sexual encounters. The time has come for me to take a breather, come back down to earth and reclaim a couple of things that should be important in my life, but have been pushed aside while I’ve been searching for a little something-something.

I’m taking a two week sex sabbatical. In truth it works out to be more like 19 days total and my use of the term sabbatical is a little misleading. I’m not taking a break from all sex – just sex that involves other people in a physical sense. Porn via Xtube and masturbation are still on table.

I used to masturbate all the time. As a teen it became my number one preoccupation. Even into my late 20’s and early 30’s I would have to say that jerking off was my modus operandi of choice when it came to getting off. To say that I actually preferred it to physical contact with other people would be a bit of a stretch – I love kissing (and am damn good at it), but at that time in my life I was simply too shy to hit on other people (guys). I was socially-sexually clueless. Women, on the other hand, hit on me from time to time and I ended up having sex with them in spite of myself. Still, sex with others remained a relatively infrequent part of my life. Living in L.A. would change all that, though it was actually in Iowa that my current school of thought took root.

Tea room sex was something I accidently stumbled upon at a wayside rest in the middle of Iowa, a full year before I moved to California. Iowa was fun. Farm boys. Grrrr. But I wanted and needed more. I soon found it. In L.A., living in isolation and awash with an anonymity and autonomy I had never before enjoyed, I was free to let my freak flag fly. Soon, hanging out at a local park and getting sucked off by total strangers became my way of coping with the loneliness. I had no friends. Just people I worked with and people who sucked my dick.

Upon returning to the twin cities in the late 90’s I discovered the internet and began to explore the art of cyber-dating and hooking up. It became my new addiction and just like any really good addiction it began adversely affecting my relationships with others and negatively impacting my life. My need became overwhelming, at times taking precedence over everything else; family, home, personal safety, etc. After a point, one partner a day was not enough. I’d set challenges for myself – sex quotas – and I would work the net or the park or that skyway or that restroom or that parking lot or that prairie until I was satisfied. Only I never was. I know I fooled myself for a long time, telling myself that it was a game and that it was fun. And frequently it was fun – which was never the problem, but it was just as frequently not-so-fun – which has become a problem.

Life kept trying to warn me. It would throw up roadblocks in the form of events and occurrences that would demand and capture the attention of anyone living a full and happy life. However, I’d strayed from the norm quite awhile ago, so all these things – these events and occurrences - happened while I was busy elsewhere and with as little input from me as possible. I have been cheating life and missing out on the really important stuff. To say that I’d lost a sense of the appropriate and that my sense of proportion is out of whack would be a bit of an understatement. Yep, I was really out of touch and moving at a speed that made remaining detached from reality very easy, if not mandatory. I think I could have headed down that highway and disappeared into that good night without a trace.

Fortunately, something unfortunate happened, and it stopped me cold. I shook it off and tried to resume business as usual, but then life threw down another spike strip, ripping the shit out of my tires and then… one more. They say death comes in threes, so it’s always been a number that I respect. So I stopped. I stopped going to the Prairie. I stopped sun bathing. I stopped having sex with other people. I pushed the button and have put that part of my life on pause.

I’m not quite sure what this break was going to be all about, but I am determined to find out what it could mean to the quality of my life. I immediately began dismantling my sex kit and cleaning out the trunk of my car. It felt so good to wash those towels, those jeans, those shorts, and that blanket, to put away the poppers and cockrings and condoms and lube. I look forward to not douching. Or trimming my pubes, my chest hair, or shaving my ass. Well, I might keep up on the fur maintenance, but I look forward to a break from all the rest.

Still, every brilliantly sunny day screams at me like a wasted opportunity. I keep telling myself no. Then I decided, like I do with most things in my life that seem overpowering, to make a game of it. I set a predetermined, self-imposed amount of time and began to hold my breath. Quickly realizing that isn’t a very good coping tool I have decided to substitute something else – masturbation!

You see, in my rush to gain intimacy or an approximation of intimacy with others and get my cookies, I lost a sense of self. I can’t think of a better way to get back in touch with that self than… well, actually touching that self – in as deeply personal and dirty a manner as possible. Madonna got it wrong… screw future love - there is no love like self love.

I’m sure some addiction expert somewhere is shaking their head – you can’t beat a sex addiction while still remaining sexually active. And that is probably true, except beating my sexual addiction really isn’t really what this whole sabbatical thing is about. I like to think of this as a time where I’m pushing my chair back, away from the trough at the sex buffet, long enough to catch my breath and check the weather. This is a healthy break, not an action plan to maintain abstinence. This is to serve as an opportunity to learn a bit more about myself, my life, the choices I am making and what impact my behavior and choices are having on those who depend on me.

It’s also an opportunity to get back in touch with that kid in that small town who used to jerk off everywhere he went. There was a joy to it back then (mixed with generous amounts of guilt and desperation) that I have since lost. I’d like to reclaim that joy. Sure, it won’t be the same, but it will be similar.

Based on my fun last night, there is one thing that has changed; my reliance on props, gadgets and chemical enhancements. I used to just use my imagination. Now I need a little visual stimulation, in the form of Xtube to get me going. And cock rings. I’m increasingly attracted to the idea of ball stretching – certainly not in its extreme forms, but I do have a couple of cockrings that help out in this department. Last night I discovered that by using multiple rings and stacking them on top of one another, it can make it even more intense. The strained, bulgy-veined, turning purple erection that results by the use of said rings is not my favorite thing in the world and I have noticed that playing this way has a negative impact on my capacity to actually spew cum – it more or less just spurts out, but the sensation of the balls being constrained in such a manner remains pretty awesome. That and a hit of poppers? Whew! It’s a whole new ball game (pardon the pun).

So, do I plan on becoming one of the nightmares on Xtube, displaying my corseted ball sack for all to see? No. Number one, you’ll never see me on Xtube (unless I’m wearing a full-head covering leather mask) and number two; I really don’t like gadgets and doo dads. They detract from the basics and in this case the basics – a hard dick and a sensitive, but firm grip – are all one really needs.

And all that I want.

I want to excite myself again. I want to be able to excite myself sans other dicks, orifices and touch. Sans gadgets, doo dads and costume pieces. Sans scenarios, locations, situations and scenes. I want to get off by myself – by getting off on myself; the way I’ve become used to getting off on other people and situations.

This is not permanent. This is temporary. That I choose to do so in the middle of the one of the most wonderful summers ever is not lost on me. I have to fight my desire for woodland romps mightily and frequently, but sacrifices must be made for the greater good. I think in the end, whatever the reward, whatever I learn; it will be worth it because I’m worth it. I’m worth more than the activities I have been pursuing and participating in as of late. This whole sex-at-any-cost mentality has got to change. It’s not healthy. It’s not me. And most importantly, it’s not all that fun.

I guess I’ve scared myself once too often.

So, at this time (I’m on day 10) I am choosing to heed the signs. To slow down. To regroup. To reexamine. To get back in touch.

And to masturbate.

Hell, yeah.

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