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Hope Springs Eternal, While Disappointment Cums in Spurts (Or Not)

Sometimes you just have to slow down and check your surroundings. That’s what I’ve been doing recently. Not out of dread or trepidation… I don’t even have anything to be all that cautious about these days. But I do feel like a dog sniffing the wind.

Summer does not seem to be getting here any too quickly this year. In fact, rumor has it this is supposed to be a very cool summer – meaning cool temp-wise. That does not excite me in the least.

Something else that does not excite me in the least? Sex. Yep, I’m going through that kind of period again. I just can’t seem to work up the enthusiasm for anonymous encounters the way I used to. Not that I haven’t been trying. It’s just the ends in this case do not justify the means; all that work and the pay-off is so slim. I have had two major encounters where I left feeling absolutely let down. I always bring my A-game, because I figure if you can’t do that, then do your trick a favor and stay home (which is exactly what I do some days).

The first incident involved a couple I’d played with once before. They are both leather-friendly, a bit younger than me, and a tad kinky, but nothing that takes center stage. We play in their living room, which is a little weird, considering they have this huge bay window that they put a sheet over. With the plasma screen playing porn, the room is cast in an eerie blue glow, and I can only imagine what kind of shadows appear on the other side of that sheet from time to time. But, hey, maybe they have a neighbor who gets into that.

Our first encounter was swift and somewhat fun. I was definitely feeling it more from one of the partners than the other, but I always do my best to keep everyone busy and involved. The guy I’m not so into is shorter than me, and sort of a ginger with smooth, pale skin, a couple of tats, a pierced tongue, a prince albert and an odd affect – at times he reminds me of a doughy baby bird with his mouth open waiting for Mama to feed him a worm. Of course, to be fair, that first time he did not seem to be all that excited about having a three-way at all. His partner is a tiny bit taller than me, bald with a goatee, a slim, furry build and a bit on the wicked side. Neither one has what I would consider a big dick, but they are both adequate enough to get the job done. While my time with the ginger was just okay, my turn with the bald dude was kind of swift, but epic. He definitely likes to take charge and I kind of get off on being dominated. All in all, I had a nice time.

In the next few weeks the ginger dude, who apparently is in charge of securing them a hook-up when they want to play, kept hitting me up on-line and inviting me over. I kept dodging them because, well, I just wasn’t all that sure that I wanted a repeat performance; besides, they live a distance from me, and with gas prices such as they are, I want bang (pun intended) for my buck. But finally, I felt I couldn’t put them off any longer and decided to see if it could possibly get any better. At least this time I knew where I was going and didn’t get lost.

I arrived on time. The ginger let me in and led me to the living room. No porn on. No bald dude. The ginger and I make out and strip each other in the process. For some reason I am rock hard and start getting the sense that I want to bend the ginger over and fuck him rough. He sucks on me for about ten minutes and I am pretty pleased. He then excuses himself to go get his partner. He returns, minus partner, and then proceeds to spend the next ten minutes trying to get the porn to come up on the plasma screen. Meanwhile, I learn that they had just been out hitting the bars earlier that evening. That might explain the difference in the ginger – he seems more relaxed, more pliable, and a much better kisser than I remember. Yes, sometimes, a little alcohol is a good thing.

But more often than not, it is not. Especially a lot of alcohol, which is what I believe was the issue with the bald dude. The bald dude suddenly appears and grabs the remote away from his partner and puts on the porn. There is something about his demeanor that is really different this time, and almost instantly I realize – I don’t like it! First he orders his partner to fuck me while I suck him and get him hard. So right away, I know that I am responsible for him getting hard. Not cool.

The entire time I’m sucking his dick, the bald dude is asking his partner if he’s shot his load yet. And that is one of the things that make three-ways with established couples so weird for the outsider – the way they talk to one another. Sometimes it’s in a secret code that to the outside ear sounds like a set of identical twins that have made up their own language. Other times – it’s just a turn off: pet names, repeated phrases, nonsense words, creepy familial references.

Anyway, the ginger finally shoots his load, or at least fakes it enough to satisfy his partner, who is now semi-hard and ready to fuck me. He makes me kneel on this little footstool and takes me from behind. And that is when the whole evening goes down the poop shoot – and not my poop shoot. First, the bald one makes his partner stand in front of me. It is so obvious to me that the ginger has shot his load and is all done. He is bored and wants to go sit on the couch. Three minutes into my fuck with the bald one and I’m thinking that sitting on the couch sounds like a pretty good idea. The bald one can’t get hard. He has had too much to drink. But he won’t give up. He tells his partner he can’t “hear it”. This apparently is my cue to ramp up the gay porn talk – which I dutifully do – I’d already been doing it, but apparently not to the bald one’s satisfaction. So, like any bad actor playing opposite and even worse actor, I do my lines, with feeling! Then, the bald one declares that my hole is not tight enough. There is a part of me that wants to turn around and tell him that the hole is not the problem, but I keep my mouth shut. Then he gets mean. He pulls me off my perch, and places me on the carpet. I immediately get a rug burn on my knee and I am not all that thrilled with the hygienic condition of their living room floor. We switch up positions four times – still the postman is not ringing. At this point I happen to look over and find that the ginger has, in fact, gone to sit on the couch. He watches, constantly asks if the bald one has gotten off yet while offering up the occasional odd suggestion. Then he does something that almost makes me want to pick up my toys and go home – he starts smacking my ass – really, really hard. I let it go the first three times, but when that burn turns into a sharp sting I grab him by the wrist and hold on to it really tightly. He takes this as a challenge and puts my arm behind my back. Fine, whatever.

By this point the bald one is flaccid. Period. But does he give up? Unfortunately, no. Instead he puts me on my back, positions his body over mine as if doing push-ups and proceeds to fuck my mouth. He keeps ordering me to gag on his cock, but… ummm... well, quite frankly there’s not enough dick there to do the job. So, while lying on my back, I try to figure out how to resolve this evening and get the hell out of there.

I’d been wanting to get back and fuck the shit out of that ginger dude, who is now sitting smugly on the couch, but I get a sense that boat has sailed and he’s not taking on any new passengers. Throughout my play with the bald dude I’d been working my finger in his ass, stroking his prostate to see if that might aid in him getting a stiffie and given our current set up, his hole is again, within reach, so I’m playing with it. Then he says one derogatory thing too many about my sexual abilities and I decide it’s time to turn the tables. I take my time and make sure my dick is nice and hard before getting up, shoving the bald one chest down on the footstool, kneeling behind him and taking his ass to town. I was in a mood to top, and his ass was going to have to do. It was a nice ass. From behind he has a real nice shape; a chest that vees into his waist and a pair of nice concave ass melons. I only pound him for about five minutes – during which he critiques my skills as a top. Finally I have had enough of his drunken bullshit and bring it on home, creaming his hole big time.

After catching my breath, I don’t even bother with the usual ‘thank you’s’ or check to see if everyone is okay. I just pick up my bag and head to the bathroom, where I wipe down, douche my ass, and gargle. When I return to the living room, the bald dude is gone; in the kitchen talking to their room mate. The ginger is sitting on the couch cruising the net. I dress and he pats the spot beside him. I sit for a moment and he gives me a reassuring hug, saying something about the affects of alcohol. I thank him and show myself out, knowing that I will never again be visiting their little abode.

Three days later, I have sex with this guy who has just moved into town. I find I have good luck with dudes who have just moved into town. I’m not sure if that’s because they don’t realize how much better they can do or if it’s because they haven’t been in town long enough to learn what a giant slut I am… but for whatever reason, I attract them and land them pretty regularly. This guy is really nice looking – as in, typical, handsome executive type. His stats seem fine, he’s my age, and, based on his pictures, he’s in reasonable shape. We make a date and I head to his place. He greets me at the front door, doesn’t scream, nor does his face freeze into a mask of horror, so I figure we’re good to go. From my perspective, he lives up to his pics and stats. His smile isn’t quite as focused as I like, but upon climbing the stairs to the second floor, a quick whiff helps me identify the reason behind his ever melting demeanor. The smell of pot hangs heavy in the air. And I’m cool with that, and tell him so.

We enter a room and he has MSNBC on his big old plasma screen (again with the giant televisions?). There isn’t a lot of furniture and we sit on the carpeted floor. I begin undressing while he reloads his little pot pipe. I do two rather quaint puffs and tell him I’m done – just not in the mood to get all fucked up – just fucked. He continues to smoke a bit more while I get undressed. Leaving me to watch a story about Newt Gingrich, he disappears into the bathroom. When he reappears, he’s naked. Dude is taller than me by two inches and his body is okay – a trip to the gym might do it good, but he’s tan and height/weight proportionate. His dick is okay, too – a little shorter than mine, and a little thinner, but nicely shaped. He also has a nice set of balls on him. He’s kind of a Ken doll, really. He stands in front of me and I dutifully take his dick in my mouth. I’m hard, he’s hard; we’re good to go.

I’m immediately in love with his butt because it is fleshy and ripe, not firm. I just like holding the globes of his ass in my hand and giving them a smack now and then – which, judging from the reaction it gets, he likes. Throughout our playtime, he’s doing a lot of poppers – A LOT OF POPPERS – so you know where this is heading, and so did I. Heading to the bed, we play safely. Lots of frottage. He fucks me. We nut fuck. We suck. The kissing is just so-so, but I’m cool with that. I get a definite sense that our energies are very different – that may have a lot to do with the degree to which the dude is buzzed and the amount of poppers he’s doing. Or not. I am not buzzed. The pot has done very little for me – but then, the first time I play with someone, I always err on the side of caution. You never know what you’re going to encounter and I like to keep my wits about me.

Thirty minutes into it, I get a sense that this dude is not going to cum. Forty-five minutes into it, I do. We’re lying side by side, each working our own and I decide – the hell with it – and go for broke. Not that I abandon my duties. I stick in there for another fifteen minutes. During which we try a lot of things – none of which is bringing his fuck stick to fruition. I only cease trying when I notice he has a nasty blood blister on the top of his shaft from where he’s been working his dick. Figuring I’d put in a good effort, I head to the bathroom and clean up. In short order I wipe down, gargle and dress. MSNBC is still playing on the plasma, which I think is a little weird; music during sex helps keep me in the game. We make small talk and as I’m exiting I am pretty sure we will not be getting naked again anytime soon. He will probably realize he can do better and I am just not up for being disappointed. Again.

And I’m not. Which is why I haven’t had sex since.

I think I will probably go in for a full STD screen and call it a day. This part of my life seems to be just begging for a big old period to be placed at its end and I’m in the mood to do just that, at least until the summer comes. If it comes.

Last week I was supposed to write about rimming as part of my Acquired Tastes series, but I wasn’t feeling it. It thought maybe that was due to it being holy week or maybe due to all the singing and rehearsals and performances I’d been doing. But honestly – I think it’s the sex. I’m just not feeling it. I still get turned on, I still feel stimulated by certain people, situations, or images, but overall the sex thing is not working for me at this time. Maybe that explains the two less-than-wonderful scenes as described above; maybe I’m the problem. Or maybe it was just the luck of the draw or the natural conclusion given the odds. In any event, I am taking a short sex sabbatical in order to get my mojo back. At this point I don’t even want to write about it.

That doesn’t mean I won’t be writing – I have been working on something for the past two months that is coming along nicely, but I may take a break from blogging. Unless I just write whatever I feel like writing about. Kristine W. does have a new single out (#19 on the Dance/Play Chart this week). I hope to be writing about that once it reaches #1 (fingers crossed). We’ll see.

You know, maybe this funk is weather induced. I was thinking that once winter dissolved I’d be bouncing for joy, but the spring has been cold and rainy and that isn’t supposed to change until after the third week in May! Who knows, maybe once summer blooms I’ll be good and horny and wanting to strut my stuff. I’ll just have to play it by ear.

In the meantime, I have plenty to occupy myself with. I want to de-clutter my home and get rid of non-essential items; mostly things left over from projects or hobbies I have no desire for anymore. I also want to work on my home – it is in need of some minor TLC. The dogs, too. They could use some regular walks.

Maybe if I dig deep now I won’t feel like I am cheating the rest of my life once summer arrives and I want to give myself over to it.

And hopefully, I will. Give myself over to it. Winter was so brutal and I feel like I have been waiting forever.

Of course, I realize this is all just temporary and that change is the only constant. I also realize I am a creature of habit. But will I be able to recognize when it is time to leave the playing field?

Stay tuned.

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