Six Dicks and a Cheeseburger: You Want Fries with That?

Last week I wrote about exactly when I thought my habit of looking for more than one sex partner may have developed and traced it to events that took place in a men’s room at a park located in Santa Monica, CA. I promised to share the details of that day in this week’s post.

If you recall, from last week’s post, the restroom was located in a park off a main drag in Santa Monica, near a Jack In The Box. The park had a fountain at its center with benches scattered throughout. Behind the restroom was a tennis court. It was a very popular cruising spot, even though the place smelled awful and was filthy. There were three stalls; the third stall was hidden from those walking in when the front entrance door was open. In the event that you were in the middle of something and got walked in on, playing in or in front of the third stall left plenty of time for you to recover or move quickly into the middle stall in order to escape detection. None of the stalls had doors, so if you wanted to fool around there you had to accept the fact that other dudes were going to gawk. During the time I played there, I never saw a single cop anywhere in the park. This lack of surveillance tended to give people license to engage in some pretty risky and outrageous behavior.

On the day when I first managed six dudes in less than two hours, I had decided to leave work before noon so I could check out the situation during lunch hour. Usually I was there after work, which meant after 5:00 pm. I wanted to see if it was busier during the day. It was and I wasn’t disappointed.

Arriving, I ducked inside the restroom, hot on the heels of a tennis player; a cute, blonde preppy-type, coming off the nearby courts. We headed to the urinals, unzipped and played wag the flag a bit before retiring to the far stall where we made out like bandits while taking turns sucking each other. His hairless body was in good shape and his dick, though average, still held a lot of promise. He shot his load in a relatively short time, after which we kissed and laughed a bit more before he zipped up and left. Caught up in an adrenaline rush and fearing that I might get caught, I decided to get outside as quickly as possible. As I had entered behind the blonde, I remembered seeing his tennis partner, who was even cuter, sitting on a bench just outside the door of the men’s room. Much to my disappointment, just as I was exiting, he was coming in. He gave me the eye as I passed, but for some reason (fear) I thought it too risky to turn around and walk back in so soon. Instead I walked to the other side of the park before circling back and finding a distant bench to occupy. From the safety of my bench I watched, sadly, as the two tennis players got on their bikes and rode away. My loss, I thought.

Within minutes, I saw this really, really tall business dude in a suit go in. He had a full head of dark, thick hair and a mustache. He reminded me of this banker I used to babysit for when I was a teen, whom I always hoped would come home one night without his wife and proposition me. My latent memory fueled my lust as I made a bee line to that little building. He was standing at the urinal when I walked in, so, as a strategic move, I chose the first stall. The first stall looked onto the urinals from a side view, so when sitting on the can, you got to see a perfect porno profile of whoever was peeing at the urinal. I dropped my pants and sat down quickly, placing my hands in my lap in order to hide my hard-on. From my vantage point it was quite obvious to me that Mr. Businessman was not all business at the moment; in his hands he was holding one big motherfucking rock hard dick. Our eyes met and in a matter of seconds we were standing in the middle of the room deep kissing like no tomorrow. I got down on my knees and smacked his giant fuck rod on my face several times before opening wide and attempting to give him head. His dick, given its width and length, was just way too much for me. To this day, I always feel a little sorry for the guys whose cocks are so big that they can’t get a decent blow job – I said a little sorry; I think that’s the only possible downside to being so blessed. Also, to be fair, I have to admit that during that period of my life I was not much of a cocksucker; I was more about the kissing, getting my dick sucked and fucking ass.

After paying lip service to providing some lip service, I soon returned to the upright position, where we proceeded to mack the hell out of one another. In fact, the dude was so tall and lustful that he actually physically picked me (6’1, 175 lbs.) up, allowing me to wrap my legs around his waist without missing a single kiss. In hindsight, if there was ever a time I should have become a bottom, this was it. What a golden opportunity to be fucked by a Grade-A tool. Instead, with my pants still on, I ran the crack of my ass over the length of his dick as he held me and that felt pretty awesome. Once he put me down we got off the old fashioned way, with him unleashing one hell of a load onto the dirty concrete via my hand. He quickly put himself back together and after a brief peck on the mouth headed out the door; probably back to work. He left me standing there with a hard on, wondering if this was the same scene that took place at home with his wife every morning as he left for the office. (Side note: I would run into this gentleman three more times at the same restroom. He was always worth the trip.)

Putting myself together, I again made my way to that same park bench, the one with the optimum vantage point. Twenty minutes or so probably went by. I’m sure I missed something because I was also busy checking out who was in the park near the fountain. Deciding that perhaps that was all that was going to happen for the day, I made my way to my car. I was just about to get in when a car pulled up and parked right next to the men’s room. Out shot an intense black dude in a suit. He seemed wary and scanned the landscape to check and see if anyone was watching him. Our eyes met. His face wore a scowl which made him look sexy and dangerous. I stood still as he closed his car door and made his way to restroom, looking over his shoulder one last time before ducking inside. Not needing an engraved invitation, I slammed my car door and swiftly made my way into the men’s room.

Once inside, my eyes adjusting to the light, I walked straight to the urinals. Glancing to my left I could see the black dude in the suit move swiftly from in front of the third stall into the second stall. He stood with his back to me and that is when I noticed, in the third stall, one of the familiar lurkers; a flabby white kid with glasses who always sat on one of the johns all hunched over. He was in his early twenties and had a full head of black hair that was cut in a kind of modified bowl cut - it wasn’t flattering. He seemed a bit overweight and soft, so I’d never been keen on his energy and therefore never let him suck me off, though apparently he had almost landed this dude in the suit. We all froze in position for about a minute. I wasn’t sure if I should leave and let them have a go at it or if I should stand my ground and try to poach the kid’s trick – a practice I normally loathe (when it happens to me). Using my peripheral vision, I could see that the black dude was standing in the middle stall with his legs spread wide apart, obviously stroking his dick. With his back to me, he kept looking over his shoulder in order to feel me out. Finally I turned just enough to allow him to see the hard on I was sporting and that was enough to get him to turn around and face me.

His dick wasn’t all that big, maybe 7 inches max, but he sure was hot looking. His face now sported a brilliant, hard smile, the white of his teeth blazing in contrast to the darkness of his skin. His stance remained wide and it was only a matter of seconds before I was crouched down in front of him, engulfing his hard prick. The nice thing about cocks this size is that they are easier to suck, in other words, I could actually do something with this one. After sucking his dick for a few moments, the dude pulled me up on my feet. Our lips met, as he pulled me into the stall, pushing me against the wall shared with the third stall. He was a great kisser, passionate and forceful. A bit shorter than me, he had a full head of black, close-cut hair and a very solid, muscular body. I loved the mounds of his ass, although I could tell by his demeanor that my dick was never going to get anywhere near his hole. That didn’t stop my hands from molding, pushing and cupping those globes for all they were worth. His generous lips found their way to my dick and he worked it for a bit, but I could tell he wasn’t all that into it. Soon he was standing upright again, kissing me deeply. Suddenly, he pushed down on my shoulders, forcing me to slide my back down the stall wall. Having pinned me there, he began fucking my face, his hands holding the sides of my head like a vice. There was something almost mean about his thrusts. As he was about to climax, he grew still and looked toward the ceiling. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as the first spurt of cum hit the back of my throat. Then he resumed thrusting, only slower and more deliberately with his hands now cradling the sides of my jaw. Gradually, with each blast of cum, his body began to relax, until his face shone down on mine with a grateful, relieved smile. He grabbed me under my armpits and lifted me up to his level. Planting his lips on mine, his tongue greedily sought out any trace of the cum he had just deposited in my mouth. After a bit, he stood back and with a shy smile, put himself back together. With a sense of urgency, he made his way to the sink where he washed his hands only to discover there were no paper towels. He looked back at me with raised eyebrows, his sopping hands prone away from his body, their fingers spread wide and helpless. With three quick flicks of his wrist, his smile still brilliant, he flung the water to the floor and exited into the sunlight.

I was still leaning against the stall wall, playing with my dick when another dude walked in and moved to behind the open door. I quickly turned my back to him to hide my prick. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see that his hands were busy undoing his belt; apparently the dude knew exactly what he wanted and was in a hurry. I turned around just as he was undoing his fly. The guy was young, maybe mid-twenties at the most. He bore a striking resemblance to Rob Lowe, though his features were just a tad softer. Wearing a pair of dress pants, a white shirt and a tie, he was all business and economy. He nodded his head as if to indicate that he wanted me to come over and play with his dick. I moved toward him, and cupped his balls with my right hand. He may have been cute as hell, but his dick was definitely on the small side. Also, manscaping was obviously not his thing, as his whole crotch was covered with long, wild, straight, dull black pubes. I moved in for a kiss only to be rebuffed with another harsh nod of his head. “Suck it. Hurry up.” Well, never one to refuse a direct order, I did just that. It may have been a small dick, but it was attached to a real cute guy who also apparently did not lack ego. As I worked his cock with my mouth he kept urging me on until, finally, as he neared climax, he bellowed, “Yeah, take that load, faggot.” He shot his load and disappeared with the same bluster he came in with. I stole a look over at the kid sitting in stall three, shrugged my shoulders, and began to exit, with the intention of returning to my bench outside.

But just as I was coming out, this tall, slim black youth with a generous smile wafted past me. The smile and look in his eyes were enough to send me spinning around, following him right back into the men’s room. There was something very wily about him; maybe a bit effeminate, but not too much so. He was wearing a polo shirt. In a split second we were deep kissing each other in the middle stall, our hands roaming freely over each other’s bodies. Initially, there was something rather frantic about the whole thing. Before I knew it we were both bare-chested, with our pants around our ankles. He sucked me first, quite expertly I might add, getting me very close to losing my load before letting up. Then it was my turn to go down on him. His dick was about 8.5 inches and way thick. I took a deep whiff of his balls. His hygiene was above reproach, but there was still a touch of funk down there, a fresh musk which I personally find to be better than poppers.

I managed to slurp on his big dong for a couple of minutes before he let me know he had something else in mind. He turned around and offered up his ass to me. Never one to turn down a free meal, how could I refuse? I dove in deep with my tongue. His ass cheeks were round and firm, like a pair of succulent chocolate melons. He was bracing himself with his arms against the wall shared by the first and second stall. After a point, due to my previous activities that day, my knees began to give, so I had to stand. As I did, I placed my rigid dick on the crack of his magnificent ass and began to run it up and down, pressing against his slick hole. I think he probably would have been good to go and allowed me to fuck him, but it turns out the dude had been working his own rod the entire time; just the pressure of my dick against his ass was enough to push him over the edge. He turned his head back around to kiss me as he unloaded all over that stall wall. It was a total joy to see. As his jizz dripped down that wall, he turned around and kissed me deeply again. My dick strained against his spent member as they meshed into one hot mess. We parted slowly, lingering in spite of our surroundings and the fact that we could be discovered at any second. So intense was our brief time together neither wanted to leave the other, as if there remained some unfinished business between us - and there was; I still hadn’t lost my load. But the moment had passed. Finally he put back on his shirt and made his way to the exit, pausing just long enough to turn back and give me a wistful bat of his eyes.

I put myself together and, as I was exiting, looked over to the kid sitting in the third stall. I felt bad for poaching every dude that had just walked in, but, hey… the dick wants what the dick wants. Granted, I could have thrown the poor dude a bone, say, mine, but I just wasn’t into him no matter how hard my cock pushed against the zipper of my trousers.

Making my way back to my bench near the fountain, I checked my watch. Had it really only been an hour? I should have been getting back to work, but part of me wanted to see if I could bag just one more before calling it a day. For the next twenty minutes I kept checking my watch every five, trying to convince myself that nothing else was going to happen. I had all but made up my mind to pack up shop when this really cute brown-haired dude walked past me. With a turn of his head, we made eye contact and suddenly any thought of leaving was out of the question. He had a long, heart-shaped face and a full head of soft, light brown hair. Shorter than me by at least five inches, his body looked compact and tight in his khakis and plaid summer shirt. Ultimately, it was his eyes and cryptic smile that drew me in.

Following at a safe distance while checking to make sure no one was watching me go in the men’s room for what felt like the umpteenth time, I made my way inside. My eyes immediately went to the third stall and to my relief the paunchy kid had renounced his throne and disappeared. Next, they fell upon the cute little guy that had lured me into this men’s room. He was standing in the second stall with his back to me. Remembering the fresh cum on that stall wall, I decided to hold my ground just behind the main door; if he wanted to play, he’d have to walk my way – which is exactly what he did. Soon, he was standing in front of me, our hands wandering all over each other in search of a little something-something. Neither of us needed to look very hard (pun intended). Once our hands found each other’s dick, zippers and belts came undone and shirts unbuttoned until we were standing bone to bone. Confession: I have a thing for cute guys with dark hair who are shorter than me. Normally, they are not that into me. This guy was an exception to the rule, so I was way into it. His dick was the same size as mine. He even matched my width. His ass was covered with a nice swirl of dark hair - not so much as to seem abnormal, but enough to make it super appealing. We had a great time sucking each other, and I really thought about fucking him, but sometimes a hand job is really enough, especially when the kissing is this nice and intense. We came at the same time, our lips still melded as our cum hit the floor. The afterglow was pretty intense as well. Had we not been in a filthy men’s room risking discovery we probably would have lingered a bit longer. As it was, we put ourselves back together, headed out into the sun and with a reluctant smile, went our separate ways.

The whole experience left me feeling elated; each incident seemed to escalate my adrenaline high. I experience the same type of high when I engage in a food binge. The chief difference being that I am usually quite hungry after a sex binge. Which made that Jack In The Box across the street from that park a real convenience. I ate there many times after cruising that park, in spite of the rather sketchy nature of the food. To this day, whenever I see a commercial for a Jack In The Box, I think of my activities in that park.

Fast sex and fast food… is there any more potent combination?

When did sex become a group activity?

So when did sex become a group activity? I’m not asking in the historical sense. I know all about those nasty Romans and Greeks (God bless them, every one). I’m asking in the personal sense, because, as of late, for me it has all sort of stopped making sense.

In light of my years on earth, I’m something of a neophyte when it comes to group sex. It’s only in the past ten years that I have allowed myself to go to bathhouses, not that it happens with all that much frequency; nine occasions, to be precise. Those experiences weren’t all that fun (although I did manage to have fun) and at no time did I engage in group activities; I just stuck to the basics of one-one-one. Granted there were multiple one-on-one encounters during those visits, with breathers in between, but no actual group activity per se. This year I have been to three sex parties and hosted one group scene in my basement. At the sex parties I continued to play one-on-one, with the exception of a single, 20 minute scene that involved about ten guys. Even then, I only played with two out of the ten. The details of the scene I hosted were shared in a previous post: http://wonderlandburlesque.blogspot.com/2010/02/what-you-see-depends-on-blindfold-youre.html

I have done my share of three-ways, but I don’t consider them group sex because at least two of the guys know each other, whereas anonymity plays a big part in the appeal of group sex. Minus identity, we’re more likely to hand ourselves over to the experience rather than spend time worrying about what others will think of us before, after and during. Or at least that is part of the appeal for me.

The thing is, the idea of group sex kind of populates all my fantasies lately, but not in the way that I would have thought. The idea of being part of some sweaty pile of male flesh, having my orifices probed by a bunch of dudes whose faces I can’t see does not appeal to me… much. It is more the idea of being watched by others while I am being used in some manner. I imagine some dom dude taking my hole doggy-style encircled by a group of six other guys, some of whom are cheering us on while waiting for their turn at bat. In all these fantasies, my dom top is very verbal and in control of the situation, deciding who gets to use me when. This scene will never happen – not to me anyway. It only happens in porno films and to the young, buff and pretty. Still, there is part of me that clings to the hope that one day I could be the object of so many erections.

I think this scenario is at the heart of why I have been seeking out sex with more than one person. It’s like one person isn’t going to be enough. I will need more. So I put out these ads on craigslist, not promoting a group scene, but one-on-one scenarios that my little devil-heart secretly hopes will be booked too closely together and morph into a totally “unintentional” group scene with me as piggy center stage. Not that it ever works that way; at most, I have had two guys show up at about the same time. We had fun, but it’s not what I actually (secretly) hoped for, although I do enjoy the thrill of being walked in on during the middle of something.

So when did sex become a group activity, in my mind? When did one become not enough? The idea began somewhere and like a train bound somewhere fast, it has just continued to gain speed. This ideology probably has its roots in LA, although the tea room scene became part of my mode of operation during the year that I spent in Iowa prior to moving to California. However, LA would have been the first time I experienced the high that came from serialized sex. I recall one sunny afternoon in a park at a cruisy mens room where I managed to make out with and get off six guys before I lost my own load. It was crazy, but intoxicating.

This restroom was a popular place. I remember spending a number of afternoons poaching men from other dudes in the stalls, luring guys in from the tennis courts, or watching on a park bench, looking for signals as men walked into that dank abyss of sexual iniquity. The place stank and was filthy, but that did not prevent business men in expensive three piece suits or preppy looking jocks from strolling in there in search of some quick head. There were three stalls. My favorite stall was the one at the end because it was hidden from those walking in when the front entrance door was open, leaving one plenty of time to recover or move quickly into the middle stall. None of the stalls had doors, so if somebody was sitting on the can with his pants around his ankles for any length of time, you knew damn well what he was there for.

In the year and a half I played at that park, which was situated near a Jack-In-The-Box off a main drag in Santa Monica, I never saw a single cop anywhere. With no cops in sight, people, moi included, became pretty brave and foolhardy. I remember there was this gorgeous Hispanic man who claimed to be married. He was younger than me, with a full head of beautiful black hair, a great body featuring a small waist and a big bubble butt. He loved to take it up the ass and I was more than happy to oblige him. I fucked him several times behind that open door, doggy-style while standing. He would make such a racket; it was amazing that no one called the cops. On more than one occasion we actually did attract a crowd. There must have been about eight dudes crammed into that little space, most of them working their dicks while my Hispanic Bottom sang the praises of my tool ramming his tight hole. I loved putting my hands on top of each mound of his butt cheeks and pushing down with all my might as slammed in and out.

On another such occasion, a sweaty, out of breath jogger came leaping in. He apparently knew what to expect because his face registered no shock whatsoever at the sight of me porking a Hispanic dude in a mens room with a bunch of guys watching. The jogger’s body was perfection kissed by the sun. All he was wearing was his shoes, socks, a jock and a tiny pair of jogging shorts. Taking in the scene and not missing a beat, he whipped down his shorts and pulled out an already hard cock from his jock. He jerked away, his eyes wide and intent on the sight of my dick working the fuck out of that Hispanic dude’s hot ass. In a matter of moments the jogger’s cum was spewing everywhere, hitting the filthy concrete floor of that little hellhole with a satisfying series of splats. It was enough to send me over the edge and I let loose my own load, ramming and jamming at full throttle. I didn’t even have time to catch my breath before the jogger had repackaged his spent dick and vamoosed. It was definitely one of those – Who was that masked man? – kind of moments.

I’ll save the details of my day of six in Santa Monica for next week’s post; to include them now would make this piece run long and dilute my point. I mention it this week because my activities there, with all of those strange men – one after another, left me on a high unlike anything else I had ever experienced. I never had that kind of luck in Iowa, where I was lucky if I stumbled on one dude willing to play, let alone six. That day in the park in Santa Monica was the beginning of my obsession with multiple encounters. My desire for more than one followed me to downtown Minneapolis, where the skyways beckoned and visits to certain restrooms became part of my daily routine. However, I quickly discovered that Minneapolis’ attitude toward this type of fun was highly prudish, and learned to be much more guarded when pursuing sex in non-traditional places. Once I left downtown and began working elsewhere in the twin cities I discovered the various parks that I now haunt and my hunt continued.

During my recent sexual downtime I have been pondering whether some of my practices and habits should be altered. My apparent emphasis on seeking out multiple encounters and partners is one such preference that needs to be analyzed. I don’t know if it’s healthy, but then I can’t say that it’s not. Part of me asks, “Who is it hurting?” And the answer could very well be: me. As I reach the end of my self-imposed sexual exile, I tend to want to lean toward the “Why fix it if it’s not broken?” school of thought. But, as with a lot of my recently developed (within the last ten years) sexual habits, practices and preferences, I remain on the fence, unsure in which camp my foot belongs; one camp being safety and common sense and the other sexual liberation and adventure. I’m very aware of the risks involved in what I do and while I want to play it safe, I also want the thrill. It’s like that breakfast cereal commercial: the adult in me knows what the sensible thing to do is, but the kid in me wants to be sexually intoxicated as frequently as life will allow. It would seem I want my cake and to eat it, too – which is an apt analogy, since it’s the frosting that’s so damn dangerous. It’s the age old problem of: how can it be so bad when it feels so good? As adults, we all know that too much of a good thing can be bad.

Or is this not such a black and white issue? There are certainly enough polarized views out there, some of which are based on common sense, some of which are based on science and history, and some of which are based on the fact that a dick wants what it wants. My inner slut definitely has an opinion about which way I should go, but then so does the guy with the job, the guy who is responsible to his family, and the guy who has to visit his physician three times a year for STD screens.

Can I get by with a foot in both camps or am I only fooling myself? Is it simply a matter of time before I’m found out? And when that happens, can I live with the consequences? Will I be ostracized by both camps?

I know the right thing to do; I just don’t want to do it – or, more to the point, I just don’t want to stop doing it.

As the Duchess said to Alice in Alice in Wonderland: Tut, tut, child! Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.

Well, I am searching… probably in all the wrong places, but I am still searching: in the bushes, and the woods, and down by the river, and the prairie, and that parking lot, and that mall…

My inner slut probably deserves a good spanking.

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.