on travel. near the cherub.

away from her.

and closer to another. she might want a call from me and i’m fairly sure i’d like to call her.

last time we were near each other, we were stuck to each other like jacks, her thighs spread wide for me, my cock deep in her. it became a habit.

but i’m trying to behave now. its hard. i’m hard.

we’ll see what happens, i want to behave, but i need to come soon. masturabation has lost its luster.

i keep seeing her, beheath me, arching, moaning. that sound. that lovely sound. she would moan in my ear, whispering her desires as we matched each other on each stroke, my impaling her deeply over and over.

when we came, we would relax, she would ask about my day, she seemed to find it interesting, all the numbers. and then we would go again.

shit i miss that. i miss the cherub.

i hate porn

i’m here complaining of sexual abandonment, but won’t take it out in porn.  or at least minimally.  i hate it.first off, most porn is either totally guy oriented or idealy designed for a midwestern housewife.  where’s the in between.  can i have a show of hands of guys you like doing the work involved in getting a girl off?  who thinks that’s just as special as getting themselves of?but that’s not the real issue.the porn i see has so little to do with the sex i have, or want to have, and so much do to with stripping the emotion out of sex that it leaves me cool.  by which i don’t mean love.  i’m not such a romantic that i believe that the only way to have sex is to be in love, or great like, or anything.  sex can be great randomly with someone you’ve known for one drink (or less).  but even then, there’s the anticipation, and subtle maneuvring to figure out if you are going to get laid, or if its just another passing flirtation.what did that arm tap mean?what’s she into?i miss that feeling more than anything.  that’s what i get off on.  and you (or at least i) can’t get that in my porn. can’t get it from a service.  can only get that in the real world.  which means i can only get that through her or adultury.  fuck.none of which means i’m prudish on porn.  i’ve had fun watching porn with girlfriends, where the missing intensitity from the movie was more than made up for by the tension building on the sofa.  nice stuff.and if something got me off i’d probably have to quit my job and lock myself in a room for a week to work off some steam.but i think this is why i love the women sex bloggers.  i love hearing your desire, your ability to take on sex equally and with dignitty.  the way it ought to be for everyone.  so thanks.  i love you all for this, for giving me a viewpoint into the other side of a world where sex is a mutal act and everyone loves it, and gets hurt by it, the same way.while i’m at it. the few male sex bloggers i read are pretty wonderful too, but most of them, well… maybe they would do better by giving up on their porn watching too.fuck porn. but god bless you sex bloggers.

i’m fucked in the head.

results came back that my brain chemistry might be fucked.

facts and opinions on this blog may vary as a result.

consider yourself warned.

i was a cheater.

for 2 year, 5 months and 16 days i was a cheater.

not that it was much of a secret. i got caught every time, not bothering to hide evidence, not trying to schedule meetings.

i was in love then. but with the wrong woman. she was a breath of fresh air, beautiful, interesting, lively and always, hot.

our sex was perfect. we shared an intensity starting from the first kiss to the last. i’d push her again a wall, forcing myself on her, pushing past her, trying to merge. she’d moan in my ear.

she was the first lover i’d ever had that met me in intensity. like i was fucking myself.

we’d disappear into her building, have a rough time making it up the stairs into her apartment. one time we fucked in her stairwell. another i fucked her standing up in a doorway in dumbo. we weren’t always discrete i guess.

i’d go down on her, at first gently, teasing her, intentionally trying to slow things down, but inevitably, slowly, we’d end up with my tongue deep inside of her, blazing away until she had trouble standing. or her with me.

pacing. she understood pacing. understood how to get inside my mind, moving forward or slowly it down before i even know what i wanted.

i mention this now because every time i think of cheating on my commitment i think of her, and how much i’d rather be with her. i miss her still.

in the end i crushed her. i feel awful about that, its a guilt i’ll live with a long time.

somehow i feel less bad about cheating then hurting the woman i was cheating with.

damn.

penguin

“you’re a penguin. “

sarah told me that years ago when i thought about leaving her for the first time.

“penguins mate for life”

that’s me, i hope. i love her. terribly. we have issues and horrible things in our past, moments of absolute cruelty, but we try to balance these issues with the good, the stable, and passionate. although the last one is slowly withering away and replaced with safe.

i hate safe though. had it like i hate mac & cheese and gooey treacle and other boring unthreatening sensations. i wanted a partner to go adventuring with. she wanted a partner to be safe with, so she could stop adventuring.

but i love her. more than anything. that has, i think, been lost here so far.

she’s smart, wonderful, kind and clever, and when she does harness these she’s just the most wonderful thing to be around.

so i love her. and i hope to stay.

it’s coming undone over fucking

she turned to me the other day, and asked if she was any good in bed.

i couldn’t answer her. looked at her with a blank face searching for the right words. she’s not good. but compared to what?

the girls i cheated on her with, whose experience and expertise i never would have had if i had worked within the committment we’d made to each other.

or her, before she cheated on me and then returned to me still in love with him, starting a long process of introducing emotional conflict into our fucking.

fucking.

it’s not. she’s too passive. i feel like i’m raping her when we fuck, me rolling her about into any sort of available position, fishing around for any sign of wetness, desire, on her part, while i wonder if what i’m doing fit within any of the feminist docterines i claim to ascribe to.

fuck.

well she figured it out, that night. that i think fucking her isn’t all that. and a new cold war has erupted. we go through our daily activities, but become absorbed in our own in the evenings, skip all but the most perfunctory of emotional connections throughout the day. i’m not sure i see the end of this.

these situations always seem to compound themselves too. i’ve started to become depressed at the thought of a life without her, moving back home without her, starting over. it makes me tired, and that, in turn, makes me less likely to try to fix this. and far more likely to think of the ones i could be with now, how much of a better fit we might have been together, if i could have broken my committment at the right time, rather than now, the decidely wrong time, with no one i can call special. no one that makes me warm inside.

fuck.

its times like these when i wonder what rocknrollgirl99 on match.com is like. i’m a shitty person sometimes.

why not ditch the monogamy (if you could)

Gillette wanted to know yesterday why you wouldn’t want to (and why it wouldn’t more as, or more, fair) ditch the monogamy of a relationship and allow couples to explore multiple partners while remaining in a committed relationship (committement being another theme I’m running on today).

Other than social norms – those pesky nasty honery little creatures? I can’t think of much.

Full disclosure. I’m a left brained thinker.

Committment is really a bargaining problem. You and your partner need to explore each other, gather data, and sufficient experiences, good and bad, to be able to make some credible prediction
regarding the happiness you and your partner will have in the future. This takes a long time, we don’t get a lot of practice at this given how long we have to spend with each other over time.

Couple that with the fact that people change a lot over time and you have a real problem. How will your partners behavior now reflect their behavior in five years, ten years? Will they start to forget to leave the toilet seat up, go senile, quit their job and need your financial support, or take one with stress they cannot handle?

These problems though, compared the sexual problems are nothing.

The contribution of hormones to sexual appitites, to development of new kinks and desires, coupled with, eventually boredom, make this problem so much harder to handle than others. After all, if your partner decides s/he doesn’t like tomatoes on day, you can get them for lunch… but what if oral alls off the table one day? How much data gathering and experience sharing can you do to be sure that you’ll be compatible forever?

We used to deal with this by simply not offering people a choice, eliminating any baseline for comparison by preventing pre-marital sex. Fat chance that will work again.

Why not instead open up the world to polyamory?

Since we can’t really predict our sexual changes, we can’t make credible decisions based on them, so they really shouldn’t be part of the marriage / committment contract. It feels like this would in fact, rather than undermine marriage, increase its frequency and the time to enter, since we won’t need to spend so much time exploring every inch of each others sexual needs and desires prior to marriage, knowing we’l have reasonable alternative in the future?  Perhaps this would even remove some of the anxiety of committement in our cultre.

Says the guy who’s dealing with NOT entering that world.

the worst reason to stay

I really never want to be part of this scene again:

What’s It Gonna Be? on FunnyOrDie.com

Via [GWAOTM]

the other moral option

Gillette offers the openly polyamorous approach as a moral solution to my problem.  I have some reactions to this I’ll articulate later.  Two posts, here and here.

when communication broke down

Bree wrote more about what drives men to visit prostitutes and escorts and defends her observations that sexual abandonment is a common theme. I commented a little there.

I was perfunctory, I think now, in my analysis, and, after all, a central struggle of this blog is why don’t I cheat, yet why won’t I leave her, so I imagine that theme will grow larger and more complete over time. Here’s one more data point on how these things start to happen.

Our struggle, I think, began when she started calling other girls sluts. It’s an ugly word in the best of times, and wasn’t any prettier here, and women, I guess, are prone to odd competitive streaks that being these things out when they shouldn’t, but the real affect, in so far as this blog is concerned, was the strong signal it sent to me. See these girls weren’t tramps as far as I could tell. A few might have flirted with me a little, but most simply put it out there that they enjoyed sex. With one person. Safely. Nothing particularly slutty (though I guess I’m making a proposal that that work is devoid of much meaning) about them, just sex positive.  What I learned from that was that, to her, sex was no longer something we would talk about, because bringing that up would “bring her down” to that level, make her a slut, too.

When I realized that, I should have confronted her, but I didn’t. It would have been too hard, too difficult to confront her without defending them, thereby lending credence to her implicit jealousy. So I let it slide and bit my tongue, and thereafter lost the ability to talk about sex with her.

I’m still working through all of these things, but I’m fairly sure that’s the moment our sexual relationship started to disintegrate.