My job is eating my brain. This happens every year, like those mythological stories where the dragon or whatever eats the sun, and then the sun comes back. (Yay sun!) Except that's usually a solstice ritual, and it only takes a night. My job won't regurgitate my brain for another nine weeks or so, which proves that my job is a lot more tenacious than a dragon. As if there were any doubt.
Speaking of winter, there was a bit of a storm around here last night. I didn't run into any ice until I got to my driveway, and then I found that if I just spun my wheels, the car eventually made its way up the incline. It was like life in slow motion. This morning, many of the traffic lights were still out. Getting to the office was a struggle of mythic proportions.
The putative storm encouraged the annoying sub who was supposed to come over last night to be edged for two hours to call and cancel, which, in turn, encouraged me to hang up on him midway through his asking me to let him know when I might have another free night. The guy was working from home, which is not all that far from where I live, so he could have made it without hitting any of the traffic I hit. I guess bad weather is a decent excuse, but it was the second time in a row he had to cancel. I'd spent considerable effort during the day lining up a third guy because the sub likes that. After the really amazing sex I'd had the night before with a truly compliant submissive, I was already not so much in the mood to put up with Mr. Demanding, so his last-minute cancellation made me put him on the permanent persona non grata list. What a twat. I'm thinking that "twat" is a particularly ugly word, but this guy merits the appellation. To be fair, I'm sure that he's not a twat in other areas of his life. And to be still more fair, the third guy I had coming also had to cancel because of weather/traffic, but he was coming all the way from Northern Virginia.
There was always something decidedly non-sexual about my interactions with Mr. Demanding. I'm sure it was highly sexual for him, but there were a lot of limits on what I could do. I put up with it for as long as I did because a) it was only once a year, and b) he had a really great body. It made the whole scene pornographic, rather than sexual. Technically, when you've got a guy tied to the bed in a five-point restraint for a couple of hours, you're pretty much in charge, but my interest was always more visual than erectile, and I never really thought about the scene itself later when I was masturbating. I would sometimes fantasize about him begging me to fuck him, though.
Anyway, when I got home, bearing the twin wounds of annoying men and annoying traffic, I saw a package leaning against the front door. It turned out to be my birthday present from b&c, a Titan Men video called Shacked Up. I only got through the first scene last night (huge mess: I shot clear over my head), but it appears to be very standard porn, magnificently executed. Handsome men with large cocks and masculine, godlike bodies.
When all is said and done, pornography is largely mythology. The men are real, but they're not real (they don't walk like real people; it's a little weird, but then they don't spend that much time walking). The sex happens on the screen, but it's not like real sex. It's somehow archetypal. The images on the screen are stimulants, but when I get into jerking off, the images in my brain come from real encounters that I've had. Like mythology, porn is an ideal mirror of reality.
This is not necessarily a bad thing. I adore mythology. And pornography. But I keep in mind that they -- like advertising, but that's a whole nother rant -- are not real. I like looking at the pornstar bodies, but I don't have a pornstar body, and I certainly don't expect anyone I hook up with to have one. And, yes, it's hot to watch Apollo (or, you know, Alexy Tyler) follow Dionysus (aka Dirk Jager) deep into the woods where they make out, go down on each other, and then each jerk out a load before Dionysus leads Apollo back to the house and fucks him cataclysmically so that they each lose a second load. But if you're going for those bodies and that sex, you're going for an ideal that you can't possibly reach (except maybe with steroids and a really good director). The sex that you have with real guys can still be amazing, and you don't have to arrange your cumshots for maximum photogenicity. I would likely not kick Alexy Tyler out of my bed, but given the choice, I'd rather have the submissive from Monday.
Speaking of the sub from Monday, I'm afraid that a detailed description will have to wait. It was really good sex, and a long session, so I want to take the time necessary to do it justice.