Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Inverted


Over the past week or so, I've noticed a lull in my appetites. This is most notable in my food intake and my sex drive. I presume that my other appetites are similarly attenuated, but as I don't pay much attention to them, I don't know. That's assuming that I even have other appetites. There's something of a positive feedback loop here: less red meat means less craving for sex, and less sex means fewer cheeseburgers. Actually, it's not so much that I want less sex, just that I'm willing to go to less trouble to get it. Yesterday, for example, I had no obligations and no plans, and posting a craigslist ad just didn't seem worthwhile.


I've tried to do some research into what might cause a decrease in my appetites, but, frankly, the Wikipedia entry on the four horsemen of the apocalypse is really not as helpful as it should be. Nonetheless, if you see a guy riding around with a bow but no arrows, let him know I'd like a word, won't you?


An ebb in my need to hunt is rare, but not unprecedented. I tend not to worry about them when they happen because, well, this too shall pass, right? More importantly, a lessening in the urge to pursue sexual companionship tends to be accompanied by an increase in masturbatory enjoyment and efficacy. I suppose that if you look at lambasting the parapets as a poor substitute for hot man-on-man sex, it could become routine, or even tedious. But if you approach it as a noble pursuit or as an art form, then taking matters into your own hands takes on a whole nother level of meaning. If you're more comfortable with touchy feely rhetoric, you could call it practicing mindful masturbation. Which, by the way, would make the Best Title Ever for a self-help book. (Thank you: I'll be here all week.)


As it happens, I didn't get around to stenciling the kielbasa last night, but only because when I was geeking out by watching Enterprise on the SciFi channel, I got a text message from Kip, who claimed, yet again, that he was finally ready to be fucked. Regular readers will remember that Kip always claims that he's ready to be fucked, and then when push comes to shove, he always claims that he's too tight to take it.


So finally getting to fuck him should have been a somewhat momentous event, and, really, it was a lot of fun, but it was a bit anticlimactic. Kip is always here and gone again in less than a half hour and that -- along with the fact that he always comes to me -- is a big part of his charm, but he wasn't kidding about being really tight, and having finally worked my cock into his ass, I found myself on the edge of ejaculation in about three minutes. Given that it was late and that he was urging me on, I went ahead and dumped the load then flipped him onto his back and quickly sucked him to completion. Making out and eating his ass had consumed no more than ten minutes, so the encounter really did take on something of the aspect of a maintenance fuck.

2 comments:

Lewis said...

Thyroid troubles? Age? Summertime and heat always makes me less energetic.

Will said...

Strange--unlike Lewis (and, apparently, most other men), summertime heat increases my desire for sex. The needle on my hornometer is usually way off the dial.

I think masturbation is, or certainly should be, an art form. I never tire of it and strive to give myself the best handjob I can devise because I am so worth it.