I don't want to get all Jimmy-Carter's-malaise-speech on you here, but I took most of last week off, and I couldn't help feeling like something isn't quite right. You know, sort of like I've lost my edge. Maybe I just can't handle stability. The job's going pretty well (today is my four-year anniversary at work), and the relationship's fine. The relationship's better than ever, probably. Maybe it's the predictability of it all. I knew, for example, that when I decided to take off Tuesday and Wednesday, I'd be getting up at 9:30 both days, and that I'd then hop in the shower, dry myself off, saunter over to the next room, find b&c at the computer, and then spend the next ninety minutes in a similar combination of foreplay, pounding, and post-coital cuddling. And don't get me wrong, it was all very good. A good steak isn't any less of a good steak just because you have to eat every day.
Speaking of eating every day, I decided to invite some friends over for dinner on Saturday evening, and I served a decidedly sub-par dinner. When I'm focused, I'm a first-rate cook, but I clearly wasn't focused. I think everyone had a good time, though, which just goes to show you that food is never the most important thing at a dinner. Still, it was slightly distressing to make bad food. I forgot, for example, to add the salt to my corn stick batter. And I didn't adequately prepare the pans, so most of the corn sticks didn't release intact. Also, my chocolate cake was a little dry. And the guacamole was poorly seasoned. That last one was just a pre-dinner nosh, though, so when I emerged from the kitchen to taste it, I was able to pull it off the coffee table and take it back to the kitchen to correct the seasoning.
Worst of all, Logan came over yesterday afternoon, and I was only able to fuck him once. Granted, I fucked him pretty hard for an extended period, and I did manage to fuck a load out of him, and the sex was still easy and pretty awesome, (and I had spent almost three hours earlier in the day working over a submissive) but he clearly wanted another pounding to round off our three hours together, and I couldn't do it because of the pounding in my forehead.
Which I wouldn't blame myself for except that the headache was entirely my fault. It kept getting worse after he left, too, and when a sinus flush and nasal spray didn't put it under control, I had to text Nike and tell him that our plans for him to spend the night and for us to find a third from craigslist would have to be postponed. Nike got annoyed, and he sent a text which implied (I think, it was a little ambiguous, probably on purpose so that he could keep his options open) that he didn't want to see me again. And, honestly, that part was a little bit of a relief, and it made my headache slightly better for about five minutes, but then when the pounding resumed, I belatedly realized that I hadn't had any caffeine in over thirty-six hours, so I was likely having a withdrawal headache. I had some Diet Pepsi and was cured. I had a modicum of regret when the responses started coming in for the craigslist ad I'd placed before the headache got so bad, and I felt lame for having a free weekend day and only having two rendezvous totaling less than seven hours, but I felt better when I turned my last two ripe avocados into another bowl of (perfectly seasoned this time) guacamole. Also, none of the guys who answered the ad was interested in kissing, so it's probably just as well.
B&c and I had the following conversation on the way downtown to a Saturday matinee.
B&c: Did you hear about the guy who got trampled to death yesterday morning at a WalMart in Long Island?
TED: [Laughs.] No.
B&c: It's not funny.
TED: Oh come on. Anyone who lives on Long Island and gets up at 4 am to shop at a WalMart got what was coming to him.
B&c: The poor guy probably made seven bucks an hour. Have a little compassion.
TED: Wait. It was an employee?
TED: Oh my God. That's horrible!
B&c: Yeah, he was guarding the door at the opening.
TED: Jesus. I hate it when capitalism crushes the masses, but I especially hate it when the crushing is literal.
The submissive who spent three hours tied to my bed yesterday morning was a lot of fun. His original stats were 32, 6'2, 215, but that was twenty months ago, so by the time he actually showed up, I reckon he was 34 and 230. But guys with some cushioning are more fun to spank. He had gone to the Leather Rack to get some supplies in anticipation of our encounter, but after the way he yelled when I dripped hot wax on him, I didn't have the heart to use the Brazilian waxing kit he'd brought. Also, my clippers ran low on charge, so I didn't do a thorough job of making him smooth, but I suppose that he can finish it on his own if he wants. Before I started with the clippers I made him promise me that if I took all his hair off, he wouldn't use it as a reason to go home and cross dress. He thought that was funny.
But he didn't laugh at my "What do you mean 'kinky'? I didn't even take the hamster out of its cage" joke until I told him that it was just "a little dom humor." I'll have to remember to send him some of the pictures so that he'll come back again sometime. Submissives who really get into kissing are rare. The way you determine that a sub is into it rather than just tolerating it is by pulling your mouth slightly away from his. If he raises his head to seek out your kiss, then you know that he likes it. It may also mean that you haven't tied him tightly enough, but I'm not such a purist with restraint.
He was pretty amusing in general, alternating between abject servitude and attempts at friendly banter, but I wished he'd just pick one. It's an effort, but a very small effort, for me to keep up the tough dom talk, so I'd just as soon have a friendly conversation with the guy who's tied to the bed, but it does seem to spoil the effect for the subs. This guy, at least, seemed to have his head screwed on right. When I'd given him a very large load to swallow, he lay next to me and started to jerk himself off, and I pulled his hands away, and he said, "You aren't going to let me cum?" I sighed and asked whether he really wanted to, and he'd said that when he was driving over, he thought that it would be hot if he didn't, but now he really did want to, and I told him that he should go for it but that I didn't want to be blamed afterward when the post-coital shame descended on him. And he said that he truly wouldn't feel shame, he just wouldn't be horny any more. So I grabbed his cock and stroked him off, but I kept stroking after he came. He was very sensitive, but he put up with it. And then I took the blindfold off him, and he got dressed, and he was in a great mood. He gave me a firm handshake (big hands, big feet, smallish cock: go figure) and thanked me as he left. If only they were all like that.
I hadn't expected too much from him because of all the times he'd chickened out and because this time around, he'd emailed me a lot of times with contradictory fantasies. He wanted me to cum all over his face and force him to eat my semen from my fingers, but he also wanted me to cum down his throat while grabbing him by the hair and holding him on my cock. He wanted to be taught to deep throat "gently at first," but he also sent me a link to a woman (egad) being face fucked by a huge cock wielded by a guy who was also slapping her.
So I did my best to give him all of the above. I figured it was the least I could do since he's showed me what it means to slap someone around while they go down on you. I did that. When I first got him upstairs -- after blindfolding and handcuffing him and holding his penis while he took a piss -- I put him down on his knees and shoved my cock deep into his mouth and throat, and whenever he gagged, I gave him a fairly sharp slap. We did that for a while, and later, when he was tied down and I was kissing him while tugging on the nipple clamps, I'd break the kiss and slap him. He really got into it. I really got into it, too. I wonder whether I should be disturbed at how exciting the spanking and slapping and shaving was. Ultimately, though, it wasn't so exciting that I feel like I want to pursue it instead of pursuing vanilla bottoms who love to kiss. I suppose as long as it doesn't crowd out my other activities, moderately rough domination is just harmless fun, not a harmful obsession. Sort of like when he took his fourth hit of poppers, and said, "Oh man, that's awesome," but then he put them away and said, "Too much of that can't be good for you in the long run."