I need fresh meat

Lately, my evening masturbation fantasies have been devoid of specific male protagonists. Apart from the already frustrating fact that I am not getting any real-life action, I also have no current man to lust after. Since I don’t like to waste my thoughts on has-beens or unobtainables, pretty much everyone from the past months is out. My two regulars from my pre-surgery days are now in relationships, the one guy from my beard-lovers dating website I hadn’t yet met has moved to another country, Mr Brazil and I have a lack of chemistry (Chemistry 101), and Mr Mexico clearly isn’t up to the job (The end of the non-affair). As far as building up a network to satisfy my needs is concerned, I’m back to square one and on the prowl again. Very frustrating, when all your usual roads to sex are dead ends all of a sudden…

The end of the non-affair

Despite a firm mutual resolution to cease and desist (Practice makes perfect), Mr. Mexico and I did not manage to keep our thoughts, comments, sexual innuendos and endless foreplay off each other. Hands we did keep off each other – but only barely.

In the days after our honourable attempt, we more and more slid back into our old ways, culminating in a joint masturbation and cum session via phone. Apparently, so he said, it was the timing and place – not the fact that he had not wanted to – which had led to the abrupt ending of our one-and-only physical interlude (No more). So the consensus was to schedule something as soon as possible and make up for it all.

The talk (and proposed details) became dirtier and dirtier, and I ultimately brought up the subject of safe sex again. Yes, I know it is a mood killer, but to me it is a must-have. I do all I can to stay safe and expect the same from my partners (Safe my ass). And even though we only intended to have sex with a condom, we very much intended to have oral sex, which just can’t be done with a condom – sorry, but no fun! Now, for those who don’t know or forgot, Mr. Mexico is married, which he immediately used as a sort of seal of approval, thinking it automatically rendered him safe for all eternity.

I hate when something like this happens – when people I like and lust after say something this stupid, it just leaves you at a loss what to say next. The following conversation – trying to explain to him that a) you can have/catch a disease even if nobody  cheats, b) he could not be 100% sure whether his wife was not up to something similar, c) even if flattering, to think that he had never before played around was very unlikely and d) we both had an obligation to our other partners to stay (and keep them) safe – was short and frustrating. He finally said that he would only get tested in an actual relationship in which they were planning on not using protection, and that the topic was off the table for him now.

For a moment, I even considered wrecking my brains over why he would say this in the first place (as it is quite an insult if taken at face value) and also why he would say this and not tell me the real reason (as it just doesn’t make any sense); but then I left it. It would have only resulted in me feeling even worse than I already felt at this moment, and it surely would have interfered with us being friends. So that’s that for Mr. Mexico, unfortunately. Refusing to get tested is a deal-breaker for me. I am too old to make such a rookie mistake.

No more

Mr. Mexico has been occupying a lot of my time in the past weeks (“Almost” doesn’t count), and we’ve slowly moved from being flirty to being very flirty to sending each other porn clips and discussing how we’d like to do it. All this talk and no action has not only left me wanting him even more, it has also become a major distraction and annoyance.

I have had this sort of thing before, with a guy who has been the subject of many of my blog entries: Mr. Unobtainable. We would pretty much have full-blown sex via messenger or other devices, but we’d never do it, because – obviously – he was taken. Bullshit, I say – as constantly talking to another woman about how you’d like to do her and indulging in text sex already qualifies as cheating to me. Men, however, have different views and rules when it comes to this, and they are also cowards. If they are torn about cheating, they themselves won’t start anything. You, as the “other” woman, have to take that first step, and then you are forever the bad one who tempted the poor guy and threw yourself at him.

The other night, after a brief drinking session with a few colleagues (during which we – again – were incredibly flirty), Mr. Mexico drove me home, and the drive was pretty much spent with both of us admitting that this was torture and that we’d very much like to fuck each other. Contrary to popular belief, it was him who started things by putting his hand on my leg, between my legs; and my hand on his cock. When we arrived at my house and he had parked the car, we just stared at each other, ready to pounce, for about ten minutes, and he kept sighing and saying “don’t look at me like that”. So yes, I’ll admit, I finally leant over and kissed him and then blew him for a bit. If that makes me a bad person, so be it. I just could not take it any longer, and I was sick of the hypocritical view that he had not already cheated, just because our lips had never touched.

It was a short pleasure, and I ended it quickly, since we were out in the street and there were people close by. Since he said no to coming back upstairs with me, I got out of the car, went home and finished the job on my own – as so many times before. Incredibly anti-climax and frustrating. But no more – we can’t go on like this, it’s just too damn distracting and unsatisfying. So I will just leave all the flirting and suggestive comments, and I will most certainly leave all the porn talk; instead we will just be work colleagues and friends. I’m pretty sad about this, as we have unbelievable chemistry and sexual tension, and we would definitely get on like a house on fire in bed. However, there is no point when he is that torn and obviously does not want or dare to take that final step. I will be here if he ever changes his mind, but I can’t do this any longer.

Home porn – the (pros and) cons

I love porn. I watch it as a duo to get in the mood for sex; I watch it alone when I masturbate and am pressed for time (as it just turns me on and delivers results in 2-3 minutes max); sometimes I even watch it just for fun, for appreciation of the genre. But making your own porn is a different story altogether. After having mentioned my own history with home-made porn in a recent post (Good-bye, Mr. President), I feel like I need to provide further information on the issue.

You see, back when I indulged in the odd film project with my then boyfriends, it was a whole different time. It was the late 90s, people still watched movies on video cassettes (imagine!), and the internet was new and still uncharted territory for most. It contained little personal information and didn’t featured whole lives in the form of constant picture updates, like it does today. The days of “accidentally” leaking a private sex tape to gain notoriety were still years ahead. It was a time of online innocence, which meant a heyday for privately recorded debauchery.

Nowadays, I wouldn’t dream of even taking nude pictures of my self with my phone, let alone make a home porn. No, this avenue of pleasure has been closed off for good, as it is just too risky. And you can really only ever trust yourself – certainly not the cowards/losers/weirdos/assholes that are out there for us to date and fuck (I refer you to almost any one of my blog posts).

But don’t despair – there are millions of talented boys and girls out there who are happily doing the dirty-work for you. As an added bonus, I can tell you from my own experience that, as a woman, chances are you will watch that clip back and only see the things you don’t like about your body – magnified, exposed, recorded for – if bad luck will have it – the rest of the world to see online – for good. Because once something is out there, it is out there forever.

Damn!

I kinda like someone. I really didn’t see this one coming, as I am neither in the position nor in the mood to like someone. But then things rarely go as plan or expected.

It’s someone I see at work almost every day, and, at first glance, he really wasn’t my type. However, now that I’ve gotten to know him a bit, I can’t help but like him. Obviously, he’s taken (as all men I’m interested in seem to be); but even if he weren’t, I wouldn’t say or do anything about it. It’s difficult enough when it comes to lusting after and fucking people.

When you lust after someone (like I do with another colleague of mine – yes, I’m a busy girl when it comes to pleasures of the mind), your thoughts are carnal and dirty. You imagine him getting hard and you getting wet. You imagine the first time you suck his cock and what it would taste like. You imagine the moment when his cock first enters your pussy.  Every once in a while, when thoughts are just too damn distracting, you may even retreat to the bathroom at work to provide some fast and much-needed instant relief. When worse comes to worse, you can always find someone else to fuck and indulge in make-believe.

Liking someone, however, is a totally different ball game. When you like someone, then you get a weak feeling in your tummy when that person smiles at you. Then all you can think about is that moment when he comes closer and finally kisses you for the very first time. Sadly, there is no fast and instant relief for that predicament. As so very often, I am figuratively fucked, rather than literally.

Yawn

Porn bores me. And I am shocked to be feeling and saying this, as I have always been a huge fan of the genre. Lately, however, the lack of actual one on one sex has made it necessary for me to revert to porn and dildos – constantly. Which has probably led to an overexposure of some sort.

While under normal circumstances I’d watch porn maybe once a week, when no actual cock would be available, I have, for the past months, been forced to (wo)manhandle myself once or twice a day. Not only is that heavy on the wrist, it does actually get boring after a while. And not even the biggest and best collection of timed-to-moneyshot-when-I-cum clips can save me and get my out of this rut I am in.

Today, despite having used my shiny new vibrator, which really kicks ass and can do all sorts of tricks, I actually stopped masturbating before I even came – that’s how bored I was of the whole thing. This is definitely a new form of sexual frustration that I do not care for. I need to get over my fears and inhibitions caused by this stupid operation (The body issue – part two) and get out there and so someone – fast.