Sunday, July 27, 2008
Seen at the Walgreen's
I was in line late Friday night at the Walgreen's in a trendy part of town behind a young couple, he a good-looking, well-built guy, she also good looking in a nice dress for the night out. In his hand was the only purchase: a pack of Trojans and a Red Bull.
It's gonna be a good night.
It's gonna be a good night.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Self pleasure
When I was a teenager, I learned in a sex education class at church (of all places) that a solid majority of women (something like 2/3, as I recall) and nearly all men masturbate.
The line, as I recall, was, "98 percent of all guys maturbate and the other 2 percent are liars."
The point was that it was nothing to be ashamed of; it's natural behavior done by most people.
Sometime after this, I was at the movies with two female friends, who were a year or two younger than me. One was a girl who I had been interested in, but she had ultimately gone for a friend of mine -- a punk rocker who was ever so much cooler. The other girl was her friend, and she was newer to me, but someone who I definitely could have had an interest in. She was cute.
So, for whatever reason, the two got up the nerve to ask me if I masturbated. Emboldened by knowledge, I declared to my intent listeners, "Well, you know what they say: 98 percent of all guys masturbate and the other 2 percent are liars."
The one I knew better asked me if I was a liar. I declared I wasn't. The implication was clear, and I was quite pleased with my openness, which I thought was cool. Bottom line, though, was I got nowhere with either of them ever.
We acknowledge that masturbation is common, practiced by numerous people (I've seen stats all over the board on it, but usually it's a solid majority), but still in most instances we regard it as embarrassing and something that needs substantial privacy. After all, the thought of two people getting it on can be a turn-on; the thought of one often is awkward, silly or even a slam (as in Pink singing, "It's just you and your hand tonight.")
Girls probably are one up on guys in that regard. A girl playing with herself is a much hotter, more acceptable image than the silly, awkward image of a guy jerking off. Or choking the chicken. Or spanking the monkey. You get the picture.
Yet most of us have it in common. We have natural curiousity or we accidentally discover that touching or rubbing ourselves a certain way doesn't just feel good, it gives us real pleasure. That can start young, before we even know what we're doing. When we get older, when we've been "warned" about sex, it can produce guilt -- but we do it anyway.
I discovered it as a preadolescent, rubbing myself against the mattress like some precursor to the thrusting of intercourse. I even laid on top of a Playboy centerfold once or twice, but that didn't do much if you wanted to keep the centerfold in tact. Eventually I discovered the efficiency of my hand, though the first time my orgasm was accompanied by cum -- just a tiny couple drops of semen -- I freaked out, not knowing what or why my body had produced this whitish fluid. Had I broken it? Was it some kind of infection? Good thing I figured it out pretty quickly.
As I got to be a teen, I used to masturbate in bed almost every morning and frequently at night. Or sometimes in the afternoon, right into the toilet. In bed, I'd clean myself up with tissue -- almost always two -- and toss them in my wastebasket, which probably made it appear to anyone who saw my wastebasket that I had really bad allergies. My fantasies often were elaborate -- me and my latest object of desire from school or church, me and some celebrity, different situations, different ages. It was my own Secret Life of Walter Mitty.
As I've gotten older, I don't do it quite as often -- but how could I possibly keep up the pace of my teen years? I still do it frequently, even though the law of diminishing returns definitely applies to male masturbation. I almost always do it in the shower (jerking off in bed wakes up anyone else in bed), where privacy is assured (it's absurdly easy to cover up your actions if anyone comes in) and cleanup is not needed. I can latch on to a fantasy for a while, but the celebrities are pretty much gone. Often enough, it's some girl from past, in the prime of her youth. It also can be reliving a real situation.
One thing still definitely applies: That need for privacy. I've been caught once, by my current partner, many years ago. It was witheringly embarrassing
You'd think that such a discovery between partners might inspire some frisky play. Some people even can incorporate into their sex. Well, it might have inspired play if it had been me walking in on her (or it might have put her off the mood). But there's that awkward image of the guy jerking off again. It just made her wonder what the hell I needed that for.
As I mentioned before, I think girls are definitely one up on us here. Not as many of them may do it -- that's a shame -- but in some ways, I think they're freer to do it. They certainly seem to have more ways to do it. And it's probably more important for their own self-discovery, vaginas being wrapped in mystery the way they are.
The image of a girl masturbating is completely hot, and they do seem to have a jillion ways. Beyond the myriad of ways they can approach it themselves with their fingers -- the rub or the finger fuck? lips or clit or g-spot? in or out? a little bit of this and a little bit of that -- they can use outside help more easily -- the jet of a spa, the shower head, the cross- legged pump (when I see a woman do this, I sometimes wonder if she's getting off or is she just bored and fidgety), sitting on the washing machine, etc.
And, of course, there's the numerous toys. I had a friend who named hers. One was Mr. Fun, a dildo. Another dildo, one with a phallus on both ends (probably a lesbian sex aid), was Mr. Double the Fun. The Rabbit seems to have gained wide acclaim and it's apparently well deserved. Vibrators in any case seem to be standard issue, or maybe they ought to be. (Well, Sarah, look what the government sent you now that you're 14 -- your very own vibrator! Now you won't need a guy!)
Therein lies the rub (ha!) for guys. When it comes to women, guys are fumbling and clumsy, at least to start and sometimes forever. Vibrators do seem vastly superior to our efforts. A girl knows what a girl needs. On her own, she can go at the pace she wants and she can decide where to go and how. She knows when to go to her clit and how hard. She knows how to get herself off, and guys' track records here are spotty at best.
On the flip side, guys don't need a lot a variety. It's rub till you cum, and the most variety seems to be how fast or maybe whether you want some lotion with that. Even the toys are ridiculous -- a blowup doll? a fake pussy? Those are even more ridiculous than the image of a guy flailing away on himself.
In the end, though, masturbation really is a stop gap. It may be more a more efficient way of getting off, but if it's what we really wanted, why do we need that fantasy in our head? There's nothing like the skin to skin contact, the touching, the just plain connection there is when two consenting people enjoy sex together.
The line, as I recall, was, "98 percent of all guys maturbate and the other 2 percent are liars."
The point was that it was nothing to be ashamed of; it's natural behavior done by most people.
Sometime after this, I was at the movies with two female friends, who were a year or two younger than me. One was a girl who I had been interested in, but she had ultimately gone for a friend of mine -- a punk rocker who was ever so much cooler. The other girl was her friend, and she was newer to me, but someone who I definitely could have had an interest in. She was cute.
So, for whatever reason, the two got up the nerve to ask me if I masturbated. Emboldened by knowledge, I declared to my intent listeners, "Well, you know what they say: 98 percent of all guys masturbate and the other 2 percent are liars."
The one I knew better asked me if I was a liar. I declared I wasn't. The implication was clear, and I was quite pleased with my openness, which I thought was cool. Bottom line, though, was I got nowhere with either of them ever.
We acknowledge that masturbation is common, practiced by numerous people (I've seen stats all over the board on it, but usually it's a solid majority), but still in most instances we regard it as embarrassing and something that needs substantial privacy. After all, the thought of two people getting it on can be a turn-on; the thought of one often is awkward, silly or even a slam (as in Pink singing, "It's just you and your hand tonight.")
Girls probably are one up on guys in that regard. A girl playing with herself is a much hotter, more acceptable image than the silly, awkward image of a guy jerking off. Or choking the chicken. Or spanking the monkey. You get the picture.
Yet most of us have it in common. We have natural curiousity or we accidentally discover that touching or rubbing ourselves a certain way doesn't just feel good, it gives us real pleasure. That can start young, before we even know what we're doing. When we get older, when we've been "warned" about sex, it can produce guilt -- but we do it anyway.
I discovered it as a preadolescent, rubbing myself against the mattress like some precursor to the thrusting of intercourse. I even laid on top of a Playboy centerfold once or twice, but that didn't do much if you wanted to keep the centerfold in tact. Eventually I discovered the efficiency of my hand, though the first time my orgasm was accompanied by cum -- just a tiny couple drops of semen -- I freaked out, not knowing what or why my body had produced this whitish fluid. Had I broken it? Was it some kind of infection? Good thing I figured it out pretty quickly.
As I got to be a teen, I used to masturbate in bed almost every morning and frequently at night. Or sometimes in the afternoon, right into the toilet. In bed, I'd clean myself up with tissue -- almost always two -- and toss them in my wastebasket, which probably made it appear to anyone who saw my wastebasket that I had really bad allergies. My fantasies often were elaborate -- me and my latest object of desire from school or church, me and some celebrity, different situations, different ages. It was my own Secret Life of Walter Mitty.
As I've gotten older, I don't do it quite as often -- but how could I possibly keep up the pace of my teen years? I still do it frequently, even though the law of diminishing returns definitely applies to male masturbation. I almost always do it in the shower (jerking off in bed wakes up anyone else in bed), where privacy is assured (it's absurdly easy to cover up your actions if anyone comes in) and cleanup is not needed. I can latch on to a fantasy for a while, but the celebrities are pretty much gone. Often enough, it's some girl from past, in the prime of her youth. It also can be reliving a real situation.
One thing still definitely applies: That need for privacy. I've been caught once, by my current partner, many years ago. It was witheringly embarrassing
You'd think that such a discovery between partners might inspire some frisky play. Some people even can incorporate into their sex. Well, it might have inspired play if it had been me walking in on her (or it might have put her off the mood). But there's that awkward image of the guy jerking off again. It just made her wonder what the hell I needed that for.
As I mentioned before, I think girls are definitely one up on us here. Not as many of them may do it -- that's a shame -- but in some ways, I think they're freer to do it. They certainly seem to have more ways to do it. And it's probably more important for their own self-discovery, vaginas being wrapped in mystery the way they are.
The image of a girl masturbating is completely hot, and they do seem to have a jillion ways. Beyond the myriad of ways they can approach it themselves with their fingers -- the rub or the finger fuck? lips or clit or g-spot? in or out? a little bit of this and a little bit of that -- they can use outside help more easily -- the jet of a spa, the shower head, the cross- legged pump (when I see a woman do this, I sometimes wonder if she's getting off or is she just bored and fidgety), sitting on the washing machine, etc.
And, of course, there's the numerous toys. I had a friend who named hers. One was Mr. Fun, a dildo. Another dildo, one with a phallus on both ends (probably a lesbian sex aid), was Mr. Double the Fun. The Rabbit seems to have gained wide acclaim and it's apparently well deserved. Vibrators in any case seem to be standard issue, or maybe they ought to be. (Well, Sarah, look what the government sent you now that you're 14 -- your very own vibrator! Now you won't need a guy!)
Therein lies the rub (ha!) for guys. When it comes to women, guys are fumbling and clumsy, at least to start and sometimes forever. Vibrators do seem vastly superior to our efforts. A girl knows what a girl needs. On her own, she can go at the pace she wants and she can decide where to go and how. She knows when to go to her clit and how hard. She knows how to get herself off, and guys' track records here are spotty at best.
On the flip side, guys don't need a lot a variety. It's rub till you cum, and the most variety seems to be how fast or maybe whether you want some lotion with that. Even the toys are ridiculous -- a blowup doll? a fake pussy? Those are even more ridiculous than the image of a guy flailing away on himself.
In the end, though, masturbation really is a stop gap. It may be more a more efficient way of getting off, but if it's what we really wanted, why do we need that fantasy in our head? There's nothing like the skin to skin contact, the touching, the just plain connection there is when two consenting people enjoy sex together.
Labels: masturbation
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
The difference
I'm wondering if the difference between men and women comes down to just this: Men fuck, and women get fucked. And from that, all other differences spring.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
The Shower
He turns the water on, cranking the handle to the hottest setting and steps back, closing the shower door. As he waits for the water to heat up, he sheds his clothes, first the shirt, then the pants and finally his boxers. He waits a moment longer because he knows the flow is too cold initially and then opens the door and reaches his hand inside to test the water. It's good, so he steps inside.
The water is getting hotter still as he backs into the flow, so he adjusts the handle to the temperature he wants. The heat is just right, penetrating the skin on his back as the water impacts it and slides away. It's a moment of total relaxation as his body gets wet, and that relaxation is why he showers a few minutes too long most days. This is his sanctuary, enclosed, alone, everything stripped away, with only the power of the water and the heat and the rising steam there with him.
It at this moment every day where his mind wanders somewhere. Sometimes he thinks of old days or of good times anticipated. Some days he gets his best ideas. And frequently enough he thinks of something else.
Today is one of those days, and his thoughts somehow land upon her, almost 2,500 miles away across the country. She is a stranger to him and yet not, and the thought of her is pleasant. As he moves his head back under the shower head, dousing his hair, the thoughts stir something else inside him, and his hand naturally gravitates toward his loin.
The water is working its magic on his state of mind, and as his thumb lightly massages his cock, it too responds, slowly. He can feel that sensation from his blood flowing to it, filling it and causing it to lengthen and harden -- but still ever so slowly as the water strangely almost acts as a counter to what his body now demands.
Still, the march is inexorable, and his dick is soon large enough and firm enough to grasp. He does so, thumb overlapping the top of his shaft and four fingers together first working back lightly around his balls, then coming up on the underside of the shaft.
He likes her. She has challenges that bear weight upon her, but she has intelligence, and ambition, and, most of all, spunk. He likes the way she goes after things. She wants a better job, a better man, a better life. She wants something worthwhile, she wants security, she wants sex. And he thinks it is out there for her.
He knows he is not that man for her. He is just on the sideline, a cheerleader for her. But at this moment in time and in his current state that hardly matters.
He wonders about her week, and whether she's been up to anything slightly naughty. The thought of that possibility spurs him to move a little faster on the cock that he has slowly, almost unconsciously, been working on. As he looks down upon it, he recognizes he is fully hard and ready, and that drives his thoughts to her more coursely.
He thinks of her maybe being alone and naked. Maybe that's happened this week. Maybe it's still ahead. Doesn't matter for him now -- the thought is still exciting him. He can't see her face -- he never has -- but he imagines her body, and that too excites him to higher levels.
His cock is feeling oh-so-nice as he strokes it. It gives it warmth and a pleasant sensation as the skin moves up and back against whatever is inside, high enough to reach the head and then back to its natural point. His strokes are getting faster now, more urgent as he feels the need for release grow inside him. His thoughts focus in on her, what she might be doing when nude.
The physical drives the mental into higher excitement, which in turn pushes the physical harder. He is fully excited, almost in a euphoric state, as he pumps his cock wildly now. The feeling is growing ever larger. His balls pull their way up to his body as he thrashes about in his thoughts of her. He recognizes the feeling in his cock now that is starting to climb toward inevitability. He is near that point as one hand strokes and the other rubs diagonally down his leg from hip to groin, sliding by and massaging his balls as they prepare to release their load.
It is inevitable now. He is going to cum. His body is tensed up, especially in the nether region, almost as if it is hunched up and ready to explode forward in a leap. It's almost a matter of surrendering to it, but he wants his focus on her and her beautiful body, the inspiration for this moment.
And it happens. He does surrender to it, his body letting go and the burst of feeling that accompanies his first, large shooting of cum. He strokes a little more, and more spurts out, once, twice ... and then some more, not spurting but coming on its own languid pace, all bringing him a moment of sheer pleasure.
His whole body relaxes now. He catches his breath as the water cleans him. Any tension that was with him leaves him. He is completely relaxed -- ready to face the day as he finishes the shower for its actual purpose.
And for a moment he thinks of her again, just living life normally now, and he hopes she is well.
The water is getting hotter still as he backs into the flow, so he adjusts the handle to the temperature he wants. The heat is just right, penetrating the skin on his back as the water impacts it and slides away. It's a moment of total relaxation as his body gets wet, and that relaxation is why he showers a few minutes too long most days. This is his sanctuary, enclosed, alone, everything stripped away, with only the power of the water and the heat and the rising steam there with him.
It at this moment every day where his mind wanders somewhere. Sometimes he thinks of old days or of good times anticipated. Some days he gets his best ideas. And frequently enough he thinks of something else.
Today is one of those days, and his thoughts somehow land upon her, almost 2,500 miles away across the country. She is a stranger to him and yet not, and the thought of her is pleasant. As he moves his head back under the shower head, dousing his hair, the thoughts stir something else inside him, and his hand naturally gravitates toward his loin.
The water is working its magic on his state of mind, and as his thumb lightly massages his cock, it too responds, slowly. He can feel that sensation from his blood flowing to it, filling it and causing it to lengthen and harden -- but still ever so slowly as the water strangely almost acts as a counter to what his body now demands.
Still, the march is inexorable, and his dick is soon large enough and firm enough to grasp. He does so, thumb overlapping the top of his shaft and four fingers together first working back lightly around his balls, then coming up on the underside of the shaft.
He likes her. She has challenges that bear weight upon her, but she has intelligence, and ambition, and, most of all, spunk. He likes the way she goes after things. She wants a better job, a better man, a better life. She wants something worthwhile, she wants security, she wants sex. And he thinks it is out there for her.
He knows he is not that man for her. He is just on the sideline, a cheerleader for her. But at this moment in time and in his current state that hardly matters.
He wonders about her week, and whether she's been up to anything slightly naughty. The thought of that possibility spurs him to move a little faster on the cock that he has slowly, almost unconsciously, been working on. As he looks down upon it, he recognizes he is fully hard and ready, and that drives his thoughts to her more coursely.
He thinks of her maybe being alone and naked. Maybe that's happened this week. Maybe it's still ahead. Doesn't matter for him now -- the thought is still exciting him. He can't see her face -- he never has -- but he imagines her body, and that too excites him to higher levels.
His cock is feeling oh-so-nice as he strokes it. It gives it warmth and a pleasant sensation as the skin moves up and back against whatever is inside, high enough to reach the head and then back to its natural point. His strokes are getting faster now, more urgent as he feels the need for release grow inside him. His thoughts focus in on her, what she might be doing when nude.
The physical drives the mental into higher excitement, which in turn pushes the physical harder. He is fully excited, almost in a euphoric state, as he pumps his cock wildly now. The feeling is growing ever larger. His balls pull their way up to his body as he thrashes about in his thoughts of her. He recognizes the feeling in his cock now that is starting to climb toward inevitability. He is near that point as one hand strokes and the other rubs diagonally down his leg from hip to groin, sliding by and massaging his balls as they prepare to release their load.
It is inevitable now. He is going to cum. His body is tensed up, especially in the nether region, almost as if it is hunched up and ready to explode forward in a leap. It's almost a matter of surrendering to it, but he wants his focus on her and her beautiful body, the inspiration for this moment.
And it happens. He does surrender to it, his body letting go and the burst of feeling that accompanies his first, large shooting of cum. He strokes a little more, and more spurts out, once, twice ... and then some more, not spurting but coming on its own languid pace, all bringing him a moment of sheer pleasure.
His whole body relaxes now. He catches his breath as the water cleans him. Any tension that was with him leaves him. He is completely relaxed -- ready to face the day as he finishes the shower for its actual purpose.
And for a moment he thinks of her again, just living life normally now, and he hopes she is well.
Labels: masturbation
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Chilling
Overheard comment from young middle school or early high school boy to a girl, who is apparently a friend, about the girl he is seeing:
He: "This is the most patient I've ever been with a girl. I thought it was going to happen last night, but she said no. But I tell you, if she doesn't give me sex soon, I'm going to dump her."
That you would have this conversation with another girl is one thing. That you would have this conversation where you could be overheard is another.
But I suppose it isn't all that surprising, either. Guys have long looked for it from their girl and been willing to move on if they didn't get it. Detestable, but true.
Although at his age, he should be happy if he gets a little boob. (Yeah, I know, that's not our world anymore.)
He: "This is the most patient I've ever been with a girl. I thought it was going to happen last night, but she said no. But I tell you, if she doesn't give me sex soon, I'm going to dump her."
That you would have this conversation with another girl is one thing. That you would have this conversation where you could be overheard is another.
But I suppose it isn't all that surprising, either. Guys have long looked for it from their girl and been willing to move on if they didn't get it. Detestable, but true.
Although at his age, he should be happy if he gets a little boob. (Yeah, I know, that's not our world anymore.)
Labels: dumping, pressure, putting out, teen sex
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
It starts
Dad to 11-year-old daughter: "Don't blame me. Guys can't find anything. I'm just an ordinary guy."
11-year-old daughter to dad: "That's probably why I don't understand guys."
11-year-old daughter to dad: "That's probably why I don't understand guys."
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Rejected
I got an email invitation to try eHarmony.com for free. And though I'm not in the market, I've been intrigued by eHarmony's ads and wondered just what my personality profile would show and what kinds of women would be my "match," so I filled out the survey, without intention of going through with joining or dating. But like the people in the ads from chemistry.com, I was rejected by eHarmony. I had no matches.
The company puts it diplomatically that their matching scheme doesn't work for me, and notes that this is true in 1 in 5 cases. Still, you are left wondering what is wrong with you. If my current partner, who in her worst moments of depression -- thankfully rare -- claims she never should have been with anyone, had not seen fit to be with me, would I be alone now? Unfit myself to be with a woman? Or at the very least undesired by any woman that I would desire?
When I was in high school, I didn't have a girlfriend, and I knew why. I wasn't what they were looking for -- too skinny, too shy, too nice-guyish. It sucked, and I wondered if it would ever change. It was my own personal nightmare. Well, it worked its way out, but eHarmony brought those thoughts and feelings back to my memory.
And makes me wonder again -- what do women want?
The company puts it diplomatically that their matching scheme doesn't work for me, and notes that this is true in 1 in 5 cases. Still, you are left wondering what is wrong with you. If my current partner, who in her worst moments of depression -- thankfully rare -- claims she never should have been with anyone, had not seen fit to be with me, would I be alone now? Unfit myself to be with a woman? Or at the very least undesired by any woman that I would desire?
When I was in high school, I didn't have a girlfriend, and I knew why. I wasn't what they were looking for -- too skinny, too shy, too nice-guyish. It sucked, and I wondered if it would ever change. It was my own personal nightmare. Well, it worked its way out, but eHarmony brought those thoughts and feelings back to my memory.
And makes me wonder again -- what do women want?
Labels: dating, dating services, women
