Personal entry follows. Much more adult content than usual, incidentally.
Seems like my lack of sexual gratification finally caught up with me. I've added private moments to my weekend routine, these past two weekends. The amusing thing about this is that I almost consider them like agenda items... "Brush teeth twice daily, shower once a day, shave once a week, clean ears once a week, masturbate Friday and Saturday evenings." My Wash Day is Saturday... so it all works out in terms of cleanup.
I think it's okay to consider orgasms as a kind of self-care or personal-care item. I don't watch porn (I actually had a brief discussion with a couple of my coworkers about this topic, for whatever reason), so beyond the erotica I've written it's primarily memories that help get me off. Here I am in a tent, wacking off into a scrap of t-shirt, accompanied by the sounds of the distant highway, the crickets, and the occasional rooster or cow. Various women and the zestful, fun times I've coupled with them zipping through my memory.
The erotic stories I've written in the past were actually things I've typed up, and sometimes printed and sent to willing female friends. In both cases, I offered to come up with something through maybe a letter or an email, they asked for a specific type of correspondence, and then my imagination was off to the races.
One of the women is an instance where she and I actually did have sex with one another - I still consider my 28th birthday one of the best nights of my life because of her - and while she's happily hooked to a boyfriend we're still good friends to this day. The story is completely manufactured though based on a real-world event. To sum it up, I had asked her to drive me back home from a trip out of town, she arrived, and we planned to leave the next day. That night, she was on the full court press, so to speak, but as I was dealing with a recent break-up I balked. The story I wrote about her and me was a fantasy about what might have happened had I -not- turned her down so thoroughly.
The other is my artist friend I'd written of before, with whom I never have had sex. However, she and I had discussed the act a number of times over the past year, read through some funky vintage "lad magazines" together, shared racy text messages, and so on. So the second set of short stories I'd written seem more interesting in a way, since she and I never even saw one another naked or touched one another intimately. She had flipped-up her shirt and exposed her breasts at one of my band shows back in the day, but beyond that I'd manufactured all the details about her body and what it would be like for she and I to have sex. As part of the arrangement, we promised one another that no naked pictures or video would be sent to either party (neither of us wanted that sort of thing available to anyone, thanks to the Internet). The entire process was pretty wild and entertaining for me, throughout.
This artist friend of mine had replied enthusiastically to the first I'd written, which was an account of me masturbating while imagining her masturbating. She mentioned in detail how it turned her on, and how she had also imagined what I would look like while she read the description. That original letter was a way for me to test the waters, not pushing things too far. So after she replied that she wanted more and liked them quite a bit, the other two I'd sent were straight up stroke stories featuring imagined versions of she and me: peak of health and performance, one location true-to-life (and actually patterned after a real-life, non-sexual experience between she and me), the other a fantasized-but-believable summer "pool house" and conveniently-placed king-size bed.
We eventually ended the correspondence for a number of reasons, primarily due to her having health issues and a number of things that distracted her from replying - or even being healthy enough to check email on a regular basis. With a lack of responses of any kind, and all too much real-world knowledge of her current circumstances, I dropped the practice, though I still miss it. I'd have time over the weekends, I imagine (Hahaha! I'd fit it in my schedule!), were she into it and let me know.
Written erotica has always been more entertaining to me, likely because I know there's nothing real-world about it. I've also had a fair bit of pretty incredible sex in my life so my imagination is vibrant and fertile. When combining those two aspects together, I have always had a fun time with it. Maybe I can start these up again, simply fueled by my own memories and perhaps other erotica I've read. Since I don't plan on having sex with anyone else any time soon, these kinds of things might turn up my quiet, personal weekends to 11. In any case, I think it would be fun to start it up again, and build a bit of a collection.
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