Lazy

I’m lazy in lots of ways right now.

I haven’t wanked much recently, to the point where I came in my sleep last week. Why is it that the sex in those dreams is so realistic that it feels like it actually happened? I can still see the way I bore down on the girl, pinning her shoulders down, thrusting into her, perspiration pouring off me and onto her in slick rivulets. And that moment when I filled her, deep inside her, legs clenched around my back and cock buried so deep I almost had a bruised pelvic bone. And yet I have no idea who I was dreaming off, or what she looked like. No face, just a naked body pulling me onto and into her. Kindof like the blog world in which I currently reside sexually – so many thoughts, a few pictures but almost no faces. It’s easy to see how men objectify women; I yearn for touch, breath and conversation while fucking, but get none – just closed eyes, the raw sensation and then ejaculation.

I’ve also been lazy in not writing. I found a few new (to me) blogs with intriguing writers, so I made the unconscious decision to take rather than give. It’s refreshing to find some UK-based bloggers… so many of them seem to be in the US, and yet there’s something that makes it more interesting to know they’re a matter of tens or hundres of miles away, rather than thousands. Who knows – perhaps I stood next to one of them on the tube home this evening…?

I also notice that blogger has (finally) altered their comment form so that it works on Pocket IE, so I’ve been gleefully leaving a few well-overdue remarks around the place. The only downside is that it means I have no excuse to court the writers directly.

And finally, I’ve been lazy with trying to meet somebody. The realisation has finally dawned on me that the chances of stumbling across a gorgeous, sex-hungry woman who’s free during the day (and has a hotel room or apartment in Central London to welcome me into) is almost nil. The one opportunity I had in that respect I rather pompously turned down, and now I’m tiring of the search. My head is in turmoil – the incident with the photo shook me up, and I’m wondering whether things might be easier and safer to just accept my situation and concentrate on other things.

Except that I can’t concentrate on much else. All I can think about is that sweet taste when I properly kiss a woman on the lips. And then the feeling as I drag my tongue up over her belly, between her cleavage, up her neck and into her mouth, pushing my thick flesh into her. Slaking my thirst by drinking in her body, tracing her curves with my fingers, moulding her to the shape I desire and devouring her, taking what I want and giving what she wants.

So I resolve not to be lazy. B+ for effort. Must try harder.

Risk vs Reward

I did something dumb today. Sent a compromising picture – which included my face – to a near stranger, somebody from whom I’d received just one email (albeit with a very nice picture and promise attached). Just got caught up with the moment, and wallop, there it was, gone from my sent items.

It’s times like this that suddenly the danger of this whole thing becomes apparent. We put our trust in people we only know through email, and open ourselves up to all sorts of hazards. I’ve thought of many scenarios today – most of which range from ‘unlikely’, through to ‘absurd’. You know, like the recipient posting my picture somewhere outside the blogsphere, or even somehow identifying me (blackmail, etc crossed my mind). So foolish, so silly, but still a warning not to get complacent with the fragile but precious fabric that makes up my ‘real’ life away from this pseudo-world. It makes me wonder whether the risk warrants the potential (but so far elusive) reward.

Today, at least, the answer is a firm and concerted ‘no‘.