Precum

A minute and seven seconds of your time.

I try to be equal-opportunity, so here is some male-visual. A slow ooze, that was done late at night. And I held back as much as possible. And it felt so very boiling-under good.

In fact, looking at it again made me start to jerk off again. How hot - awesome, weird and horny - and a little fucked up (in a good way) - to be jerking your own cock off - to video of yourself jerking off.

I understand the attraction.

Images Galore

Porn sites have all the same kind of shots. We depend upon them. We love them.

There's photos of girls sucking cock.



Women with cocks up their assholes.



Or just, people fucking the way we wish we could fuck in real life. Athletic, tireless, beautiful and agile.



Probably, it's women behaving badly - er, that is, overly sexual that's what there isn't enough of in real life. As if they'd go after each other. So we also like to see that.



Sometimes the fucking is just an abstraction - body parts in other body parts.



And every so often it's enough to just show us a pretty girl, and let our imagination do the rest.



Ultimately, I love to be reminded how much fun it is to make love. To fuck someone you really dig.

Good for the skin

Cumming onto her chest. She lets you. She watches you do it. She helps you to ejaculate by jerking your hard cock rhythmically with her own spit, and then she holds up her tits as she feels the warm stickiness on her. And then looks up at you, to see what you look like - now that you've done what you've done. All over her.



She knows you love her.

Soothing the Savage Breast

I had a little wine, and I put on some music. And the deep heart of my soul began to dance a little.

What is it about music that gets through your emotional defenses, when it is working the way it should, what is it about music that moves you in a purely deep and soulful way?

You can engage with music on a present, aware and critical level, but it works all the way down to your groin when you're not listening. You rock and you sway and you close your eyes.

You groove and you feel sexy. The music overtakes you. The image of topless women dancing with abandon during Woodstock is understandable the way no cultural arbiters could prevent us from accepting.

We got it. The music makes us want to fuck. We often put music on when we're in the bedroom. I had the radio on in the car when I was out on a date and we parked in the (almost) empty parking lot by the bay, looking at the lights across the water on the bridge, the occasional boat.

The cars' headlights that would swish by and disappear out of our peripheral vision a moment later. The tinny lo-fi rock'n'roll would be the soundtrack to our explorations of each other's bodies in the dark, unsure, alone and steaming up the windows.

Cold fog on the outside, Motown on the inside.

Music is a kind of release mechanism. A kind of inhibition-suppressor. It unwinds the tense coil in the deep of your gut and loosens your limbs. You want to move. To dance. To get loose. Loosen your clothes.

And taste that cock in those pants, undone and down and ready to party as well.

Milf

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Strip Club

Is the first rule of the strip club... to not talk about the strip club? You go there and see people you don't know stripping, and presenting and exhibiting their genitals and shapely bodies.

The tension and satisfaction is that you are in the same room with these people, who are reduced to sexual beings, there merely to be looked at as physical objects.

You watch them and they get close to you. Very close. They gyrate their pussy right into your face. Often an inch away. There are rules about touching.

Don't.

But you can look. And you can smell. I can smell the pussy.

The border is physical space, right there in person. An inch. Or if it graduates to lapdancing, the border between you and her (or is it him?) is the fabric of your clothes. A quarter of an inch or less.

Touching without skin.

The personal voyeuristic thrill is repeated on the internet, in a safer environment in which no one will see you leave the club. But the physical intimacy isn't there. The digital void between you and her is as wide as the Grand Canyon and as endless as the void of space to the moon.

The inability to be satisfied by connecting, and transcendence to the next level only flames the initial and primary desire. To keep on looking.

You're not cheating if you don't touch. Right?