While sitting and sweltering in today’s eighty degree heat and humidity, I’ve got my mind in the gutter, the racy scenes doing their usual speed-of-thought flashing… but the old noodle seems to be only paying attention to the one thing that any sexual encounter I’ve ever had has in common: Anticipation.
Since it seems as if I have a bad case of dick-on-the-brain right now, I was thinking about the thrill of hooking up with a guy and that moment when the clothes come off and just before initial contact is made. My brain, for reasons that I don’t pretend to understand, decided to zero in on what’s going on in that moment, how I’m feeling, what I’m thinking about as the other guy reveals his body and, most important, his dick.
While a lot of what I might feel can’t be verbalized, in that moment, I’m both kinda relaxed but anxious; I’m eyeballing his junk, giving a moment of appreciation of whatever size/shape it might be, how high or low his balls are hanging, stuff like that. In my mind’s eye, I can already see myself sucking him into hardness if he wasn’t hard already; my pulse quickens and my degree of either nervousness or anxiety goes up as well; I’m excited and not so excited all at the same time; it’s something I’ve done many times but each time makes me feel as if I’ve never sucked a man’s dick before – it seems I always think, “I don’t believe I’m getting ready to do this!”
I’m aware of the other guy looking at me; I can feel his eyes on me without having to look at him as I go about shedding my clothes. It increases my nervousness feeling his eyes roaming over my exposed flesh and I always seem to know when his gaze locks onto my dick – feels like someone just ran an ice cube up and down my naked back.
After we’re naked, sometimes, there’s an awkward moment; we’re ready to do this… but who’s gonna make the first move? My nervousness, anxiety, and lust quadruple; I want to get this started but maybe he wants to start the ball rolling? But I’m hungry for dick; my mouth is already watering just wondering what his spunk is gonna taste like.
Eventually, the action begins in some way, ending the heightened sense of anticipation for the moment; the next moment will come when I pick up the clues that he’s about to give up the stuff – but that’s not the same insane feeling felt at the beginning of all of this.
I know that in the space of the couple of minutes it’ll take both of us to strip down, a few hundred questions are blazing through my mind, beginning with, “Did I make the right decision here?” Yeah, in those scant minutes, I’m actually questioning my decision to do this, thinking about all the shit that could go wrong, and wondering what, if anything, the other guy’s thinking at this moment. Right alongside these uninspiring thoughts is that thrill of knowing that I’m getting ready to get into something that I just love to do, something I’ve done so many times before that I can’t put a number to it.
I feel sensuous and slutty, calm and ready to jump out of my skin; I feel… guilty even though I know the source of the guilt, that thing in my head that always insists that I’m not supposed to be having sex with another man and that I need to head for the hills as fast as I can. I shove the feeling aside even though it’s really not going to stop me from doing what I want to do; the anxiety ramps up to a near-panic level because even though I know what’s supposed to happen, I don’t know what’s going to happen; I have no idea how the next moments in time are going to play out. In mere microseconds, I’m reminded of all the times something went wrong, how something happened that neither of us wanted or expected, anything that happened whether it was good or bad.
All of these turbulent thoughts and feelings taking place in the space of two minutes or so. It feels so damned good but, at the same time, makes me a nervous wreck; I just cannot approach doing this with a laissez-faire attitude or manner; I’ve never been able to figure out why every time I do this feels like the first time I’ve done it or as if I’ve never done it before; I even wonder if the guy’s gonna like my dick, something I never think about before the moment of anticipation descends upon me.
Sure, once one of us makes that initial move, my thoughts and feelings kinda shut down… or the volume gets turned down because there are still thoughts and feelings galloping around in my head as we make contact with each other – but, again, that’s so very different.
In that scant two minutes, I’m even seeing the humor of the situation because we’re both standing there, eyes roaming all over each other, each of us lost in our pre-action thoughts and feelings… and, yeah, it’s kinda funny, like we’re waiting for the starter’s flag to drop or something so we can do what we’ve gotten together to do.
Or not. I’ve had that moment of anticipation cut short quite a few times because the guy before me is a newbie and now his anxiety’s gotten the best of him and he’s asked me a question or maybe the next words out of his mouth has been, “You know, I don’t think I want to do this…” or “I’m not sure I should be doing this…” It’s understandable and I’ve come to understand that a part of my great sense of anticipation is waiting for the other guy to chicken out; it’s usually in this moment where a man will fully understand that thinking about doing this and being right on the verge of it happening just ain’t the same thing.
Some guys, regardless of their experience levels, will hesitate even further so they can gather themselves so my anticipation grows stronger even though I know that I must be patient and understanding as he deals with whatever’s going on inside of him. Whether we’re still standing up or are lying next to each other, my anticipation is pulsing inside of me, like a separate heartbeat as I look at him and wonder about what’s going on in his mind; is he thinking the same things I’m thinking? Is he feeling what I’m feeling?
I am initially glad when this moment of anticipation is over because it’s so emotionally draining and even a bit physically tiring; I know that a lot of times, my anticipation gets the best of me, making me impatient to taste and touch him and I’ll act first… and sometimes I actually get pissed with myself for not letting him make the first move even though I might be aware of a few things about him that’s told me that he’s not going to act first – but once the first move is made, none of what I’ve been thinking and feeling matters as I shift into action mode and now it’s all about doing it.
The anticipation returns; we’ve spent untold minutes in a struggle of sorts; we’re trying to finish each other while extending each other’s pleasure at the same time. My senses are dialed in; I ‘know’ how he’s feeling because I’m making him feel that way, much in the same way he’s doing to me and we’re both in that moment where we want to cum… and it would be okay if we didn’t. But we can only delay the inevitable for so long, our bodies giving off the signs of imminent release; my anticipation is screaming loudly, wondering what his stuff is gonna taste like, how much of it will be given unto me and, yeah, I’m already anticipating the moment where all of this is going to start over again… provided we both survive the next few seconds.