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Today’s Bisexual Thoughts:  Pulling it Off

Just remembered something else I wanted to scribble about from something I read on the bi guys forum.  In this forum, we just don’t talk about the complexities of male bisexuality – we talk about other guy things as well and when I was on the site earlier, I read a post by a guy who, essentially, said that he didn’t have time to masturbate even when he has the urge to.  He was asking the membership about when and where be a good time to pull one off…

And I thought that if a guy (or even a gal) couldn’t find or make the time to pleasure themselves, what in the hell are you doing that takes some much time that you couldn’t find a few moments to do that?

Aight, here we go:  It’s no secret that people are funny about this particular topic. I’m sure there probably isn’t a guy who hasn’t heard that jerking off could make you go blind and make you grow hair on your palms.  The more studious of us probably know that once upon a time, masturbation was considered to be a mental illness and one that had to be cured… and in ways that would have made Torquemada and the Marquis de Sade very happy campers.

Some folks believe it’s a complete waste of time because it gives them no pleasure at all; I’ve heard guys proclaim that they don’t need to spank the monkey because if they wanna bust a nut, that’s what women are for (sorry ladies but that’s what they said); some folks actually believe that masturbation is a sin – and, actually, that’s not true and I recommend doing a Google search on “The Sin of Onan” to find out what his sin really was.  Rumor has it that the Catholic Church frowns upon men jerking off because it’s a form of contraception – that prohibition is probably directly responsible for folks believing this was Onan’s sin (and one, if I remember correctly, he got offed for).

To save you a search, Onan’s sin wasn’t that he spilt his seed upon the ground; his crime was failing to conform to a tribal law that required him, upon the death of his brother, to take the late brother’s wife as his own and then fill her with child – and in short order, if ya don’t mind.  Onan felt some kind of way about this and he did screw her as mandated but just as he was about to inseminate her, he pulled out and, well, we know where it went and it wasn’t inside her,

Anyway, while there are those who feel and/or believe that choking the chicken is pointless (or whatever), wow, how can a guy who’s not adverse to doing it not find the time to do it?  I’ve had some days that have made me wish that a day was longer than twenty-four hours and days where I thought that I didn’t have the time to think about not having the time to do something… but if I had the urge to squeeze one out, yup, I’d find the time to do it and, indeed, as highly stressful some of my days were, going it was necessary stress relief.

Now, I can understand “making an appointment” to get laid – you do have to coordinate this with someone else after all – but, um, making an appointment to massage yourself into erection and then have a nice mess to clean up?  Okay, sure, I can see putting it off if you’re in the middle of doing something when the urge hits you; finish whatever you’re doing and then, ahem, take matters into your own hand.  Wait, you say you’re at work and that it wouldn’t be appropriate to hit the men’s room, have a seat in a stall, and take care of business?  What, you’re at the in-laws or even visiting your family and it wouldn’t seem right to excuse yourself to take care of a personal matter?

Afraid someone’s gonna walk in on you?  Worried that someone will think you’re weird for wanting to masturbate in the first place?  If so, well, damn…

Someone asked me back in the day if I masturbated – not sure I remember why they asked – but I know they were… disturbed because I said, “Yeah, and every chance I get!”

They seemed confused; wasn’t I married?

“Of course I am… and that means what?”

They inquired that if I was married, then there was no need to jerk off so why do it?

“Two reasons:  Because I can and, uh, because it feels good; is there some other reason required or that I don’t know about?”

“You’re weird…,” was their only response and I did wonder why they thought that getting myself off whenever the mood struck me was so unusual.  I mean, even though I knew some folks had reasons for not doing it, that seemed to be more weird to me; as it was once suggested, the only abnormal sex is not having sex at all… and even if it’s with yourself.

I didn’t ask the guy who wrote the post what, how, or even why he felt that he didn’t have the time to pleasure himself and I might go back and ask him.  I mean, this is one of those things where you don’t need much of a reason to do it and, depending on one’s sense of adventure, can be done almost anywhere and at any time you can get a few moments of privacy (preferred).  Now, I’ve seen some clips of guys walking down a busy street and stroking themselves, riding the train or the bus and doing it, stuff like that.  Perhaps inappropriate but still makes the point that, yup, any time you can do it is a good time and where you do it, well, that’s up to you.

But if you say, “I wanna do it but I don’t have the time to do it…” well, some inquiring minds wanna know what’s up with dat… and if the answer isn’t, “It takes me too long to cum!” the inquiring minds really wanna know what the deal is.

 
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Posted by on 3 April 2017 in Today's Bisexual Thoughts

 

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I Want To…

It begins with a feeling, a kind of itchy warmth originating in my groin and it’s a familiar one and quite unmistakable.  I may not be immediately aware of it; I may be doing something unrelated to things sexual, like playing a game or watching television.  The feeling arrives unbidden and at the moment I become aware of it, I just know what it is…

And what I have to do… and now it’s off to the bathroom, not because I think Linda will be freaked out to see me doing myself but, eh, this is not a time I want any distractions like maybe having the cat getting all into my business (the nosy heifer).

By the time I get there, my cock is already begginingn to swell, my mind is disconnecting from conscious thought and slipping into that pornographic place in my mind which, thanks to my experiences and imagination, contain a plethora of sexual thoughts that will aid me to getting where I want to be.

It’s erotic and oh, so stimulating, with just the right sense of “danger” because I know Linda might get concerned and come looking for me and the thought of her “barging” in and catching me in the act sends thrills all through me… and now it’s a question of whether or not I want to take a seat on the throne or stand before the bathroom mirror and watch what I’m doing… and all because I’m a guy and we are all so very visual even when doing ourselves.

My pants and underwear are down around my ankles and my hand proceeds to finish bringing me to a full erection if I’m not already there and, gods, it feels so good to feel my blood rushing to this part of me while feeling rational thinking take a seat on the bench… and now it’s on with a purpose.

The XXX-rated theater in my mind is scanning through so many images and scenarios that I can’t keep up with them… and there’s no telling what it’ll settle on; maybe it’s my Linda and the amazing skills she possesses or, as some people want to believe, I “willfully” commit an act of infidelity if my thoughts crystallize onto a past lover, male or female, or even someone I wouldn’t object to having sex with if I could – and that person may not even exist but, yeah, that’s just the way my imagination works and it is powerful.

All the while my hand is moving up and down my shaft; I look up and see the reflection of what I’m doing to myself and, fuck, I never get tired of the sight of my dick hard and all that does is add some extra incentive to finish what I’ve started and maybe even how I want that to happen.

Maybe I’m going for the quick, totally mindless release that’s devoid of the ultra-X-rated images I’m capable of summoning; I just want to cum fast and hard and it gets interesting because I have to do this left-handed – and I’m right-handed but, okay, that fucking stroke trashed my fine motor skills on my right side but I’ve learned to adapt, improvise, and overcome so I can continue to do something that, off the top of my head, I’ve done thousands of times since I first learn how to get myself off.

Maybe I want to take my time and prolong the inevitable , my eyes watching my hand as if it doesn’t belong to me while the images race along in my mind, adding more fuel to the fire that must burn… but I’m also trying to temper and bank because this, too, feels so damned good.

Either way, I eventually get to a point where I need the release… and I don’t want to do it; even the highly pornographic images in my mind are being ignored or just goes away, my focus totally on what my hand is doing to me and how it’s making me feel, pushing me ever closer to the edge…

And shoving me unceremoniously over the edge and into the abyss.  I can see the spurts of cum but I’m not really seeing them although I have been surprised to see where that first spurt winds up landing and/or how far it travels… but it’s a passing, fleeting thought because I’m being consumed by my release, my whole body going from orgasmic rigidity to boneless flaccidity and if I’m standing up, well, I’m in danger of winding up falling – not good when standing up is a piece of work to begin with.

Now it’s a matter of remembering how to think and breathe and, yes, how to get up if I’m sitting, and getting my legs to cooperate with that standing up thing.  Oh, yeah, there’s a mess that has to be dealt with but that’s just part of the process although I just might treat myself and lick my hand and fingers clean – and just because it’s a fun thing to do and what’s the point of acquiring the taste if you’re not going to indulge in it?

And now it’s back to whatever I was doing before the urge to do this struck me, knowing full well that I just might feel that urge again and very soon…

 

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Rubbing One Out

Are you familiar with the term? It is one of many euphemisms for masturbating or, if you wanna be PC about it, autoeroticism, yeah, you know what I am talking about, don’t you?

This isn’t as much as whether you really do it or even how you do it but as this crossed my mind, I got to thinking about where we go when we do it and how we just seem to know what to do and how to do it and all without really thinking about it.

I know my mind takes off and goes somewhere as I massage myself, an action I’ve done so many times and is so familiar that I’m not even thinking about nor am I really watching what I’m doing because, yeah, I’ve seen it so many times before. Sometimes my mind goes straight to that storehouse of erotic images, some real, some just a figment of my very active imagination; sometimes my mind is focused on one specific thing, oh, like how good it feels to be hard, to feel the length and thickness of my erection right along with the increasing rise in my body temperature… and I marvel at it and at how natural it feels to be manipulating myself in this fashion.

I know at some point my ability to think will fade into the background, that the images, which were once HD-quality, are now mere blurs racing through my head as I slip from conscious thought to primal reaction as that part of my brain that loves this takes over.

I don’t exactly blank out; I’m not exactly unaware or all that oblivious to my surroundings or how I’m feeling. I hear, see, and feel everything just as much as I’m not really doing these things because I am distracted, feeling my… essence collimating into one sharp focus as I work my way into my inevitable release.

The thing that often amazes me is that I know that I’m there but not there; I often feel disembodied, as if I’m on the outside looking in and almost as if I’m really watching someone else as the pressure builds and now I’m trying to decide if I want to prolong this pleasure or do I want to just do it and let myself become swamped in sensations that words are truly unable to convey.

I know, without really having to see it, that my sperm is flowing and I revel in feeling my cock pulsing in my hand as I involuntarily gasp as the feelings of release wash over me – and sometimes with such force that my knees buckle and makes me do my best to stay upright if I’m standing or damned glad that I am sitting or lying down.

There’s that “aah” moment tinged with a bit of regret because it felt so good to this but now the moment is over. Clarity return even as my mind comes back from wherever it went and now, as all of the good sensations are ebbing, it’s all about cleaning up and going back to whatever I was doing before rubbing one out became a damned good idea… and until the next time.

How about you? Where do you go?

 
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Posted by on 25 October 2014 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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Yesterday Afternoon…,

…I had this totally delicious thought in my head about masturbating, encompassing a lot of the feelings and thoughts that go into taking matters into your own hands… and other activities that had to be taken care of erased it from the blackboard of my mind.

I was unhappy, too, because while I was thinking about it, man, it was so very delicious, beginning with the thought that a guy can do this with or without a reason; he can do it ’cause it’s his cock and, hairy palms and ocular impairments aside, he can engage in some autoeroticism just because he can.  My thoughts had drifted to being in a place – any place – that’ll give a degree of privacy and, naturally, I was thinking about all the places I’ve ever grabbed myself a bit of nirvana and, sometimes, in locations where it wasn’t so very private.

I thought about what would be going through my mind as I dropped my pants and underwear and, um, since I’ve been doing this for a long time, I thought about the images that would begin to race along the HD screen of my mind, of all the sex I’ve ever had, the people I’ve had it with, the sex I want to have and even the sex that’s in the unseen future.  I thought about the changes my body would undergo, from that moment of a bit of dizziness as the blood rushes to my dick to the changes in my heart rate and breathing; I thought about thinking about how I want to get myself off – do I want to do it slowly and tease myself or do I just want to test my hand speed and break some kind of record for getting myself off?

I thought about how I’ll have all these things going through my head and how I could be paying attention to them as my hand works my shaft without having to think about it; I even thought about how many times I’ve done this to and for myself and how it just never really gets old or bothersome.  Then I thought about the moment where I kinda just stop thinking, working my shit with what I thought of as a mindless purpose, my eyes locked onto the erection encased by my hand or, sometimes, fixed and staring at nothing at all, seeing without seeing, and while jerking myself off is visually pleasing, it’s all about the feelings taking place before I get to the point of no return.

And I thought that it depends on whether or not I actually want to get to that point; maybe I do, maybe I don’t but that’s never predetermined – it’s one of those ‘decisions’ made on the fly and dependent upon how I’m feeling at that moment and a few other things I can’t put into words.  I thought about the ongoing physiological changes – increased breathing, increased heart rate and blood flow, increased body temperature and how it all combines to put me well into that mindless purpose.

I know I’m trying to recreate my original thoughts on this and I gotta tell you that this writing just does not do any justice to my original thoughts; it’s not even close to my thoughts and feelings as I thought about how good it feels to masturbate, that same naughty feeling I discovered the first time I pulled my pud.  I thought about those early times when I played with myself and just so I could not only marvel at the process of going from soft to hard but to get that rush of pleasure, realizing that I was giving myself an orgasm without even knowing the word existed – all I knew and cared about was it felt damned good.  Of course, my next thought was about jerking myself off so I could see that stuff come out of the end of my dick, my curiosity and heady pleasure combining so that I could really see myself cum… and I got to see it because I shot myself in the eye with that first spurt – now I knew why the old heads said that if you masturbated, you could go blind.

I know that I had a moment of silence for all those folks who either have no use for masturbation or sees it as a futile effort and major waste of one’s time, saying a quick prayer for them because circumstances won’t allow them to experience the most personal thing one can do to one’s self.  But, man, the thoughts that were going through my mind!  Even as I thought about it, I could feel my body starting to respond, that little nugget of sensation that seems to be able to tell me that, yeah, you should go spank the monkey and just because it sounds like a good idea.  Alas, all that hot and juicy (and sinfully detailed) stuff went by the wayside because of more important things that had to be dealt with.

Damn!

 
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Posted by on 22 May 2014 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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Morning Musings

I awoke this morning with masturbation on my mind and, no, I’m not really sure why although I suspect my bladder might have had something to do with it since it chose to wake me up with an overly full feeling.  So now I’m up and starting the morning routine as the rain was really coming down, pelting the bedroom windows and giving my bladder more reason to continue to fuck with me.  As I began to wash up, my mind was working hard to recall when I learned – or perhaps was taught – that if I played with that thing between my legs, not only would it get bigger but it sure felt good.  I dimly recall one of my friends showing me how he made his ‘ding-a-ling’ hard but I dimly remember that it was already old news to me – he wasn’t showing me anything I didn’t already know.  I can’t remember if I was six or seven but by the time I got laid for the first time a eight, I knew what that “good feeling” felt like and was amazed that one could get that good feeling by putting his ding-a-ling inside a girl’s kitty cat.

Wonders of wonders, huh?  I ejaculated for the first time when I was nine, just before I had my first taste of dick… but I can’t remember (or haven’t remembered yet) when I figured out that if I played with it enough, that baby-making stuff would come shooting out and give that still-scary feeling like I was gonna die or something.  It’s funny… I can remember shooting my stuff into boys and girls (made me kinda popular since I was doing that before my peers) but I can’t seem to remember “officially” jerking off for the first time… but I can remember spending a lot of time in the bathroom and going through a lot of toilet paper and even trying to get rid of the evidence when I’d make myself shoot all over the place lying in bed – and I totally failed at that and remember my father telling me that I had better not be doing anything with girls and get them into trouble, just as I remember laughing to myself as I thought his warning was a day late and a dollar short – kinda silly to tell me not to do something I was already doing with great glee and, oh, yeah, just not with girls.

As I returned to the bedroom and started to set up our morning medications, I was trying to remember the first time someone other than myself jerked me off and whether it was a guy or a gal that did it.  Something in the back of my head whispered that it was a girl ’cause I kinda remember the look on her face when I shot my stuff all over the place and it was all over her hand and that she wasn’t happy about it.  My mind switched from this to trying to remember when a guy did it and he wasn’t pulling on my dick to get it hard so I could stick it in him.  I can easily remember later years and getting with a few guys whose only interest was mutual masturbation, which sparked a thought of whether or not I had ever participated in a circle jerk.

I was in the kitchen after getting dressed, getting the fixings for my first cup of coffee for the day and getting Linda’s tea set up so I could get that going once she got up… and my mind was still pondering a few mysteries or blank spots  in my memory and I decided then that I was going to write about this and with the hope that by doing so, those missing things might get uncovered or shaken loose.  I said to myself, “It’s not like I don’t enjoy masturbating…” and I felt a moment of what I’d call pride to think about not having one ounce of shame about doing it; but as I sat down with my coffee and started my usual daily routine, I was a little frustrated because I couldn’t remember the first time a guy jerked me off – and I still can’t remember it even though I can’t shake the certain feeling that a some point in my early debauchery period, some guy did jerk me off and just because he could.

My mind was quick to point out that being jerked off while getting my dick sucked wasn’t quite the same, citing examples where I was with a guy who didn’t want sperm in his mouth… but I saw that as being different from any situations where jerking me off – and me doing the same for him – was the only item on the table.  It’s not like I didn’t know that men engaged in mutual masturbation as a singular activity; I’d heard of it, even saw it in progress once and even remembered that I had arrived too late on the scene to be invited… or something like that – I just remember being a spectator and not really upset about being relegated to the sidelines until the jerking was all done with and things escalated to giving blow jobs.

I started writing this and took a few moments to curse my bladder for putting this thought in my head – I’m still sure it was the culprit and I don’t care that it keeps denying any involvement.  I can remember moments where a guy wanted to play with my dick because, as he said, he wasn’t into sucking dick and then being not-so surprised when he went from pounding my pud to giving me a pretty good blow job; the old noodle, now primed with some caffeine, started to work with a purpose as I began typing, trying to figure out when a guy jerked me off for the first time and if I remember who it was… and I’m beginning to think it’s gonna take more than caffeine to find what I’m looking for, although I also have to admit that this initial event might have resided in the parts of my memory that got damaged by the stroke.

At this point, I’m just not sure; I know it had to have happened – after all, there is a first time for everything.  While fixing Linda’s tea, thoughts about all the times I had another guy’s hand on my cock and how those guys never seemed to choke my chicken the way I would, not that they did a bad job of making it feel good… except this one guy who was doing it so hard and fast I had to make him stop before I gave into the urge to punch him in the face; I remember him asking, “But ain’t that how you do it?  That’s how I do mine!”  That would explain why his junk looked like he had some permanent bruising…  Since I complained about his jack hammer technique, he decided to give me a rather nice blowjob.

I know that I’ve finished off a guy with my hand because I either got tired of sucking him, wanted to see him shoot his load, or his pre-cum told me that the real deal wasn’t going to be very tasty.  I know guys have asked me to just jerk them off… but I still can’t remember the first time a guy did me like that; it’s not really bothering me but it is bothering me because one would think I’d remember it… but it is what it is and with the way my luck tends to run, I’ll finish this, move onto something else, and then I’ll remember that first time and who did it, where it was done, the whole nine yards.  I might even be able to figure out why I woke up with this on my mind…

 
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Posted by on 30 April 2014 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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The Next Thing

I’m taking a break from playing Borderlands 2 – downloading a new game – and cranked up WordPress to check on things… and saw this in the Top Searches:  Male masturbation.

First thought was, “What guy doesn’t know about this?”  Next thought was, “Well, maybe the searcher is a woman who might be wondering why her guy is spending time spanking the monkey?”

Ya know, I really need to not pay attention to the Top Searches thing…

Anyway – and since I did see it – my thoughts drift back to my youth and hearing all the crazy bullshit about growing hair on your palms, going blind, that it’ll make you retarded – just insane shit that came from who knows where.  I recall there was a lot of shame attached to pulling your pud and since it was grown-ups laying this crap on us, a lot of us – myself included – got caught up in a conundrum of sorts:  It’s right there, standing up and begging for attention… but, damn, why am I feeling so bad about this?

Huh… having those thoughts in my head didn’t make me not do it but for a while, shit, there was always that icky feeling afterwards, you know, like you just did something you had no business doing and maybe even wishing that you hadn’t because the guilt over pleasuring yourself was just so overwhelming.  I recall a bunch of us were in our ‘clubhouse’ and whipped out our junk and started going for what we knew; those of us who could bust that nut did (and happily so) but one kid was so upset after getting his shit off that he threw up.

I remember him saying, “It’s no big deal – I always throw up after I do that…”

Guilt can be a real motherfucker, huh?  Of course, you eventually get from under all the imposed stigma; if you’re curious about such things, you even learn that it was once considered a form of mental illness!  You read further and learn some of the sadistic things they used to do trying to cure people from this horrid disease; I know it totally freaked me out they did shit like electroshock therapy to stop young boys from wanking off.

Later, you learn that not only is jerking yourself off a perfectly natural thing to do, it’s actually kinda healthy and, oh, yeah, they took masturbation off the official mental illness list in – get this – 1974 (or thereabout).  Still, try to get a guy to admit that he choked the chicken… then stand back and watch the show as he tries to categorically deny ever touching himself ‘down there’ for any reason.  All it really does is confirm that when it comes to pleasing one’s self in this fashion, we were still quite prudish and puritanical about it; you were not to do it, better not even think about doing it, don’t even admit or confess to doing something that one can almost easily assume that you’re doing anyway.

In my mind, there’s only one real reason to have fun with your junk:  It feels good.  I’ve said in the past that some folks I know actually have ‘reasons’ why they don’t do it, like, that’s what boyfriends/girlfriends are for, the thought here that if you’re actively having sex with someone, masturbating isn’t something you need to do.  I’ve heard of people doing it and, for various reasons, wind up being more frustrated than gratified, making them reluctant to do it at all (even though some still give it a shot).

I say that if you don’t do it, maybe you should and even if you have someone who’s willing to do it for you – there just ain’t nothing like doing it yourself!

 
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Posted by on 22 March 2013 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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