Patriotic boners

Bear came a couple times or so since I last blogged, and I came as well, again after 20 days. “About every 3 weeks” is quickly becoming the new normal, from “about once a week” a month and a half ago. I miss more frequent orgasm, and I like knowing that I want to come and am not allowed to.

We had an argument Sunday over whether it is creepy to hit on a woman in an elevator (yeah, that thing), and male privilege, and other related topics. I am increasingly interested in social justice in a broader sense, including feminism, and Bear’s not reading the same stuff I do, so when I call him out and say “I think you’re speaking from male privilege, there”, that doesn’t compute in his world, and it leads to an argument and hurt feelings. We resolved it with some talking.

It did put a crimp on my service vibe. I’m wasn’t really feeling it, but I’m was going through the motions. Fake it till you make it. And while I was sure I’d get back to a feeling of happy devotion eventually, I stayed in a funk longer than I thought I would, several days after our argument had been resolved.

Happily, I woke up yesterday night feeling unreasonably horny. Being that I was half asleep, putting on some toys and starting to stroke the cock head seemed like a grand idea. That roused Bear.

“Hey!” he says sharply. “Are you masturbating?”

“I am,” I say.

“Doesn’t that mean you’re touching your frenum?”

I want to. The combination of ball weights and plug and my hand on the top of my cock head feels fantastic, and I know that if I just get a minute or so of full stimulation, I’ll come. And it’ll be a good one, too, fireworks and gasps and sensory overload. If only I can close my grip and wrap my hand around.

And that’s why I’m not allowed to do that. So “No” is all I say.

“Oh okay,” he says.

I went to sleep again after that, though reluctantly and with some whimpering.

In the morning, when serving him breakfast, Bear apologized for accusing me of touching my frenum, and I apologized for waking him in the middle of the night. “You look ripe,” he quipped, commenting on my swollen balls. And then he teased me to distraction for a leisurely 15 minutes or so.

What I am reading

A blog by sex workers. Interesting insight into that world. Crazy stories about entitled-feeling dudes on 9/11 2001, whose boners would not be denied.

 

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