So I’m making it official. This blog is dead. I did not come to this decision lightly because I have appreciated immensely the process of blogging and the wonderful connections I’ve made with people. This is certainly not the ending – by no means. There are other outlets to keep in touch with people I know and the community of people that having this blog has led me to. And who knows I might reappear again some time down the road – just not here.

There are many things that have been left unwritten, but I will have to find a new way to express them. But the circumstances of my life right now make this choice the honest and healthy choice for me. Just know that I am in the absolute best place in my life that I have ever been, and I have SR right there with me. There are many, many unknowns – those unwritten stories – but the prognosis is strong.

I know there are thousands and thousands of abandoned blogs out there. And there are many more that just disappear. However, while I am letting this blog go, I will not give it up. It’s a part of who I am and always will be. Also, I have been profoundly grateful to have been contacted by other men in my situation who have found it useful. I have even been more grateful for the wives of bi men who have found me and thanked me for this blog.

As a bi married man I understand the tremendous agony and grief there is in coming to terms with one’s sexuality in the context of a marriage. I cannot claim to have done it all perfectly, but I can only claim to have been as honest as I could be and to hopefully provide comfort to those who feel they are alone.

To those people who find this blog you can always email me if you would like. I also highly recommend two online groups of support:

For bi/gay husbands — Husbands Out to Their Wives (HOW) is hosted on queernet but you can email Frazer Jones (frazer.jones@gmail.com) in order to gain access.

For wives of bi/gay men — Alternate Path is a Yahoo group my wife has found useful.

Thank you all for your time, comfort, support, friendship, flirtations and most of all for reading. To quote one of my favorite blogger friends, Marcello….

I freaking love you guys,

Mark (aka Raven in NYC)

Ok, honestly there are many legitimate reasons why I have not written on here in a while. But I’m not going to go into them. Ultimately, the bigger reason is that I have spent about 3 years writing on here, which in blog years is like 30. Sharing much of myself and my experiences. In many ways I feel as though I have said all that I might want to say or could say – at least that I’m comfortable saying in this venue.

Why don’t I just delete the blog and move on? Two reasons. First, there is a vanity aspect of this. I have enjoyed the attention and more so enjoyed the connections I have made with people. But second, and more importantly, I still from time to time receive random emails from people who have found my blog, read it, and have been happy to have found it. I realize that in the world of bloggers, even the smaller subset of sex bloggers, being a bisexual married male in a semi-open relationship is very rare. So call it my own public service announcement or something, but I can’t quite let it go.

In the last week my blog has risen to the surface again not because I had any new desire to write, but because it overlapped with my real persona for the first time. I know that I go by Raven sometimes on here, but if you look at my history you can see I quickly dropped the Raven name and went with a more normal name. Having mixed with the Buring Man crowd I know there are a lot of people who use alter ego names. It’s just not something that fits me. However, the fastest way to identify myself in the blog world is by Raven so it remains. Plus I do still love the title and meaning of my blog’s name.

Earlier this week SR and I were at a party with friends. The party was of the more open and sexual nature – though entirely PG-13 rated (well maybe R since there was some full frontal nudity on televisions.) At the party I came face to face with a long-time blogger friend as well as some other internet personalities that I know. It was actaully a great experience and one that I was happy to have. Also, the inner fag in me loved and appreciated being called the Greta Garbo of bloggers. I was fully outed, which was fine with me. SR knew that this was possible and our friends (well at least one half of the couple) knew about it as well. However, there were a number of other factors in play that made the night slightly weird for me and some of the issues after difficult. (I apologize for being overtly vague on details, but it shouldn’t be much of a leap to figure out why).

Things were still a little sticky in the last couple days, but I think things are generally fine. But this kinda brings up an important point for me and I’m sure for fellow bloggers or even for people who have a non-traditional aspect to their life. SR is entirely aware of my blog. She chooses not to participate. Her biggest concern is that I keep things as anonymous as possible, which I am fine with. As a general rule we’re not looking to out ourselves completely. The world does not need to know all about us any more than they would if we had a traditional straight marriage. I would no sooner share the details of my sex life with friends and co-workers if it was the vanilla-iest of experiences. There is an aspect that makes me feel a little disingenuine about myself, but I think that is more of me being proud and not ashamed of myself in any way. I’m not looking to be a poster boy or couple for anything. I started writing my blog as a way to verbalize my own struggles with my sexuality and my marriage. But it was also as a way to put it out there for people to know about and comment on. Over the years I’ve done a lot of self-promotion out there because it not only felt good to be part of a community of people that understand and respected my place, but I know that people struggling with the same issues appreciated having someone tell a story they could relate to.

Even in the context of SR and I being open we maintain a level of anonymity. It is one thing to run into someone you know who is also looking for the same things you are because then you there is a shared aspect to it. They are not looking to scream it from a corner in Times Square any more than we are.

However, when things start to overlap and I inadvertently open doors for friends that maybe they are not ready for it becomes an issue. I recognize and acknowledge the risk in putting myself out there in this way, but it is a risk that I am comfortable with and one that SR is comfortable with as well.

It was inevitable that there would be a time when my online person and my “real life” person colliding together. I’m glad that it happened this week without question, but it certainly was a new experience for me.

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no more hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come,

Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the stone were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.

The River sings and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.

Today, the first and last of every Tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River.

Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveller, has been paid for.

You, who gave me my first name, you
Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
Other seekers—desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot …
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me.

I am the Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours—your Passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.

History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.

Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.

Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.

Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

No less to Midas than the mendicant.

No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes, into
Your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

Hello Raven.  I got the chance to read through your blog.  It was inspiring.  I thought this might strike a cord with you.

Beautiful Things

“Your invite?” he asked. He flashed a half-hearted smile and seemed to enjoy my awkward fumbling as I perused pockets for the postcard sized invite. It was Fall and the first cold snap had me wearing and additional layer. Wool trench over double breasted gray tweed; More pockets and them some.

I found the card and offered it up, but he barely noticed it as he scanned ahead. Possibly looking for a starlet for later fucking, possibly an agent, but I was of little concern. Although he managed a downward glance and my companion’s flawless legs as she passed. Small victory.

Inside the gallery the air was dry. That large space, hardwood floor, no dust and fresh touch-up paint kind of a way. Dry and charged with the eclectic buzz of shmooz.

Large paintings draped from exposed girders, and an inattentive crowd of art adorers milled about with obvious importance. The moved with thick disconnect, a sea of black suit/ black cocktail dress flotsam and jetsam. I watched it ebb and flow from the beach called “Coat Check,” as I waited for my wrinkled cardboard number.

“Drink?”

“Yes,” I said. “Gin, tonic, …you know.”

She moved away into the murky black mass.

Moments later she retuned with two drinks. Some non-descript sauvignon blanc, a gin & tonic. It was wet, not made well, but it worked.

I glanced down at the invitation I’d been dog-earing. Nice workmanship. Good spatial relationship. Helvetica? Yes. Always an appropriate font. Maybe the artist was sleeping with the printer. Artistic creativity through injection. I’d have to mention that to him in our next conversation. Caustic and sarcastic. Perhaps he might glean some shred of truth through the humor. Maybe not. Either way it is entertaining. The art is sincere… beautiful.

Glad to have her again by my side, I raise my left hand to her partially exposed back. I enjoy the feel of her cool skin under my fingertips as I slide my hand down and fall comfortably onto the small of her back. My pinky finding it’s favorite home in the clef of her buttocks. I feel her almost step, as this is the “let’s mingle” gesture, but then she relaxes for it is also the “Your prettier than anyone I can see,” touch. I grin and kiss the slope of her neck from behind.. A reward for her intuitiveness.

She sips her wine and looks away toward the right. She eyes the piece nearest us, and I watch her follow the cables to the girders above. She is possibly thinking of the chances of a fall. A tragic art catastrophe. She is dark. It’s humorous.

My eyes go to the left and I observe the swell of participants. Where did he get this list? Certainly not his crowd. I again blame the printer.

A parting of the black sea, and He is there. I feel a jolt. Fight or flight plays its magic on me. My armpits instantly slick as the bolt of adrenaline pushes sweat out of my pores and through my deodorant. He is here.

Different circles, different interests. This is a situation that was not to happen. I feel my chest expand as I take the breath I apparently forgot to take.

Though not a fan of H G Wells and his time machine, I wax Einstein and am reminded of the theory of relativity. Expanding time, blah blah. I look at him for a moment and think a month of thought. Has time stopped? I take the smallest of steps in a feeble attempt to block myself behind my companion.

I cannot look away. It has been only a week but I am without control. I taste his lips, his tongue. The smell of his sweat after exertion, the intensity in his eyes as he prepares for me to enter him.  I feel my testicles move in my pants. They posture like furry bulls: their matador ahead.

I want him, and the need is immediate. Only the fear of the situation contains my lust; yet this is cerebral. My cock fills slowly as it rebels, despite my best efforts to think of Sister Paul-Mary from Junior year biology. What may happen? I should run. A quick exit. Yet I remain transfixed. My heart begins to beat. Not faster, just deeper. Can he hear that from all the way over there?

I want to leave. Leave now. Leave before I am seen. The feelings are overwhelming, and again I half-step farther from sight.

She is there.

Was it the smell of pheromones? Did I grunt lustfully without knowing? Did my hand caress her ass as I thought of caressing his?

She arches her back slightly and finds my hard-on with a practiced maneuver. I don’t pull away and become enraptured in the sheer deliriousness of the situation. My lips once again find her smooth skin, and I exhale lustfully making the wisps of her upswept ebony move. She turns her head and allows me to find her flawless jawline with a gentle bite. I close my eyes and swim in this moment. I am Buddha. Greetings from Nirvana: wish you were here…

Without a word, here fingers gently entwine my own, and she moves toward the coat check room. There is no need to speak. Mouths will be for other things this evening.

She begins to lead slowly through the dense crowd and I follow; A certain hint of melancholy as I feel the space betwixt us grow. I want to speak to him. Mention how the mere sight of him has affected me. How I wish I could share this moment with him so he would understand the dichotomy of my existence. I don’t want to leave him; Yes, I want to be with her. How to make him understand?

I look up. Steal a glance. One more chance.

She is there now.

Now his back is to me and I see her. The first time. She is stunning. Her arms over his shoulders, glass of champagne in hand: her eyes looking into his. She has seen those eyes. The eyes that make my back arch, my chest expand, my muscles tense. The eyes that pull a different masculinity from deep in my somewhere. What, I wonder, do they pull from her?

He moves his hands down her waist and they disappear from my sight. I know where they are going, and I see the grin on her face as they move to her bottom. I can see him push his hips against her, and I know what is growing between them.

The experience is exquisite. I look away, satiated.

There is no need to look back. It is perfect, beautiful. There is no further need to explain or speak or attempt futile foible fumblings. I don’t need him to see me tonight. Our shared experiences are enough for me this evening.

I stand behind her at the coat check counter and look up at the large piece hanging overhead. The piece is magnificent. One of his best. I gaze at it and lose myself for a moment. I must tell the artist this one is my favorite. It will always remind me of tonight. Her, him, …him and her.

She hands me her coat and I assist her with it as the crowd surges, and she is once again pressed against my hard cock. Her response is slightly more animal this time and her movement is more of a grind. Hidden by the crowd I allow myself the pleasure. I close my eyes and move my hand to her hips. Mmmmmm, I purr into her ear.

The crowd swirls around us and there is movement. Touch. Graze. Across the seat of my trousers.

I do not turn around. There is no need. I know whose fingers they were. I gasp and chuckle at the same time, and push against her hips as the fingers move contentedly move away into the crowd.

And as my eyes remain closed I image his grin as he walks away, his smile as he kisses her. They are mixed with visions of my wife’s eyes as we climax, the taste of her skin, her breasts, her pussy. I hear her speak.

“Beauty gets you hot, eh?”

“Yes,” I respond. Beauty gets me hot. 

I can’t hardly focus on anything. I’m working, but pushing papers around and not really accomplishing anything particularly noteworthy. I can’t even focus on twitter to get a good flow going there. I had one good conversation of note (with a gorgeously sexy woman who thinks I only want her equally sexy husband, but can’t seem to get past the fact that I’ve grown past simply lusting for him and totally into them as a couple), but that seems to have been the one off for the day. Plus she had a good morning and seems to have powered through (and by that I mean through the power of her vibrator) whatever stuff is bouncing out there.

But I think there is also residual effects of my bachelor week and reuniting with SR over the weekend. She flew in on Saturday, and right into a tropical storm, and she had to adjust to not being constantly going for work and of course a 5 hour time change. So while being back together and in the same bed was wonderful… we haven’t quite yet had the reunion she or I would have liked.

It probably also doesn’t help that I spent a good deal of time while she was away being the going flirtations slut that I am. Chatting, flirting, watching porn, jerking off, playing with my toys…. Mix them any and all which ways it might go and that was my week. Of course, it was an unrealistic, hedonistic bacchanal that can only have been enjoyed by me as someone who doesn’t get the alone time like that, dove right in to enjoyinig it, but realized pretty quickly that it left me lacking for more.

And while I would have needed a full on orgy this weekend with a mix of bodies and situations to fully satisfy that which I was building up for myself. So it was probably better that SR’s internal clock was cock blocking her.

But that still leaves me in this funky place. I think I need to get a little creative with planning for tonight. And we are LONG overdue for something more.

Then I felt a soft tingle up my spine. It wasn’t a finger. Something softer, gentler. Moving slowly from my waist all the way up to my neck. It sent shivers through me but their body held me firmly in place.

Then nothing. No movement. They didn’t move. I was starting to breathe heavy. My mind started to take over and panic set in. Who was it? What was going on? What was going to happen to me?

Before I had time to think more their hands were at my head. A black silk piece of fabric went over my eyes and was firmly tied behind my head. And my head was pushed into the bed again and forced down harder. Clearly I was being told that they were in control.

Their hand then pushed against my shoulders pushing my chest into the bed and causing my hips to rise into the air. The thickness between my legs shifted and was right against my hole.

My breaths were now heavy gasps. I couldn’t breath. I was caught up with the mixed emotions of fear, anticipation, arousal, and a dozen other emotions I felt all at once. My cock was intensely hard. I could feel it pressed between the bed and me – aching.

Again silence. No movement. It was like I was the only one in the room. Their movements were so restrained and controlled it was like they weren’t there. Like they were a ghost. Were they there? Was I just dreaming all of this. Mind mind racing through the crazy possibilities. What if it was…

….unhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

The thickness all of a sudden was slid into me. Fully and completely. The pain and pleasure hitting me equally. My ass being penetrated quickly and fast. It was amazing. Intense. The initial pain subsided as they left the thickness deep inside me. Letting me adjust to it. I pushed myself further back, taking it as far as a could. A deep and guttural moan escaped from my mouth. It was exactly what I wanted and needed. I didn’t care who and how, but it’s what I needed.

They slowly eased the thickness out of me. My ass savored every centimeter of it. And just before it was out it was shoved deep back into me.

“Yes. Please. Ah.”

I needed more. Sensing it. They started to pull out again. Quicker this time. Again pushing back in deep and hard. The pace quickened. The thickness fucking me now with deep and deliberate penetrations. The strokes were smooth and measured. The intensity building every so slightly.

Two hands grabbed my hips and pulled me up onto my knees. Holding my hips the thrusts were deeper and harder. My face on the bed. Moaning deeply and loudly. Begging for more.

“Fuck me. Take me. Yes. More. Harder.”

A hand ran up my back and grabbed my hair, pulling me up. It hurt, but the feeling of the thickness deep inside me, fucking me, took care of that. It felt too good to feel anything else. Pulling my head back like that made it harder for me to take air in. I was panting harder, my whole body working to get air while my ass was being fully assaulted. My hips started to buck. Pushing myself deeper on the thickness.

I felt a rush to my head. I was getting light-headed. My body taking too many sensations at once. The stimulation was overloading my brain, and it was fantastic.

They let my head go. My head went to bed again. I could feel all the sweat on my face now making the sheets wet. I was panting even harder. Begging. Moaning. As the thickness was thrust into me over and over.

My ass was so relaxed. I had no idea how long had passed, but I knew that it had to be a while because it takes a while for me to relax like that.

I felt them shift every so slightly aiming the thickness more upward with one hard thrust.

Wham.

Oof.

Right there that spot. That spot that sends a raging electrical current through my body. That elusive spot that I need patience to find when alone. That spot that others avoid because they are focused on their own pleasure. The thickness was stabbing at it. Sending waves through my body. And then an even more intense sensation started to form deep from inside. The slow building current from inside, just at the base of my cock. A warmth started to build and then exploded inside me, washing over me. My hips responding, bucking widely. My body involuntarily responding to the incredible sensations the thickness was giving to me. A warmth exploding out across my body. A steady and regular pulse center from that spot the thickness was hitting.

My cock was screaming. It needed release, but I could barely keep myself up. My cock begging to release the flow of energy rushing throughout my body. The waves building and now refocusing towards my cock.

I could feel my cock throbbing. Jerking wildly. The head reacting to the gentle stimulation of the bed under me every time the thickness drove into me.

I was going to cum. I could feel the load building in my cock. I could feel it slowly fill my balls and forcing its way up my shaft . The first bit dripping out of the head of my cock. But it needed more. It needed help. But I’d lost all control. I was being fucked so intensely I couldn’t react.

Then I felt something wrap tightly around the base of my cock. A hand. It was a firm but delicate hand. It gripped the base of my cock and slowly squeezed until it was tight around my cock and…

…ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

“Fuck. Yes. God. Yes. Yes. FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK”

Cum exploded from my cock. I could feel each spurt as it exploded from me onto the bed. It hit my chest and stomach. There was a draining rush as the energy coursing through my body rushed to my cock and was released with my orgasm.

Writhing. Bucking. Feeling each and every little sensation.

And then I collapsed onto the bed. My body completely spent. Drenched in my sweat and now my chest and stomach covered in my cum as well.

I still felt the thickness inside of me. The weight of their body slowly shifting off of me. The thickness slowly being pulled out. A last gasp of energy sent through my body causing me to buck against the bed. My ass and cock twitching wildly with the sensation of withdrawal. And then it was out of me.

I then felt someone lay next to me. They grabbed my shoulder to roll me onto my back towards them. I felt lips on my mouth. It was familiar. My lips parted. Our tongues touching. I felt their hands on my face. It was all so comforting. I knew who they were. I was safe.

Their hands grabbed the blindfold, pulling it off of me. My eyes blinking, adjusting. I looked into their eyes.

It was exactly who I thought.

It was her. The most beautiful person in the world.

It was SR.

There would obviously be a fair sized irony there, for me at least. That I started blogging to get over heartache and to try to sort out my life with regard to dating only to make myself undateable? I’m not sure that any of the three of us -actually- are but we all seem to feel that way. To the adult bloggers in the audience – do you feel that way too? To those of you reading along, what are your thoughts?

Obviously, none of us have trouble finding playmates. I guess what I’m wondering is whether blogging, like the law, is a jealous mistress.”

— From A Bad Man In A Bad Place

I found this quote fascinating because it’s something I’ve struggled with. SR knows that this blog exists. She knows that I have made some online friends through it or Twitter. I’ve even introduced her to some of the people that I’ve become friendly with. However, I’ve also asked her not to read the blog because it is often very frank and open… and well there’s all the pictures. Thing is she can easily come my blog whenever she wants. She insists she doesn’t read it, but I wonder if she doesn’t check it out sometimes just because.

Thing is I know that the blog is a tough thing for her. She doesn’t quite understand the point of it and she doesn’t get that I enjoy talking with new people online. But she doesn’t mind that I do it and she understands that it plays an important role for me.

However, I do know that this blog is hard for her. The reason is two-fold. First, she knows that I talk about her on it. I think she is afraid of the perception that I might put out there about her. She wonders what people who read my blog think of her. I try my best to fair to her, but I know there have been times when I’ve been venting that I might make her out to be who she isn’t exactly.  I often talk about the tough parts of our relationship and some of the most private. And while it has been a great exercise for me over the years in terms of figuring out myself and learning more about what I want, it about me. So I can see how she might feel that she’s not necessarily represented genuinely.

The bigger issue that she has brought up is that it is an entire part of my life that I don’t share with her. And she’s right. I have asked her not to read it. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid of the responses she might have. Or I’m afraid of what she might think. And while it’s not as though I’m completely hiding it from her I know that it is something that I keep to myself. I’m not sure what I’m afraid of exactly. But I know that not knowing about this part of me does make it hard for her.

Which brings me around to the analogy of the title of this post. I’ve written before that cheating is a wholly selfish act. Is this the same with blogging? Is blogging, for me anyway, a selfish act where I get to have my own private space to do what I need to do? Is this like what I did when I cheated on SR? That I was so in need to feeling out my bi urges that I just did it? Now connect this up to what Bad Man was talking about above. Is blogging an act that, when not shared with the person most intimately involved in your life, something that can make that person jealous and suspicious?

I think that unfortunately the answer is yes. Blogging has been compared to journal writing. On the surface that is true, but you don’t leave your journal at the local library for anyone coming by to read. Even if you did you’d also have to be sitting there ready for them to make a comment to with or maybe even to strike up a friendship with them because you get each other. Blogging is a private, personal exercise acted out in public. It’s like doing nude yoga in your back yard. Sure you’re doing it for the exercise, but you’re also showing off your body for anyone to see.

But where I think Bad Man and I get into trouble is we control the content and the interactions. The other people in our lives are at the mercy of our writing and the things that people say about them. It’s especially hard since we both can often write about sexual things. I know the conversations that I’ve had with people are often very open and often intimate. That can be dangerous territory for SR to take, especially when she doesn’t have a voice in it.

I don’t really know the full answer here or even if I made any sense, but I know that this is a topic I had wanted to write about before and Bad Man’s comment made me want to tackle it now.

The thing is that even if I invited SR to read my blog or even write in it, I’m not sure she would because it’s just not the type of thing that she likes to do. She started a blog once about 3 years ago and it lasted for 2 days. And again, I’m not sure I’m ready for her to see everything I’ve written on here either.

Ok, well that’s not even it exactly. While that would certainly be fantastic it doesn’t even need to be someone. I’d glad take this, or this, or this (can you tell I’ve done a little shopping over lunch? Oh btw the site I linked to – vibereview.com – is having an Obama for President sale. I have to admit that I love it when my politics and my sex get all mixed up.). 

I think that there has been some latent withdrawl (why does that sound dirty) from my time when I wasn’t working and I could still at home naked and get dirty with myself. Not that I did that every day, but there were a couple days where I certainly gave my ass a good working over. Then once the house move and the new job craziness kicked in there just wasn’t time to really think about things. I think it was also helped by SR being particularly in the mood in the last two weeks.

But as things are settling in I realize that it’s been way too long since I’ve had any kind of good fucking. The more I think about it I kinda feel myself starting on that quick surge on the urge wave. Things have been busy and my focus has been elsewhere that I’m really feeling the need to have some randy fun. Thing is I really can’t see a place to fit that into my schedule at the moment. Next couple weekends are filled up with things so it’s not like we’d have a weekend night for a 3-, 4- or more-some.

The interesting thing is that in the past when I’ve gone through these periods of really wanting some cock and/or something off the usual menu, so to speak, it led to feelings of restlesses and frustration. But for some reason I don’t feel that way at all. I know what I want and how I can get it, and I know there are variations to take care of things. Maybe I’m just on the early uptick in the urging, but I’m pretty chill about it.

Or maybe it’s because it’s not so much an urge for a guy or cock, but simply and urge to have my ass worked over nice and good.

Whatever it is… I need to figure out a way to get it taken care of!