Thursday, June 9, 2011

Thursday, 5p.m.

I tucked you in so you could catch up on sleep.  We tend to abuse our time like this, staying up longer than we should since we enjoy each other's company so much.    You once told me I have an addictive personality.  While I know you meant I tend to get very attached to something I like, I sometimes wonder if you meant I can be quite addictive to have as well.

Questions.  Sometimes, I find myself surrounded with such questions.  They come and go and they sometimes appear out of nowhere, but when they do manifest they latch on to my head like a latex condom on a hard prick.

Okay.  That analogy was a tad out of place.  Or was it?  Sometimes I can't tell anymore.   I'm older than most expect for someone with raging hormones and an almost insatiable libido.  Someone of my age shouldn't be wanting seconds as often as I  do.   Someone of my age shouldn't still be jerking off at an almost nightly basis.  But is it really that bad to enjoy such a self-serving habit?  Or is it just long ingrained Catholic Guilt still whispering in our ears?

Again, the questions.  

They really come and go quite quickly.  They emerge when you least expect and snuggle between the folds of your brain.  Sometimes the questions are delicious, like warm lubricated fingers that gently slip past your inner ring, and find that sweet spot that makes your body all electric.  These questions are thick and heady and almost always excite you to the point of wanting to share it to others.  Second cousins to rumors.  Bedmates to scandals.   But sometimes, questions are rough, painful and distracting.  They bite hard against your thoughts and you find yourself inwardly squealing like a false masochist tied in the bed of a true sadist.   You strain against the bonds and hear the incomplete answers like the jingle of chains and struggle to find sleep or release.  But all you can do is hear them jingle on and on like a non-stop last song syndrome stuck in reverse.   

There.  I lost it. 
The heat is gone.  The rudely straining erection has relaxed. 
My white boxer briefs will live to see another day.
Or night.
And you will get your sleep.
What was the point of this story?

Now that is a question, isn't it?

by Tobie


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