Fantasies in the space between lust and desire...  

PDXbb 43M
2 posts
8/29/2006 2:43 pm

Last Read:
8/29/2006 2:58 pm

Fantasies in the space between lust and desire...


I posted these elsewhere on a BB, but I realized that this writing probably was looking for a home here...

Woke up this morning, as an old friend once put it, so horny that I could fuck mud. So horny that I could even consider leaving one of those hail mary, fuck me now personal ads, "Must lick your pussy today, I am in East Portland... Please sniff the stench of my desperation..." I took pictures of myself that I still am considering posting, because this site sure doesn't have enough pictures of lonely guys flashing cock... I thought about the stories I am sketching in my head to submit to the site, but I am too distracted to form coherent fantasies today... Instead I think about this and that, moving through a rapid fire of fantasies so quickly that none quite takes hold...

I think about the hot woman who lives across the courtyard, how my swimsuit almost embarrasses myself every time I see her at the pool, I think about her knocking on my door right now for some random reason, and I open hoping my thoughts do not betray me as a bad plunky bass line starts up on the sound track...

I think about the gorgeous woman in blue jeans in the picture thread who wants people to write her telling her what they do when they look at her pictures... I think about what I would do if she was here, dressed like she is in her pictures...

I think about being watched, I think about watching... I think about you watching me as I watch you...

I think about writing new endings to missed possibilities...

I think about C., who once called me an ex-boyfriend though I never thought of her as a girlfriend since we never consummated, never even kissed... I think about the time at the club when she looked perfect and I could not take my eyes off her as she danced, and I sat there feeling like the luckiest man in the world because she was there with me, and then she came over to me and sat on my lap, and I quickly had to stand and offer her the seat because I did not, because we had never kissed, because we had never made love, want her to feel what she was doing to me...

I think about the woman at the party with the long curly red hair who, late, as the night was winding down, drug some dorky wannabe rocker over to the couch I was sitting on and performed some strange lap dance move on him that started with a grind and ended with her legs in the air with her skirt up, panties pointing at the ceiling, with the back of her head resting in my lap. She did this three times as her friends snickered and pointed, and I always wondered what the story behind this scene was...

I think about when N. and I were on vacation in Santa Barbra, staying with one of her old friends. I think about how her friend once said, "you two are really quiet, I don't hear you at night." There was nothing to hear. I think about our trip to the beach, with N.'s swimsuit revealing the dark edges of her pubes as her friend lay out topless, perfect breasts and hard nipples, and how the scene made me hard, and how I laid there on my back and didn't care, hoping someone would say something (again, cue the bad bass line), and assuming that no one would... I think about later that night when her friend and I gave N. a massage as she lay there in her underwear and, again, no lines were crossed... After the trip, the two quit speaking to each other and I never knew why, but I always wondered if some proposition was made and refused... But I am a guy, and so horny I could fuck mud today.

I should be working now, writing about dead poets, but I cannot focus. I should go out and do something, but I fear that I would start humping on the first beautiful woman I saw like a bad puppy dog. I should just jerk off and deal with it, but the though of coming alone saddens me...

Instead, I write about desire and I write about the failure of desire.

I wonder what would have happened if I did not move, letting C. feel what she was doing to me. I wonder what would have happened if I had moved my hand a half an inch during N.'s massage... I have been bold in the past, but those times the courage in my heart failed me, and now... I sit here like a virgin, constantly wondering, worrying, and dreaming...

I am proud of myself, I feel like, when I am in a confident mood, that I look better than I ever have in my life. I feel like I have more to offer a lover than I ever have before in my life, but life can be cruel, and I live in a town where I know practically no one in circumstances where I can meet practically no one, and I worry that it has been so long that I have forgotten the art of seduction, but there has been no one to seduce.

So I sit here like a born again virgin, marveling at my arousal, wondering if it will ever be put to use, and dreaming of times long ago left behind.

Just random musings on a random day...
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Here I am. There I go...

#2 Today, 01:54 PM
mastvam
Really Experienced
Location: Up over there, that way, someplace...



Days later and the mood waxes and wanes. It is only that, a mood, and it comes and goes, usually lurking like a quiet tickle behind my more pure thoughts, but then some days it rises up, like a screaming temper tantrum howling in my ear…

I woke up thinking about her. Maybe it was the residue of a dream, leftovers from sleep following me into the morning, but if it was, I do not remember the dream itself. Somewhere, between my desire for a smoke and a hot cup of coffee, a vague sense of arousal followed along, and I poured my coffee and sipped it in the cool air out on my porch. Smoking that first, best cigarette of the day, my thoughts kept returning to the redhead from class…

The first time I really noticed her, she was standing next to me at a stop light, after class, staring intently across the street with her nipples driving through the thin fabric of her just tight enough top. I dropped my cigarette and, picking it up, I thought about how, if I was directing this scene in a movie, I would call this too cliché of a reaction… But it happened. I watched her move, as much out of curiosity as lust, a few paces in front of me until our paths parted.

As the quarter passed, we spoke regularly and even e-mailed a couple times about issues regarding the course. It came out that she was probably about my age, a rarity, though she looked much younger. A couple times, especially after discovering we shared the same academic focus, the issue of getting together was approached, but for some reason I always backed off. Such is my unfortunate nature these days.

One day she was wearing tight blue jeans and, ending up in the row in front of me, she about made me lose my mind bending over to pull her books from her bag. More recently, this quarter in a different class, we spoke often and there seemed to be the possibility of something. And the air conditioning in the room, coupled with her summer clothes… She was crawling under my skin. I wouldn’t call it a crush, or pure lust even, but something else, a little of both…

Her last name changed between the two quarters. I hoped that it was a return to a maiden name. I do not know. Somehow, even having a vague semi-crush seasoned with a hint of possibility seemed better than knowing she was completely unavailable... This is probably why I never reduced the distance between us in the first place.

Drinking coffee, thinking vague thoughts about her… While I have some very erotic images of her burned into my mind, my brain does not jump into lust at the thought of her but towards a vague emptiness. I touched myself casually through my sweats for a moment, seeing if this mood was just a prelude to masturbation, to trembling fantasies rushing through my mind as I shudder and cum to a ghostly image, a reflection of who she might be… But no, it is not. As a part of keeping my distance, I have never jerked off thinking of her. I’ve thought of it and, briefly, thoughts of her were encountered on the way to orgasm in the past, but I never lingered within any vivid sexual fantasies of her…

I think I am afraid that if I did this I would develop a real crush on her. And I wonder why I don’t let that happen, why I fight against it?

It has been two years since my marriage ended and I seek no return there on any level, no lingering hope of reconciliation holds my hand back, I am free to reach out… It has been three years since I’ve had sex, four years, at least, since I have made love… These are territories unknown to me. Before, the longest I ever went without sex was about six weeks.

I took some time. I held off. I went on my obligatory “I am free now” dates and then called the whole thing off. I focused on my return to school and on raising my boys. If something was dying inside, it was slipping away quietly in its sleep, not “raging against the dying of the light,” so to speak. I tell myself it is time and place and fate, and I have not been in the time and in the place at the same time as fate, so I tell myself it is life and the world, that it is not myself.

But sometimes I worry. Maybe I grew old over those years. Maybe my personality changed into something despicable through the strange metamorphic pressures of a bad marriage and the death of dreams… But love happens anyway, I know this, and the old dreams have been replaced by new and better ones and, for the first time in years, I like looking in the mirror again. A little more rugged than before, a little different than before, but I see me in there again.

And lust is there. Unlike some, I feel a healthy lust is a good thing, not something to be embarrassed by, not something admitted to, bound by guilt, as a weakness of the mind or soul. I think of the night not too long ago, sitting at the bar, marveling at the bartender. She was the perfect combination of cute and sexy, wearing tight jeans, sexy glasses, and a low cut blouse aggressively working its deadly duty with light and shadow as she went about her tasks… More lethal, though, was the confident cock of her hip as she would stand at the counter, drawing a beer from the tap or ringing up someone’s bill.

It was all I could do to sit there, in my half hard stupor, trying not to stare, trying to focus on the words in a book that I wasn’t even that interested in the first place, even before seeing her. I let myself drift on the waves of attraction for a while. I did not stare. There are many places in town for one to go to stare, though I find no attraction to those places when I am in a lonely mood. I did not act the role of the sex-starved pity vacuum or of the creepy loser, I hope, and I have known these guys; clear examples of paths not to follow at such moments.

But I did sit there for awhile, subtly enjoying the feeling of arousal, letting my mind wander, thinking about how I would like to run my fingers lightly from her thigh up to the small of her back, how I would like to pull her close to me, feeling her perfect firm curves against me, that tingling wind blowing through us as we both almost silently sigh…

Pure fantasy, but it was good, clean fun, I suppose. I knew she had a brain and a boyfriend, one good and the other irrelevant. I learned along time ago not to pursue the women who serve your vices. It was just a momentary fantasy in passing, and her unavailability even contributed to my desire. I though about the kink in her hips as she stood there at the bar as if she was defying something or someone, challenging life in some way. I wondered if she had made love before her shift. I wondered if she smelled like sex. I wondered if she could feel his seed wet inside of her, seeping out of her, as she prowled back and forth behind the bar.

All right, that’s enough, I told myself. My glances from book to woman were starting to occur too often, the line between healthy appreciation and disgusting lechery was being delineated, and I retreated to a booth, to focus on my reading, to save my fantasies for a later, more private moment…

In these two experiences, I can sense the source of the shadows haunting me these days… The woman who is available I draw back from, the unavailable woman almost makes me shoot in my pants, but really, it is more complex than such armchair head shrinking. Both women fuel the empty feeling. One represents the lust of my cock, the other the lust of my heart, but both ache not so much for touch, but for someone to want to touch them. I miss being desired most of all. Not in the causal, accidentally noticed glance of a stranger, but by someone who, in the right place at the right time, can let me know what they feel about me.

And this is why I pull back from that classmate right now, because it is easier to live with the possibility than the certainty. With so little room for matters of love and lust in my life right now, I’d rather live with possibility than the end of all current hope. Though I will admit, I am not a complete wimp here. If it were not for the name change, I would have stepped up. I would have reached out. And I tell myself this often. Too often. Maybe it is still baggage; maybe I am not ready yet. It can be very difficult telling the difference between wanting to be ready and actually being capable of sharing oneself with another.

And maybe it is only time, and maybe it is only place, and maybe, with myself, I discuss these matters too much… No matter how you cut it, a little self-confession is always good for the soul, hence these words.
__________________
Here I am. There I go...


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