Dateline Special

Sometimes I walk into a room, an establishment, a party, or the like and I think, "This looks like the opening segment for a news magazine on TV."  More often than not, it's the sparsely populated dance floor that sparks it.  Combine that with guys wearing too much hair product, too much cologne, white adidas below stonewashed jeans; in addition to girls who've spent too long trying to change the color of their skin through UV bulbs and "natural" foundation sporting their crispy hair cigarette stained fingernails; all topped off with the incredible lights and sounds of overplayed ass-shaking hits.  Last night I was honored enough to babysit a friend as he got his drunk on, so we went to the only club in this entire city.  I was not disappointed to see exactly what I expected.  Some things I find socially intriguing: what are men supposed to do if they aren't dancing with a girl? Do we dance (which, if you weren't a member of Step Up 2, you probably shouldn't be doing all alone) and wait for a girl to come around? And when they do happen upon us,  we can't really ask to dance, but I perceive it as rude to just begin grinding up on some girl.  And when girls are dancing in groups with their cells in one hand and drinks in the other, it's impressive how well they can protect one of the members from an intruding penis.  The seamless choreography keeping the female covey free from intrusion was just astounding.  Even more impressive is how quickly people want to put their mouth on a stranger.  The end of the night approaches, leveraging people out of their shells.  Napkins and cell phones come out, grabbing numbers of people you'll never call.  It's incredibly predictable, and a little gross.  Maybe gross because it seems so seedy to me.  

Those little red panties they passed the test...

The Winner and I talk often.  She lives in Chicago, and is a few years younger than me.  Of all the people I've had phone sex with, she has the sexiest voice.  It's feminine and soft and petite, almost squeaky.  She also can be quite insatiable.   Last night I set out to fulfill her, to coax all the orgasms she wanted from her.  For most females I make sure they peak before me, hopefully more than once.  Last night was no exception.  She and I talk a lot about a possible visit to Chicago, and oh the places we would see.  Last night it was about a hotel room.  While most people associate it with the trysts and interactions mostly forbidden, I tend to think about it as an arena for crazier activity.  Call me lame, call me whatever, but I live at home with my parents.  I am still in college, I go to school 15 minutes from home, and it saves a HUUUUGE amount of money.  Why would I pay when I can get it for free? Plus, my parents are pretty cool, and I am close with them.  So there.  

I guess I'm saying the same thing, maybe crazy activities are forbidden since I live at home. Whatever, back to the story.  

She arrives at the room and knocks on the door.  Since I can usually be found relaxing in a pair of basketball shorts without a shirt on, that's how I answer her call.  The door opens and she is happy to see my attire, quick to make herself comfortable against my chest.  Females are nice in their ability to be so damn soft: the smell, the hair, the clothes.  Even their bodies are designed with an uncanny softness. I hug her back, wrapping my larger body around her frame.  The anticipation of waiting for her, and finally seeing those mile-long legs climb up to her cute ass, and the feeling of her statuesque stomach and breasts pressed against me have pulled a rapt attention from me.  My shorts do a poor job hiding it as she makes her way into the room, as I shut the door behind me.  She wore the little jean shorts she brags about owning.  She was right, and I am hooked.  I don't allow her to sit down before I approach her from behind and begin kissing her neck, in all the intersections and creases.  Below her hairline, behind her jaw, down the side of her neck to her collarbone I proceed with lips and teeth.  The biting gives the chance for her to feel a small pain in contrast to the tender warmth of my affection.  My hands on her sides lift her soft little t-shirt and cami (she is adamant that I use the right word) off her warm skin.  They follow the natural lines of her muscle to the front of her body, rolling back and forth between the inside and outside.  My mouth reaches her cheekbones as her hand pulls my head down towards her mouth.  My soft voice rumbles in her ear about how I want to see her panties.  The Winner tells me to take off her shorts so she can show me.  My fingers make their way inside the waist, and trace the circumference of her hips.  I release the first button and unzip (why girls even have those inch and a half zippers on their pants is beyond me).  I instruct her to pull them off without turning around.    The feeling of her barely-covered rear inside her little red boyshorts makes my flesh sing.  My hands reach to the front of her and pull her as close as possible.  Standing with her body against mine, my hands on the meeting of her panties and skin, I want to make her cum.  My deep voice resonates in both our chests as I question when the last time she was fingered without having her panties removed.  The Winner says it was junior high. "Exactly," I thought.  My deliberate movements bring my three greatest fingers to light on the wet spot developing on her boyshorts.  The first two joints used as one consolidated unit are quite effective at applying firm and constant pressure where needed.  The right hand may be busy on the fabric, but the left wastes no time in pulling her leg open. My touch seems to facilitate a clenching of the thighs that makes access a difficult issue.  I continue undulation, allowing my hard excitement to rub against her little red boy shorts.  As her breath is drawn faster and faster, my stimulation moves in turn.  More and more pressure, accelerating pace, pushing myself into her more and more.  Her voice begins reaching out. She's getting close and I push through the pain in my wrists so that the ultimate pleasure will be hers to express to me.  She approaches.  I wait in selfish anticipation. For the second her breath comes in without going out and her neck stiffens, I see complete exposure.  Beautiful.  Then she releases.  And I am so happy.

On education

I am a student professionally. The value of texts, lectures, discussions is not lost on me.  Entering into any kind of performance evaluation, be it simulated or real, without preparing to the best of one's ability reflects a lack of resources (time, materials, etc.) or, more often, concern.  Up to this point, the best schooling I have had in regards to romantic encounters has been my own experience.  So, as a studious seeker of the best possible information, I have decided to educate myself on such things.  I began by reading some blogs on casual sex encounters--maybe my first interest wasn't education, but come on, can you blame me.  My schema of sex up to this point has been very dichotomous, blame my religious schooling, my hot and cold maternal relationships, my inexperience, a combination of all three or just the Freudian theory you are most comfortable with:  Women are not sexual beings, men are the aggressors, the great desirers of sex.  Men show their terribly uncontrolled souls at every opportunity possible, always being the perverts and uncontrolled hedonists every one knows them to be.  As a male of morals, integrity, and honor it would be out of line and disgusting for me to use women, to enjoy women, to enter into a sexual adventure with a woman for pleasure's sake alone.  

I am escaping this.  The blogs I have read, and people I have spoken to have turned my beliefs upside down.  Much like a class can change everything you once held true about a subject, I am finding more and more that women and men are similar.  There are hots and colds and pinks and blues among both genders.  If anything, it appears women can experience better sexual pleasure, in more ways, and with more frequency than men.  So logically, who would be more likely to go to a restaurant? The patron who could choose from a large variety of the best meals, eating and never tiring? Or the diner who can choose only from a limited number of dishes that all taste about the same, but only able to enjoy for a finite time?  Maybe too simple, maybe too metaphorical, maybe too unfair.  Makes sense to me, though.  

Now I have gone a step further in my education efforts.  I bought a book on how to increase my romantic ability. Not intimate ability! Romantic ability.  My pride is far too important to cliff notes my ability to enjoy the most satisfying part of sex for me-- pleasing a woman.  This book, I hope, will bolster and sharpen the skills already in place.  I know I have game, I know I have skillllz, but often it's a confidence issue.  I think this book will reassure me, will help me avoid some of my handicaps, and will be something to boost my confidence.  I was afraid to buy it.  My pride is something that drives me to succeed and causes nausea each time rejection is around.  It's also the thing that has kept me sex free for months now.  So I bought a book on how to help me attract females.  I want to meet women and have sex....ual interaction with them.   And I eventually realized I wouldn't try to do a job without reading the training manual, or take a test without listening to the professor, so why would I be stubborn and not increase my knowledge before I went trolling for cooch?  

PS If you think I really refer to women as cooch, you are right.

Some of the time.  

Some history, maybe some mystery

In the spirit of beginning, it's only fitting I open with some events that led me to where I am now.  I grew up in a semi-small town in the Midwest.  I can hardly go anywhere without knowing someone, and I graduated from high school in a town not too far from my college.  My freshman year of university was spent wrapped up, nose to toes, in a girlfriend.  I did not live on campus, I did not join a frat, I did not do anything but devote.  It took a few months of my sophomore year for her and I to break up.  She cheated, I forgave, she cheated again, I forgave.... you understand the picture.  In defense of my dignity (which I suppose is like defending Sadaam Hussein: no hope), she was my FIRST girlfriend, we had met during high school, and all the typical crap.  She eventually crawled back, but thats a different story, maybe for another time.

How does this lead to where I now reside?  

As already evidenced, I have not chosen to partake in many of the activities of my peers.  Do not mistake me, this is not some judgmental soapbox I use to crash on others.  As you will see, my vices are not underrepresented, just directed differently.  Since I am reasonably inexperienced in romantic matters ( again, my choice, the opportunities have been there, I just find myself not interested), and without a great deal of social network, I come to the place I am now.  

And for the first time I have to examine, as objectively as possible, that place.  

My vices are sexual.  I do not drink, I do not do drugs (see above if you think I'm judgmental or pretentious, because I think it's all the same).  I have desires that equal most people my age, but I do not have physical avenues to take to express them.  Again, the chances have been presented, but I have not done anything for one reason or another.  More often than not, I am just not that interested.  In short, it has been a while since I have touched anyone.  I blame myself, and no one else. 

Still having desires, and not wanting to play tennis with a brick wall all the time (if you don't get that reference, watch American Pie. Jim's dad is a cool guy, and the scene with Nadia is still quite exciting all these years later), I wanted to find ways to interact with others sexually.  I got on the internet, and I found the answer.  Different sites offering different things, and all the stuff that goes with that.  At first, it was going to be something to boost my ego, to get me going after the break-up.  But it's become a safe thing, a risk-free thing, and was a pretty satisfying thing for a long time.  I have met a lot of people, and learned a lot. This blog will explore some of those interactions, some of those people, some of my feelings about it, some of the dangers of it, and my life as I see fit to discuss here.

Beginning

I don't know exactly how to say this but......

I have been reading other people's blogs: reading about the adventures, the whims, the rants, the politics, the harmonics, the sodomists, the hedonists, the follies, the dripping lips of QWERTY.  The purpose of this blog is to tell someone about my life, the Jekyll and Hyde (and another side I can't find a clever name for) that exists.  I want to just let it happen in a natural way, and to be honest with it.  Perhaps the first step towards finding reality is acknowledging its presence after the fact; seeking it out in a way impossible at the time and reconciling it with what you perceived.  The marriage of the two may be growth, may be truth, or just may be inane existential ramblings of a college-aged, over-thinking, male.  Does it really matter enough for me to question?

Obviously, or else I wouldn't be writing this.

The name comes from something I read on a door.  Something that, at the time was incredibly perfect.  When I least expected it and when I most needed to hear it, these words scrolled across my perspective:

Everyone is Waiting

For you to be as Great As they always knew you were

Be unafraid