Lame car/sex reference story time: Can you handle a stick

Everybody that has had a good time with someone in a Biblical sense has probably had to navigate steering wheel and center console.  Broad, sweeping generalizations in mind, Ms. Inconspicuous  inspired me to recall my most indulgent car ride.  I was a junior in high school, involved in a few extracurricular activities that I shared with Priscilla.  She was dating another member of these activities, a young closet case gay guy.  Everyone knew he was gay, he just hadn't revealed his fondness for playing catch yet.  Priscilla was in need of some sticky loving, and I suggested in semi-jest that she buy a dildo.  Her response was warm, and I thought it would be fun to push her to see how far it would go.  Eventually I figured out she wasn't joking, and she wanted to go get one.  Not wanting her to embark on such an adult journey alone, and seeing as how I was so experienced myself,  I promised to accompany her to the nearest retailer. 

The day came, we went to the store, and I was amazed at what I saw when I went in.  Sex shops are wild, especially for a Midwestern kid who had spent the first 14 years of his life baptized in the beautiful sexual honesty of a Protestant church.  A whole wall of cocks and knobbers, hehe sounds like cops and robbers, along with the shelves of clothing and videos assailed my eyes as I took all of the debauchery in!  I think the best part were the condoms and penis-shaped gag gifts.  Something penis shaped used as a gag gift?  I love that shit. 

It took Priscilla about 30 minutes to pick out the one she wanted, while I spent the rest of the time giggling like a high school boy at the hilarity of a penis pump demonstration video being played.  She called me over to ask my input on which one I thought was best.  If anyone else realizes the issue with this, I'm glad I'm not alone.  She made her purchase, and took her military-grade-plastic encased phallus, along with a 76 inch toy, back to her car. 

The sexual flirting that had taken place up to the point of getting back in the car was playful, cute, silly even.  Door shut, music down, it's biznass time.  Palpable tension in the air, and that awkward we-just-came-out-of-a-sex-shop silence enveloped us.  We've all been there-- two high school kids in the car trying to decide who the hell is going to put the included Double A duracells in the toy.  It's a pretty common thing. What isn't common is, after removing the Joe Cocker from his wrapping and providing it with current, my sudden notice of how savvy she had been.  "She's wearing a skirt," my mind recognized.  As she started to drive, her hands found their way to my trousers.  "Her nails have been Frenched up", my mind recognized.  At the nearest stoplight, her mouth met mine.  "She's wearing a fair amount of lip gloss and smells damn good," my mind recognized.  I have since figured out that these things are buying yes's.  I was naive, that's my only excuse.  

"Priscilla, why don't you take your panties off?"

"Okay," her sheepish voice responded.  For a girl who had gone a long way to make sure things were conducive to the act about to take place, she sure sounded tentative.  

As she and I made the trip back to our meeting place, I was impressed at her ability to focus on driving.  Despite the stop-and-go traffic, despite the men in utility trucks looking into the window at the girl with one foot in the seat and one hand on my hair, and despite the humming sound hokey-pokeying its way in and out, she was able to safely navigate the roads back to my car.  I remember the visual of her hand on mine between her legs as she grasped my hair with extra zest.  Thankfully, she waited until we came to a full and complete stop before she washed my hand with her orgasm.

After exchanging pleasantries, drying off some skin, and making jokes I got out of the car and went home.  I couldn't believe I had done that, and I still have problems understanding how everything had escalated so quickly. 

The extracurricular activities we shared at school? We were both in a musical.  

I played her father. 

  

Polar Decision Making

I find that decisions in my life can become black and white for me.  A friend of mine said boiling things down to dichotomy makes a choice simpler, cleaner.  That sounds correct, since I am a master of mental gymnastics, I have been prone to rearranging my mental world in order to relieve anxiety.  The difficulty lies in the outcome, the effects.  If I choose A, then A's consequences will be D.  If I choose B, then the consequences will be C.  There is no middle ground, no DC hybrid.  Not everything receives this this treatment, but many of the bigger decisions I make are part of this thought process.  My latest choice comes out of sexuality.  In the past I have been sexual with people, some of whom I was in a relationship with, some of whom I was not.  The just-for-funs (friends in fornication, to borrow from a blogger I love) have been wild, off-the-wall, crazy stuff.  Every time I see them now, I feel pretty ugly. After I did what I did with them, I felt pretty ugly.  Although I leaped ahead sexually with these people, I feel like I suffered psychologically.  Maybe that's what some sexual interactions do. I know that many women, most female friends I know, have suffered sexual trauma of some sort.  But these sexual acts I took part in were consensual, and I was old enough (according to the state) to make the choice.  The overwhelming noise in my head, trumpeting over my sexual desires for just-for-fun encounters, tells me to avoid the pain; avoid the ugly, terrible, dark feelings.  As for my relationships, the encounters do not merit discussion.  I know that when I see those people, my guilt and shame does not find its way into my head.  

So here's the dichotomy: 

If I have sex with people for fun, without the commitment and stuff, then I am going to feel the cesspool of disgusting feelings.  

If I have sex with people I am committed to, then I will be at peace with my choices. 

Obviously the answer is, "Just have sex with people you're involved with and shut up!" 

Here's the wrench in the whole thing: I want to just-for-fun fuck.  I don't want a relationship.  I want to experience my youth and virility.  

Thus the polar discourse within me begins.  My biggest question has to do with psychosexual health:

Do all people experience the shame and ugliness, or do some people escape that?  

Obviously anything I do at this point will affect me less than things I did earlier in my life, but is that because I have been desensitized to it?  Or is it that I now have the emotional maturity to deal with it? Again, the thought comes out as black and white.  It's most likely both.   

Perhaps there are things in me that enjoy the shame and guilt.  Those emotions might be comfortable for me at some level.  Sex is something to be ashamed of, in my mind.  Having sex in a committed relationship gives a get-out-jail card, in my mind.  Maybe that's where the polar express starts.  Within my most sacred emotions, I subscribe to the idea of right and wrong.  I went to a Christian school and attended church, boo-hoo, woe is my psychological well-being, you've heard it before.  Maybe I have to stop being the judge of my own behaviors, and just live in the way I want to live.  Maybe I need to just do something and see how I feel. Maybe I should stop being an introspective vagina and start being extroverted penis I was born to be!  

Inert

Without all the musings into soul and mind, I don't know if my desire to blog would be as keen.  Knowing that it can't be all heavy-worded explorations, today's entry is going to try to spare that. Some goings on for me: 

I am wearing what could be the most awesome shirt in the world.  This is the kind of shirt that doesn't belong in normal settings but is best left for the June days spent at the lake (for you coastal residents, the beach).  Today has been warm, almost hot, and I just can't help but think of my fondest memories of summer.

 

The rain will start falling soon, an event a man of my interests looks forward to.  The rains come down, and the floods go up.  While that spells soggy basements for others, to me it means I get to paddle.  Hopefully this season I can earn some legitimate injuries and war stories, since that's an automatic membership into the panty-dropping extreme sports club. Haha

I have been in school for the past 15 years of my life.  That's a long time, and I can't believe some people actually punish themselves by remaining part of the educational system well into their late 20's.  Everything I learn is just retained long enough to regurgitate onto a test, then quickly disposed of.  I'm sure college meant something to someone once upon a time, but I have lost interest.  If I wasn't being paid to go, I wouldn't.  Ok, maybe I would.  But honestly, why did I spend the first two years learning things from high school all over again? Jesus/ God/ Muhammed/ Abba, or as most of you know him, President Obama should focus on why that is.  

Politically, I am unaffiliated and uninterested.  It's mental masturbation, like religion.  Why don't people just grow up and get the job done instead of talking about who did what, and whose earmarks add up to more pork.  The founding fathers counted on our politicians to perform on behalf of their honor and integrity, read the Federalist papers if you think such things are wishful thinking.  Washington was a unanimous selection for President, turned down the offer to be king, and bowed out after he did what he came to do.  Nut tuggers like Harry Reid and Roy Blunt should remember what their role is, and not what they want it to be.  

Tomorrow I have a question to discuss, but on a scrumtrelescent Friday such as this I had to be more light.  

Like a Twitter cluster fuck

I don't use twitter, and I love the term cluster fuck.  It's beautiful outside, and when I say beautiful I mean sun out and painting the southern sky.  I mean the breeze of an equinox blowing over remnants of snow from a week ago.  I mean nature's exotic dancers at work: the plants begin to shed dead, brown, dry, crusty reminders of fall and reveal incredibly matched sets of underroos.  Green grass is like, what I presume to be, an Irishman looking at his favorite bonnie lass in only the least clothing possible, on St. Patty's day. And he's drunk.  And somehow potatoes and the Catholic church are involved.  I went for the racist motherload there, and I am excused since my ethnic heritage is like a pound puppy's.  I am not a pagan/wiccan/whatever the accepted vernacular is for it these days, but I see very easily the comparisons drawn between earth and woman.  The fertility in my nostrils is driving my hypothalamus insane.  I swore around mid-January that I was suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder.  While I am a psychology student, well aware of the truth in such disorders, I had always thought myself above such easily cognitively conquerable afflictions.  Turns out I was wrong, and it's not just easy to step out of.  I lost all kinds of pleasurable drives: food, sex, laughs.  But right now, I am about to go gorge myself on clamburgers (that's my new favorite vaginal euphemism) and fried food.  Gawd almighty the spring serves an incredible purpose.  Maybe I should sacrifice a goat and dance around naked in the back yard like our Druid friends. On the twitter cluster side of things, some thoughts: When there are double doors, and you walk squarely out of the locked one, do you also feel like a horse's ass? Sometimes when I am extremely riled up, mad or horny or excited, it helps me to put the biggest knuckle of my index finger in between my teeth and bend it as I bite down.  Maybe it's like a pussy version of cutting, the pain a way to control and express inner conflict, or maybe I'm a freak.  Lastly, when you meet someone for the first time, do you feel like you're in a job interview? I always get the following questions, usually in this order: Where are you from, What's your major, What do you plan to do with that degree, Are you in a frat (sorority girls love that one).  I don't get why those questions are accepted as the most pressing issues worthy of being noted by a stranger.  If I were a girl, meeting potential mates, I would think better questions would be things like Ever been arrested for a sexually violent crime? Do you drink to the point of belligerence? Is your car reliable? Do you want to just have sex and skip the bull shit and hurt feelings?

Is that just too simple, or am I missing something

A lot

I never realized how much I had to say to people who won't judge me until I started talking.  I know people aren't reading this blog as much as Ms. I or others, but the thought that someone might is enough to keep me interested.  So much I want to say consists of things that happened in the past, things that never passed my lips to anyone I know.  I am trying to stay current, trying to talk about my life as it happens, so I will save those stories for a day of bore.  My online perusing of ways to take part in intimate encounters seems to take me to a new place every day.  Craigslist is supposed to work for people, but I don't think my city is large enough for there to be any quality/real ads on there.  I have tried long and hard to find one, and last night, for the first time I found a real person.  Unfortunately, she does not look to be up to my standards.  Beggars can't be choosers, I know, but I am not necessarily a beggar.  Moreover, I am always going to be a chooser.  The fact that a real person responded to me was astounding-- I never post my own, and have mailed my fair share over the past months.  Ashley Madison also earned my interest (and my credit card number), but I think my location has hindered me.  Not only do I live in the Bible belt, where dreams are made of fairy tale shame spirals and guilt showers, but the city just doesn't have a population necessary to support a wide selection of people.  I am in my early 20's and single, so I understand that many women on AM would be hesitant to consider me an option.   If I could put aside the heuristic most women hold of a male my age regarding our emotional, intellectual, and sexual maturity (which is pretty accurate, but not for me); I would still have to battle the stigma of being single and young.  Both of these factors appear to increase the risk in women's minds: I have less to lose by not staying discreet, I may become attached, I may do something stupid and expose them, etc.  I do not know whether these fears are founded, since I have never been a boytoy for some married woman.  I do know that I am exceptional.  The belief that men, especially young ones, are concerned solely with their own pleasure does not hold true for me.  It has been my experience that I enjoy going downtown Georgia brown on a girl more than I enjoy having sex with her.  This may speak to the quality of my sex (that's a different story), or it may be a reflection of my deep-seeded need to earn a woman's affection.  Does the motivation matter to the female with her hands in my hair and legs warming my ears?   I would say no.  The belief that men, especially young ones, can not hold an intelligent conversation does not hold true for me.  I am a smart, charming, witty fellow.  Chalk it up to a career in bs-ing, a pretty high IQ, an overwhelming need to please women, or just that I am literate.  The belief that men, especially young ones, are sexually retarded (in the clinical sense, not the "that's so retarded" way) does not..... well maybe it does.  I am not experienced, am not sure of my ability, and would rather not be shown to be inadequate.  I have the book knowledge, I have the smarts, but does that translate to practice?  That was an incredibly lengthy (that's what she said, Michael Scott says hi) tangent.  Fact is that I want to find the correct venue to express myself sexually. 

Poll

If you are a woman older than me, looking for a man to make you feel great (in whatever way that means) where do you spend time?   This is my poll question. Answer if you would, please

Tick Tock Tick Tock

Seconds dripping. Minutes crawling. The wait has been long. I have tried different things, taken steps, whatever means I could find.  I just recently became old enough to give my patronage to bars and clubs (thanks to my Puritan city's decision to outlaw all of those under 21 from entering such an establishment.  Quick two questions: House Parties aren't dangerous? and I can go to Iraq and be shot at, but I am not old enough to decide whether I can handle some liquid?), so that is now an option I can explore.  What am I looking for? Any woman capable of challenging me mentally, emotionally, and physically.  Keep in mind that I, despite my shortcomings in the area of confidence with women, am still an incredibly strong young man.  Females often lose my interest merely on the basis of being boring to me.  My self-inflicted celibacy is the result of this.  My brother's on and off girlfriend threw herself at me a few times over the past year, and I let it go a little while before I quashed the notion.  Other girls who are just far too predictable fell short of holding my interest.  Would I go home and make good on all my poetic musings with a girl who is incredibly hot? Hell yes, I would.  That's a challenge, physically, and who said we were getting married.  Would I spend some time getting to know a female able to bust my balls, rival my wit, and keep me on my toes? Most likely.  The combination of the two might just dirty up my knee with a marriage proposal.  Not really, since that woman only exists in the space between my temples.  I'm rambling now.  Here is a list of things that enter my mind when I am desiring amorous companionship:

1. An older (late 20's all the way to 40's) woman with an above average body.  Someone looking for a young, good-looking guy like myself to make her feel great again.  This woman would expect nothing of me beyond the things she wanted most.  Perhaps she is with a partner, perhaps I can fulfill a need others can not, perhaps she just wants to escape and feel free of temporal reminders.  I am not to decide, but this is my number 1 fantasy. 

2. A female (I use this term in regards to those members of the fairer sex not yet women who have matured past being a girl) worth my time.  Someone I can invest more than intimacy in.  Emotion, feeling, love, lust, all of it.  Not a girlfriend, since I don't really believe in those. (Sarah, you understand).  

3.  A girl (in mind, not age) that is physically incredible.  For one reason or another, this trades positions with number 1 depending on my mindset at the time.  This has been a girl I have feared most of my sexually-mature-enough-to-care-about-females-in-that-way life.  My self image has always been that of an ugly exterior with a sparkling personality, and I always feel inadequate to hook this type of person.  Lately, I have been wanting to find this girl and to crush her.  To snare her with emotion, to have her thirst for my every drop of attention, to deceive her enough to find vulnerability, and then to tell her how shallow and weak and meaningless it all was.  Vengeance for all the girls that did similar things to me in reverse fashion, perhaps.  Perhaps it's just my way to feel powerful over them.  I doubt I could ever have the psychopathic ability to do such  thing, but the thought has not been anomalous.  

And thus, I feel my young life ticking away. My desire, ability, and want to find these different types of partners dwindling.  I know I am still very young, but for a person who has waited quite a long time, relatively, this seems inconsequential.  

On a side note, if you know of someone that fits this bill, and is looking for a person like me, my email can be accessed by speaking to my secretary.