Monday, July 13, 2009

Who am I?

I'm a good and decent person. I love my wife. I care deeply for my children. I support my community. I give to charity. I believe in God, though admittedly not in a particularly orthodox way. I'm thoughtful and considerate; I treat friends and colleagues with respect. With certain very notable exceptions that will become apparent quite quickly, I honor my commitments. I am a smart and capable professional who is successful and highly valued in his career. I play golf, drink only in moderation, and am considered unusually trustworthy.

I am also willing to have sex of almost every variety with virtually anyone possessing a heartbeat. I am much more attracted to women, but in a pinch, I am more than prepared to have sex with men as well. Defining sex as a physical act that involves at least one person in addition to myself and results in my own orgasm--when you engage in as many bizarre sexual acts as I have, these are the sorts of semi-hairsplitting definitions one has to use--I have had sex with somewhere upwards of 300 people. Since the median number of partners for the American male has fairly recently been established as 7 (, this prodigious total puts me in fairly rarified company I suppose. If I were to expand the definition to include lap dances, masturbation booths, massage parlors, phone sex, online cam masturbation, etc., etc., the number would quickly swell, so to speak, to well over 1,000 but, hey, you have to draw the line somewhere.

This past Saturday night, I performed oral sex on a man I met through a gay-oriented website. With my family away without me for the weekend (an extremely rare occurrence), I had spent most of the day searching listings for women and hoping perhaps to meet with a favorite female sexual partner of mine, but we were unable to make the logistics work, so I turned to men to meet the all-consuming need that I felt building in intensity as the day wore on. When it comes to men, I am partial to big cocks--I am quite well endowed myself--and he appeared to have one. He was also married and we seemed to be a good match in that sense as well. You would think I would have learned from my numerous encounters in the past never to meet male partners without pictures of more than their genitalia, but the cock picture and his "stats" (height, weight, etc.) seemed compelling enough to cause me to meet with him anyway. In the end, I found nothing attractive about him at all. His body, though reasonably fit, was ill-proportioned and too hairy for my taste. His cock, though fairly good-sized, was nowhere near his stated length of 8.5 inches. Nonetheless I sucked him enthusiastically while jerking myself off and he finished with a prodigious and I suspect quite satisfying load. Should he be presented to me in a police lineup some six months from now, I seriously doubt that I would be able to identify him. And there is utterly no chance that I will ever meet with him again.

My family returned the next day and I spent Sunday wrapped in the warm cocoon of domestic tranquility, offering all who came within my orbit lots of love and affection.

So who am I, really? Stay tuned.

1 comment:

  1. I'm reading from the beginning, as you recommended, and I'm sitting here at the end of your first post with my mouth hanging open, stunned.

    Suffice to say, I will be reading the rest of your posts voraciously.


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