Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Bad Sex

There is a school of thought, particularly among those on the masculine side of the gender divide, that there is no such thing as bad sex as long as the session culminates in an orgasm. Having engaged in literally hundreds of liaisons, let me strongly disagree. If you've read any reasonable proportion of my posts, you've come to know that I am, to say the least and to put the matter most charitably, easy. When faced with no sex or unappetizing sex, I will almost always opt for the latter. My recent session with Dopey, my tryst with the grossly obese couple, and my group grope with an unattractive collection of middle aged men, all attest to this very pronounced tendency of mine. It is indeed one of the genuine hallmarks of the sex addict. I will confess that in the midst of these encounters I even sometimes find myself turned on by the sheer perversity of the situation and by my own ludicrously hyper-driven libido, which manages to propel me through some pretty bizarre encounters. Well, for the record, even I have my letdowns.

Yesterday, on the spur of the moment, I accepted an invitation to join two men in a threesome that at least held the promise of some excitement. The host was a man I had chatted with before, who seemed to have at least a couple of characteristics--he is fit, with a decently large cock--that I find attractive in men. His friend was almost completely unknown, other than the fact that he is young, which can sometimes be a turnon for me. This was actually the first all-male threesome I'd attended in which I had never met either of the partners involved. Perhaps I should learn from the experience. I arrived in the older man's very nice apartment--is it inappropriate when engaging in group sex to find oneself distracted by a handsome prewar apartment building and a gorgeously appointed apartment?--to find both men naked, the younger one lying on his back on the bed, passively accepting oral service from the older one. I was briefly greeted by the older man, who immediately returned to his strenuous oral ministrations on his friend, leaving me unsure as to how to proceed. Even in the relative gloom of the bedroom, I could tell that neither man was particularly attractive. Some men might have left of course. I, on the other hand, removed my clothes. Eventually the older man took a break from his friend on the bed and dropped to his knees to service me. His oral technique could best be described as a one-speed vacuum cleaner approach, with intense, constant, and almost painfully hard sucking seemingly being his one and only approach to the problem of my less than entirely hard cock. After a bit of work produced little or no improvement, he returned to his friend. I moved to the other side of the bed in hopes of engaging the younger man in some--in any--kind of interaction, but he simply lay motionless, like some gigantic blow-up sex doll, passively receiving his friend's enthusiastic servicing. I found next to nothing appealing about him--he was overweight and his cock was average sized at best. (His friend was able to deepthroat him with no effort whatsoever.) I returned to my station beside the bed, the older man returned to me, and eventually my cock sprung to full life, a situation which did not cause my service specialist to alter his one-note approach in the least. Eventually I lay down on the bed next to passive sex-doll boy and stroked his cock while the older man brought me off to an admittedly copious orgasmic release. "There are towels in the bathroom if you want one," my host told me, speaking 10 of the approximately 20 words spoken during the entire encounter. I went to the bathroom, cleaned up, quickly put on my clothes, and with little more than a wave, was out the door and gone.

While many men are terrified of their own latent homosexuality and react to even a hint of same-sex attraction by going to a bar, watching several football games, and getting into a fight with the biggest guy they can find, I am of the opposite mind and am disappointed to find myself confronted with more and more evidence that I am really not all that attracted to men. For a sex addict, this is very bad news, since such a conclusion, if allowed to become determinative, will severely limit the number of sex partners available. Men are just so damned easy, so plentiful, so open to meeting at the drop of a hat, that shutting the door on them seems just too painful to even consider. Any reasonably thoughtful non-addict would have accepted this conclusion a long time ago, of course. But somehow I keep hoping that the next man will be different, that I will eventually find the holy grail, i.e. a man just as slutty as I am, with a hard smooth body, a big cock, and an attraction to me as strong as mine to him. The incredible thing is how this search continues in spite of the now massive quantities of evidence suggesting its futility. I would guess that I have had sex of one sort or another with some 200 men or so.... and I can count on one hand the number that I was genuinely attracted to. This compares to my experience with women, virtually **all** of whom I was easily and effortlessly attracted to. What does that tell you about my general sexual predilections? But, as I've said often, in a pinch, a sex addict will take what he can get, and often the easiest solution is a man. In spite of all my equivocating, I suspect that will continue....

Thank God, there appear to be two new female candidates, one of them very promsing indeed. Sadly M. seems to be slipping away, with serious issues at home dominating her time and her emotional energy. (Can you believe it? Someone for whom the promise of an intense and pleasurable sexual experience is not the sole determinant of her behavior? Bizarre!) Of course I will stay in touch, but I'm not optimistic about the situation. More on the new candidates as soon as I know more.....

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