My Sister The Slut

My sister is a 37 year old slut. I have not always been aware of this- but recently it has caught my attention that this is the case. On several occasions I have spent time with her in parks on nice sunny afternoons. We lay out a blanket and I am always surprised because she suddenly takes of her clothes and wears a very skimpy bikini. I am surprised because we usually spend time together in popular parks where there are men all around playing bongo drums, doing yoga, playing frisbee or just hanging out “surfing for chicks.” I myself have always been a bit uncomfortable hanging out with my sister when she is wearing a bikini. I see more of her than I want to and I am also unsettled by the amount of men that become fixated upon her bare body. Often, I would just chalk her modesty up to a desire to receive a tan- but lately I have realized that there is more behind her bikini wearing motivations.

My sister is a medical doctor and spends most of her weekdays dressed in nice suits usually covered by the traditional white Doctors smock. She is an attractive lady with long brown hair and golden brown gypsy skin. She is well educated and has a tendency to drink and smoke a little too much. She lives alone in a lavish city apartment with her cat who is on heart medication. My sister is often going on dates with strange men who she meets on-line and in the park.

My sister recently told me that she has met at least twenty men in the park that we like to go to, over the past two months. When I asked her how many of these men she has gone on dates with she told me “all.” I was shocked since I have always considered my sister a rather conservative sexually repressed professional. When she told me that her idea of a date was getting a bottle of red wine, some weed and staying in and watching a movie- I knew something strange was going on. My sister was seducing these men and then having her way with them in the privacy of her own bed.

I do not know why I am surprised that my sister is a slut. I come from a family that has a long lineage of sexual perversion. My grandparents and parents were swingers. I myself was addicted to prostitution and pornography for many years. Now that I am married my sex life has become more non existent but I am able to maintain some sexual relevance by a masturbation habit that never gets boring. After all the afternoons spent sitting with my sister in parks it never occurred to me that she to was acting out her deep and genetically acquired sexual perversions. I was naive not to see the motivations behind her bikini and body oil. I was also naive to distrust my own feelings of discomfort that I felt when ever she was dressed in a bikini.

I recently found out that on warm sunny days my sister goes to a particular park in the city and sits in the sun wearing nothing but her bikini. She smokes cigarettes and does all the paper work that has accumulated from her day job as a doctor. Her office has become the park and she is always trying to get me to meet her there when I am done with work. But recently I have been staying away. I do not want to face my discomfort around the fact that my sister is wearing a bikini because she is trying to hook and reel in men like a fisherman awaiting some stupid fish to bite the bait. I do not want to face the fact that my sister is a slut and possibly using me as bait to capture the jealous attention of other men. After all I am an usually handsome man and the two of us together have often been mistaken for super models. So I am staying away from her and the park for a time. I am trying to make due with this knew realization about my sister and find out if there is some sort of way that I can convince her that she is traveling down to wrong path.

The Bush Lover

I am a serious lover of vagina. Not in a misogynistic way but rather I adore vagina. At times it is almost as if vagina and I are kindred spirits. Lately I have been contemplating where this odd bond comes from. I have been trying to re-live my mothers relationship with her own vagina and my fathers relations with my mother’s vagina. Nothing imparticular stands out in my mind other than a few muddied memories.

When I was born my mother told me that my head was stuck between the lips of her vagina and the outside world. It took hours to get me through what by then had become and enlarged mass of pulsating tissue. Doctors had to work diligently to get me through my mother’s vagina and then said that I demonstrated unusual resistance for an infant my size. My birth was not traumatic but rather more like the experience of getting out of bed when you desperately want to stay in it. All day long you long for a time later that day when you can return.

My mother always used to laugh about how when she would try and breast feed me I would immediately head down into the vicinity of her crotch. I did not want to be kept away and when she would return my suckling head to her breast I would break out in terrible cries. When my mom would rest with me in a chair or on the couch I would always keep my head planted in between her legs. “It is as if you wanted to go back in to where you had come from,” my mother often tells me when I talk to her about my love of vagina’s.

My therapist helped me to see how vagina’s for me are a symbol of returning to the womb. The womb for me was a pleasant place, a place of warmth and safety. The world for me is a place of fear and chronic anxiety intermixed with moments of over whelming beauty and heart felt emotion. At times it all feels like to much….and it is during these times that I most heavily long for vagina.

I don’t necessarily like the taste of vagina nor do I enjoy the act of licking around in it with my tongue. Most of the time when I am in close proximity to my wife’s vagina I will delicately use my fingers to gently pull apart the flesh and see if there is a big enough hole there for me to slip back in through. The hole is seldom big enough to fit anything larger than a bottle cork into so I usually end up resting my head upon the warmth of her naked crotch.

I often stare at other women’s vagina’s before I even look at them in the face. This is a habit that I believe I developed at birth. I am not looking at the vagina like a pervert would but rather every time I look at the area where the vagina is located I am filled with a warmth that I am at a loss to describe. It is like a feeling that one gets when they are returning home after years and years away. Sometimes I will sit on a park bench that is close to my home and spend the entire day watching vagina’s pass by. I am a 36 year old married man and I am still searching around in the bush.

When I was a younger man my friends and I all referred to vagina’s as “bush.” “Hey man did you get some bush last night?” we would always ask one another and of course the answers were almost always “well, almost but she didn’t want to put out.” I on the other hand was fortunate. One of my first girlfriends in high school loved to let me travel around in her bush. Her name was Emily Jolly and by the time she was 15 she had already been around the bases a few times. One of my friends informed me that she had also hit several grand slams (orgies).

By the age of 15 I was already obsessed with vagina’s. My school locker was filled with cut out photographs of vagina’s. When Emily Jolly told me that I could “mess with her bush” when we had not even kissed yet I became overwhelmed with a mixture of excitement and terrible anxiety. After a few weeks of waiting to get the nerve up I finally asked her if I could “see it.” We snuck behind the gym and there she lifted up her skirt and showed me what was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen. Her vagina was huge, and was covered with so much hair and vibrant pulsation that I knew it was the place I was supposed to be.

I tried several times to fit my head into her vagina but I was never able to climb all the way in. Emily loved it when I would fit my hole fist inside her- but when I proceeded to try and fit the top of my head into her she said it hurt to much. I grew jealous of my fist and often asked it what it was like inside. After the fourth or fifth time of trying to get inside her I gave up and slowly there after our relationship began to fall apart.

My wife has always been generous with my pre-occupation with vagina. She allows no jealousy to creep in when I look at other women’s vagina’s and she lets me rest my head upon her vagina for as long as I need. Some days my desire to be inside the vagina is so strong that I will cry about never ever again being able to get back in again. My tears lubricate my wife’s vagina as I lament over and over that I feel like a man who has been cruelly locked out from the very place he belongs. My wife pats my head and tells me to not worry, that every thing will be all right, but I know the truth- I know that I am a stranger in this land.

The Sex Life Of A Man Without One #19

I never imagined that a naked woman behind glass could be so gratifying and theraputic! How had I gone so long without considering this form of sexual interaction? Not only is it considerably cheaper to talk and mutually masturbate with a woman behind glass (than say go to a strip club or massage pallor), but it is a wonderfully safe form of sex. It is amazing that no one had told me about this. Like most interesting things that I have learned about in my life…I had to stumble upon this one on my own.

It was around 9 p.m when I finished writing my previous blog entry (Shakespeare and I). It was one of the better entries that I have written in some time and I felt the need to reward myself for my efforts. My home was lonely and cold, the wife was at work (she picked up a second job waiting tables at a very hip and formal restaurant in Downtown Oakland) and I was in need of entertainment. I took a quick shower and dressed in a black suit with white converse all star tennis shoes and decided to take a drive into San Fransisco- the city of the night. After a quick drive across the Bay Bridge I entered the womb of the city like a man with a great deal of anticipation in his heart. I parked my mumbling car on a small street where many lives were squished together in nineteenth century apartment buildings. I lit another cigarette and decided to walk, to see where my feet may take me.

I spent an hour or so shopping around in my favorite bookstore, City Lights Books. I read the first pages of dozens of novels by African, European and Latin American Authors. Nothing captured my attention. I decided to buy a book of poems by Jack Kerouac and then to go across the street and drink a beer in an Irish pub. The pub was once home to many Bohemians whose pictures still decorate the walls. I sat at the bar where I had once had a drink with Allen Ginsberg and order and stout. It was close to midnight as I drank black beer and waited for the poetry to fill my mind with a reverent awe.

I left the bar and walked down Broadway. I was a man alone with himself and happy to be filled with the sights and sounds of a city at night. I wondered into an establishment with a blinking neon sign that said Naked Girls Behind Glass– Come On In! Inside a few punk rockers greeted me from behind a counter. I wondered around dark hallways filled by glass windows covered by curtains. All kinds of men wondered the hallways searching for an open window. On the doors besides the windows were pictures of the women who sat on the other side of the curtain. I walked around in anticipation waiting to find an open window. I peed in a bathroom that smelled like urine and I watched a fifty cent porno film in a booth that was sticky with semen.

She knocked hard upon the glass and I could make out her lips saying “hey you, come here!” She seemed to be pointing at me so I followed her index finger and entered the closed door which she sat behind. Inside the cubicle was a black telephone. The room was dark and I could hear a voice shouting “pick up the phone.” I did so and was told to place a five dollar bill into the money slot. When I did this a curtain was pulled back and the room was illuminated with a red neon light. A young women dressed in revealing black and pink lingerie was spread out on a mattress that was covered in red silk sheets and surrounded by mirrors. She held the black phone in her hand and said “my name is Silver, what is yours?'” With the black phone up to my ear I scrambled to make up a name “Zoey,” I said. “Hi Zoey, Welcome to Silver’s Temple. Why don’t you whip out your cock and stick twenty dollars into the slot.”

I was slightly nervous. My conscience was playing in the back of my mind. “You degenerate sleaze ball,” it kept saying over and over. “You can’t take out your penis in a room that smells like cum and is filled with various forms of disease,” my conscience told me over and over, but there was a problem- Silver was hot. Her breasts and stomach were filled with a youthfulness that was yet to see the decline of the flesh. Her face looked like an image that could have created been created by Leonardo da Vinci. She had straight long hair and long silken legs with smooth manicured feet which pressed upon the glass window. When she turned over and showed me her sculpted behind with a small tattoo of a butterfly I immediately began to pull money from my wallet. “What would your wife think of you now,” a voice said into my left ear but I told it to be quiet and leave me be, as I stuck a twenty dollar bill into the money slot.

Music began to play and Silver opened up her long legs revealing a treasure chest between. I stared without concern for the look on my face. “You look like you have never seen a pussy before,” she said. “It has been some time since I have seen one like yours,” I replied with a hint of anxiety in my voice. “Well then Zoey, come closer so you can see.” She took out what looked like a long plastic turkey baster, but was a dildo made out of rubber. She stuck it into that sacred spot that was making my heart rapidly beat. I felt the immediate power of the hole that brings forth life, with a reverence that made me want to fall to my knees. My nose pressed against the glass. I was staring directly into her majestic hole which she played with like a child. She made various sexual sounds and continued to ask me to take out my cock and cum with her. But I could not move. With my nose pressed against the glass all I wanted to do was climb into her vagina and return to the womb which I so fondly remember.

I had to hold back my tears. I understood now the reverence that a religious disciple feels for a sacred object. As Silver played with her dildo I slowly unzipped my zipper and let my pulsating penis leap out into the dank air. “Yes, please play with it for me,” Silver said as she watched me watching her. “Stroke it, stroke it,” she demanded. I felt a little uncomfortable about masturbating in front of the sacred object but the more she demanded that I cum the more I became intoxicated by her sirens call. Silver than sat up and brought her perfectly painted face up to the glass so that she could look directly at my cock. With the black phone in her hand she kept repeating “cum on my face…cum on my face dady,” and like all good disciples I eventually did what the idol demanded. I released my sperm onto a glass window.

“Wow!!” Silver said. “Seems like you have not had sex in a long time,” she commented in response to the large amount of semen that came forth from my penis. “It has been some time, yes,” I said recalling that it has been over a year since I had had sex with my wife, or any women for that matter. “Must be difficult being a married man without a sex life,” Silver said to me as she looked at the wedding ring upon my hand. “It is not so bad, I just can’t seem to figure out how to be intimate with a woman that I love,” I said as I pulled my limp penis back into my pants and zipped up my fly. “Yeah, that’s difficult for a lot of men. They seem to be only able to have good sex with women whom they hate,” Silver said as she turned back around onto her back. I was surprised by her statement but I understood what she may have meant. “Once a man loves a woman they get her confused with their mother and then sex goes out the window. It is all because men are afraid to love,” Silver said. “Maybe so,” I replied not really feeling honorable enough to voice a response. Here I was, with my cum splattered all over a glass window which separated me from the object of my desire. Maybe Silver was right, maybe I was afraid of love.

“Have a nice evening and make sure you come back and see me soon,” Silver said as she shut the drape and turned off the light. I walked out of the establishment with my head down and a feeling like I had just done something that I was not allowed. Outside on the cold and quiet midnight streets I lit a cigarette and began to walk back to my car. Garbage men collected trash on both sides of the street and stray dogs wandered into dark corners searching for food. I looked up at the black sky and observed the sky scrappers which surrounded me on all sides. I am a man in love with the city at midnight. I was twenty five dollars poorer now, but for that price not only did I get to have a pleasant orgasm and watch a beautiful woman play with herself- but I also was able to learn a little something about myself.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #18

She called herself the “Divine Back Scratcher.” A whore with this kind of vernacular struck an immediate interest in me. Despite the fact that I had pledged to stay away from prostitutes for a time, the itch was returning. For a man this itch is the equivalent to a nuisance which never seems to go away. For a time there will be some quiet, a respite but like all biological imperatives- it returns with a vengeance. I have learned to accept this eternal return, with the calm acceptance of the Buddhist I feel I may be becoming. I realize that everything is as it should be in life. I try not to get in the way.

Once again I began my day by doing a little meditation and then immediately going on the internet to see who was on the Craig’s List Erotic Adds page. I searched trough numerous pictures with an erection that felt like kundalini rising in my lower spine. I was delighted by various adds that mentioned daily head specials or lunch time hand specials. The photographs were mostly unappealing but the few that struck some interest in my eyes were like shots of ecstasy to my brain. I had been too long without my girls.

I have been meaning to talk to my wife about my sexual expeditions and obsessions. My therapist decided that if I had not done it within the month that she was going to call my wife and tell her. I knew my therapist was only innocently threatening me with her pledge (since it violates patient privacy rights)- but now I fear that she may do it. So I have an allotted time left to indulge my fantasies before I have to face the music (which may turn out to be a rehabilitation center for sex addicts). This morning the sun was out, I had money in my bank account and could foresee no reason why (other than guilt and shame) I should not investigate my curiosity with regards to the Back Scratcher. Cumm Let me Scratch your back and make you purr, the add said and the photograph I could hardly resist.

She was only seeing clients at a hot tub establishment that was not far from my abode. I quickly dressed and decided not to put on underwear since I assumed I would be going into the tub nude. Over the phone she sounded rather unfriendly and belabored. I tried not to take this personally by telling myself that I was not trying to make friends. I just wanted an erotic hand job in a hot tub. My appointment was for 1:15 p.m and when I arrived at the establishment it seemed as if it could be closed. A homeless man stood outside and there were no cars upon the vacated industrial street. Other than a few famished alley cats and a sign that said Health Spa I seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.

I rang the buzzer and was greeted by an older Asian man who had a cigar in his mouth. “You here for girl, yes?” I did not know how to answer. What if this was a sting, a trap to catch perverts like myself? This has been going on a lot lately. “You here for girl?” he said again with a frenetic energy that made me feel pressured. I threw caution to the wind and nodded yes. “You sit, she almost through with nother client.” I sat in a yellow chair that smelled like a thrift shop. I looked at desperate fish floating around in a neglected fish tank. One orange fish watched me watch it. I wondered if he understood. There was a picture of the Buddha on the wall and a few oranges and a banana were placed in front of the picture. Food for the Gods.

A very fat man walked down the hallway. His step was heavy enough to rattle the chair in which I sat. He was breathing hard and seemed to be perspiring a great deal. His face was beet red and when he said good bye to the Asain man, I thought I heard him say “what a back scratch!” I was nervous and hesitant when the Asain man said to me, “Okay you go,” and directed me to walk on down the hall to the open door with white light shining out of it. The hallway was dark and lined with straw mats that made me feel like I was visiting a whore house in a third world. If it was not for the smell of chlorine and tobacco, I would of thought I was walking away from the living and towards the light.

The room was dark, and I was greeted by a long legged women dressed in a black corsage. Her hair was long and ruffled and she seemed to be developing dark bags under her eyes. None the less I found her very attractive. She reminded me of a fallen angel. “Welcome,” she told me after she mentioned that I should get undressed and lie on my stomach on the mattress upon the floor. I noticed that in the room there was no hot tub. “Have you had your back scratched lately?” she asked me. “I have not,” I said like a shy school boy. “Well this one you will enjoy,” she said as she ran her long pink nails down the front of my bare chest while making a sexy sound. “Oh look,” she said surprised as I stood naked in front of her, “your cock is ready to go!” I looked down and noticed a pulsating erection hanging off my shaking groin. “This is what happens when I’m nervous,” I said.

I gave her the agreed upon sixty dollars and lied down on my stomach. The mattress smelled like a mixture of semen and perfume. I buried my face deep into the pillow and tried with all my might not to think about how I would tell my wife about this. She would never believe these degenerate journey’s I go out on. Her life is clean, composed, starched and blessed. This kind of experience is not upon her radar screen nor does she think it’s upon mine. While she is hard at work I am at home looking for work, is what she thinks. As I was thinking about what not to think about I felt the Back Scratcher sit upon my bare butt like she was straddling a horse. I took a deep breath as she gently began to run her nails down my spine. She made strange chanting sounds which had the effect of really turning me on. She then ran her nails over my head and into my ears. My anxiety fell away and turned into a relaxation I had never felt before. Even though I wanted to see her naked (and was willing to pay more) I was completely resigned to the moment. I surrendered and turned into a floating cloud. Her fingers ran up and down my spine and shoulders with a motion that felt like the wind. I was hypnotized by her scratches until she placed one of her hands upon my testicles.

I am easily surprised. I live my life trying to avoid surprises because it makes me feel like I have little control in my life ( I am having difficulty accepting the laws of chaos). When she placed her warm and tingling hand upon my testicles, I made what sounded like a pre-pubescent chirp. My body vibrated and she asked me if I was okay. I was more than fine I told her, “I had just had an orgasm.” She laughed and said, “you came already, I did not even do anything!!” “It takes so little,” I said. All she could do was laugh and ask me if I wanted a cookie.

Ever since I was a young man I have suffered from premature ejaculation. Many a women have left me because of it. I have done what I can to develop my locking abilities but the older I get the more I have just learned to live with my disability. I have read books, taken a seminar (“The Multi-Orgasmic Male”) and even saw a counselor for this ailment. To no avail. I have been told that the problem is the result of years spent frequently masturbating, neurological and genetic. I just think I am a very horny man who can not hold back all the intense pressure I keep blocked up during the course of a typical day. When I explained this to the Back Scratcher she told me she understood. “My last boyfriend was like this so I can relate,” she said. “He usually came before he even stuck it in.” This made me feel better, understood. Once I was fully dressed I told her that during the back scratch I had reached a state of relaxation I had never achieved before. “See….. whores are good for some things,” she said as she counted her money and then looked at the clock. I could not have agreed more.

The Resurgence Of Absurdistry

I thought about dumping this site, but once again it was saved by a reader. At times I feel as if the words that come out my fingertips go against my deepest principles. I feel ashamed of the things I write and wonder if I should really share this with the world. Then there is this tempestual voice in my head that says, “to hell with principle- this is literature you are creating and in literature there are no limitations you self righteous son of……..” So I will carry onwards, offending myself at every turn. I will continue to learn things about the demented mind that sits on top of my neck and seek out new ways to turn Absurdistry into a immorality play that may serve human kind in some incomprehensible way. The world is not rid of me yet!

“pee, pee.”

The Sex Life Of A Man Without One #15

Human beings are remarkably resilient to stress. One way or another we manage to persevere, to survive, and to have our moments of pleasure, peace and fulfillment. We are expert copers of internal and external problems. We cope through prayer and religious beliefs, through involvements, denial and diversions that feed our need for joy and belonging. We cope and are buoyed up by sharing love and receiving encouragement from others. Writing has been one way that I have been able to cope with my compulsions and diversions and receive support and encouragement from those who understand the predicament in which I find myself. Maybe my way of coping with the stressors in my life could be referred to as maladaptive, but at this point in my life I will do almost anything for those rare moments of peace, fulfillment and pleasure.

My wife and I have not spoken for over a week. We have not had any sexual encounters with one another for over a year. Our lips have not met for months and my hand occasionally sympathizes with her by rubbing her back. My love for her in ingrained all the way into the root of my soul but a wall has been slowly erected between us that is forcing each of us to cope with a good amount of stress in relation to the other. We both have our means of coping. She works, makes video art on her computer, dances, does grief rituals and smokes and drinks red wine. I on the other hand spend hours looking at Craig’s List Erotic Adds and seek out the company of prostitutes and psychologists. I have been going to therapy at least once a week and I joined a meditation group that is based in teaching the methods of mindfulness. I spend casual time in the company of prostitutes for at least fifteen minutes a week and hours upon hours driving around in my automobile seeking them out. Lately I have taken to purchasing a bottle of red wine and driving around while drinking and listening to jazz. I search for prostitutes in the darkest corners of the Oakland ghetto but nine out of ten time I return home hours later drunk and without having seen a single attractive hooker. My therapist thinks that my way of coping with my stress is not only destructive but maladaptive.

What psychologists mean when they use the term maladaptive to label a person such as myself is that the individual has found ways of coping with stress in ways that are actually self destructive. These attempts at control are labeled “maladaptive coping” because although they do help us tolerate stress and give us some sense of control, in the long run they wind up compounding the stress that we experience. “You can think of maladaptive as meaning unhealthy, causing more stress,” my therapist told me.

One favorite maladaptive coping strategy is to deny that there is any problem at all. When I am high on red wine driving around in my automobile searching out the handy company of prostitutes, spending my days on Craig’s List looking at erotic adds such as Cumm 2 Me Daddy or Two HOLES For The $ Of One, with my hand down my pants, or hanging out in derelict strip clubs or massage parlors- I am not worried about any of the problems facing me in my life. My unemployment, pysiological maladies, marital torments and financial crisis are as far away from me as the moon. My unpaid bills, lack of motivation or aspiration, and anxiety problems are all but gone. It is as if pornography, prostitution and red wine are a kind of medicine for all the stressors that haunt me during the majority of my waking hours.

The other day I went to visit the hooker in the tree and we had a conversation about human beings and our amazing capacity to deal with stress. I paid her forty dollars to undress and provide me with a hand job as we spoke. I told her about how I felt as if I was existing in a state of chronic hyperarousal. She giggled when I told her this but I quickly reminded her that it was not the kind of arousal that she was thinking. “It is my sympathetic nervous system,” I began to explain. “I feel like I am suffering from all the symptoms of long term physiological disregulation.” The hooker in the tree continued to gently rub my penis with some kind of soothing lotion and asked me what I meant. I looked around at the branches, and squirrels that ate what looked like pine nuts while curiously trying to figure out what these two strange humans were doing. It was mid afternoon and in the distance I had a beautiful view of San Fransisco and The Golden Gate Bridge. “I feel like I am suffering from problems like increased blood pressure, cardiac arrhythmias, digestive problems, chronic headaches and chronic anxiety,” I told her as I watched her hand which seemed to be hypnotizing me with its slow and graceful movements. I don’t think that she understood what I was talking about but I know she sympathized with me because after I had an orgasm she gave me back the forty dollars I gave her and told me that “this visit is a gift.”

At my meditation class last week the teacher talked about how a healthy alternative to being caught up in self destructive patterns is to stop reacting to stress and to start responding to it. “This is the path of mindfulness in daily life,” the teacher said. I am not ready to give up my rare moments of sex induced pleasure and peace but I am beginning to see ways that I can cope with my stressors that may be more productive than a hand job or drinking a bottle of red wine (on a daily basis). I am learning to simply acknowledge how I am feeling (without judgement), feel what the sensations are in my body and sit with them without reacting. I inhale and exhale many times in a row and before I know it I have found my moments of peace, fulfillment and pleasure without needing the comforts of Craig’s List Erotic Adds, pornography or hand jobs from prostitutes. We will see how long this lasts.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #14

Even hookers have to work when it’s raining. I have spent the past three days desperately searching for employment. My dedication to the search surprisingly took my mind off things of a sexual nature. My lust went into remission and I experienced a calm that always follows a terrible storm. This morning I awoke to the tapping sounds of a torrential downpour which seemed to also awken my lust. Once my wife left for work, I went to my computer and started reading the sensual and x-rated erotic adds on Craig’s List and by mid afternoon I had and erection which refused to leave me alone. Outside my small window rain was coming down without apology. It was creating a small flood in my mind which made it hard to breathe. My mood was melancholic and I knew of two remedies for this. I could either masturbate or seek out the professional help of a whore. I decided the I would spend the rest of the afternoon looking for a different kind of job.

Despite the fact that the rain was relentless I knew that hookers still had to make money even when it rained. I was privy to certain information that some hookers preferred working in the rain because they were less visible to cops. They could stand in bus stops for long periods of time without being cited for lingering. All they had to say is that they were sheltering themselves from the rain. With this information in mind I dressed without putting on underwear and ventured out into day. Three inches of rain made my car appear to be swimming. The whole street that I lived on was flooded. I would not of been surprised if Noah’s Ark came speeding around the corner. It had been raining for days. For a brief moment I thought that I best not venture out because my tires had no tread and my windshield whippers had long ago ceased to work. I was taking many risks if I drove my car, but as usual my lust spoke louder than my pragmatic mind.

I listened to John Coltrane on the stereo and drove slowly through the puddles and torrential downpour which made the city seem like the sea. As I smoked a cigarette I used a towel as a make shift windshield whipper. Rain blew into my car causing a chill to run through my spine. However, I was determined to find a whore. I drove around the areas of Oakland that hookers were normally stationed. Because Oakland is a city that is going through large amounts of gentrification, the police force has strengthened their commitment to remove prostitutes from the city so that they can make Oakland more respectable to incoming residents. Despite the purging of prostitutes there were still specific locations where they popped up. Whores are like flees- just when you think their gone, they appear some place knew.

I drove around and around the ghetto, with the inharmonious sounds of a saxophone encouraging me to go deeper into my desire. I whipped water and grime from my windshield as I drove around back alley ways and across barren train tracks. Rain covered my windshield quicker than I could wipe it away. And then as I turned a corner with the belief that I had spotted a whore with a black umbrella and tight white skirt, I was disappointed to find that it was only a phone booth. Hours passed and the inside information that I was privy to seemed to be rendering me no results. Gas on my car was going low and in America gas is no cheap commodity. I passed a few crack whores that desperately stuck out their dark tongues at me and screamed “hey baby, save me from the flood!!” but there were no hookers wondering around that looked as if they could step inside my fantasy.

Just as I was about to surrender my search- I noticed a Hispanic looking lady standing on a corner wearing a tragically sexy tight black dress and black boots. Her hair was long and dyed red and her eyes were shaped like sex. She was holding no umbrella and allowed the rain to cover her body without any offense. As I passed her a second time she smiled at me and made a gesture that I pull over. I stopped my car around the corner and with my heart rapidly beating in anticipation I unlocked the passenger side door so sex could come in. She climbed in my car wet with rain- and asked me if I was a cop. When I said no she told me to show her my penis. I was a bit apprehensive but when she insisted on me showing her my penis again, I decided to do so. I did not want to let sex get away. There was something strangely exhilarating about showing my penis to a stranger. “Stroke it twice,” she said. I was stupefied and excited. “What?” I said acting like I was uncertain about her demand but in truth, I wanted her to repeat herself. “Do it, quick,” she said looking out the back window to see if there were any cops. “Do what?” I pretended. “Stroke your cock!” Ah, that was all I needed to hear. I did what she said and immediately got an erection. “You are horny?” she said. I assumed that her question was rhetorical. Why else would I be driving around in circles through a crazy downpour looking for a whore? Yes, I was the horniest married man with no sex life, living!

“My name is Ladina,” she said. I asked if I could see her tits to make sure she was not a cop. “How bout I lick your cock, to show you?” she asked. “No, no I am not interested in that,” I said. “What you interested in then,” she asked as she pulled down her top and showed me perfectly shaped breasts with small areolas and hardened nipples. As I was about to reply “a hand job,” I had to use all of my strength to not have an orgasm while looking at her breasts. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my anus to prevent the squirt but I had not developed the muscle control needed to refrain. As I released sperm into my pants, I cupped her breast in my hands like it was the last thing I would ever touch. I utilized all my reserve to act as normal as possible so as not to reveal the biological process that was taking place in my pants.

It is amazing to me how quickly lust vanishes after an orgasm. Like rain after a storm. What was once so desirable and rapturous becomes flat and an annoyance. It is as if with the release of sperm- desire, lust and awe are also released. What is left is a space for guilt and shame to sneak in and fill the heart. I told Ladina that I was feeling a bit nervous and needed more time to think. “Ah, come on man lets have some fun,” she replied, inept to the fact that I had already had my fun. When I told her I needed more time to think, she gave me a strange look and then dismissed me with the slam of my car door. Relieved that she was gone from my life, but feeling the guilt of just having left a fellow human being stranded in the rain- I drove my ark back to the confines of my home where I would spend the rest of the evening looking for a reputable job.

The End Of Absurdistry

I just wanted to let my readers know that this site will be taken off the air in a day or so. Thank you for all of you comments and support. The good times were memorable. I hope I unhinged a few inhibitions, or what Therapists call “repressions.” If by chance you think it is or is not a good idea to take Absurdsitry off air, please feel free to leave a comment.

The End.

P.s…..

I tend to suffer from confusion which causes my mind to sway back and forth like a pendulum that is out of balance. So, today I have decided against the end of Absurdistry….and will carry on.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #11.

“MIND-Bl(o)wing}*playmate SuPper Cute,” sent me an instant message this morning. I had no idea how this could of ended up in my private space. I have always been careful not to leave a trace in my tireless acts of exploitation. What carelessness, on my part had caused this to happen? My wife had just left for work and I could not help but yell out what is this!! as I read the message.

“Hooker in a tree says your really nice man who may be into super kinky time without the sex. I know your married, but we can work around it. Instant message me back and we can meet today. I am currently doing in-calls in my car.” Beneath her message was a picture of a naked brunette beauty sitting on top of a lump of hay. Her breasts and thigh all gave me an erection- the degree to which made me consider masturbation. But this would be pathetic- it is not even noon yet and I am already consumed with lustful thoughts.

A persons sexual appetite grows the more attention they pay to it. This is the hook at the end of the string. We believe that we will just indulge our erotic fantasies one last time and then we shall abstain for an eternity. This is how it all began a few months back for me. I would just peruse the Craig’s List Erotic adds for an hour each day and think that it would satisfy my sexual need for a transgressive sexual experience. I presumed that I was under control and that the one harmless pleasure that brought me satisfaction could never dominate my life. But soon the hour turned into two hours and the fidelity that I had sworn to my wife had turned into weekly hand jobs by strange prostitutes dressed in nothing but their bare skin. Now I can not stop. Each experience I want to replicate itself over and over- and after yesterdays experience with the teasing hooker who would not take off her pantyhose, I am ready for an erotic release. Only the further into this polluted pond I dive, I know the closer I am to having to reveal my obsession to my wife. It is the only way a married man can live- with hopes of morality and purity at some point in the future, just not now.

I instantly emailed the naked brunette sitting on a lump of hay back. “Would you be interested in seeing me at noon for a hand job while you are in the nude? Oh, would you mind If I cumm upon your stomach?” I wrote without any moral conscience. I received a reply that said, “you can cumm where ever you like as long as it is not in my ass or mouth. I would be happy to jack you off in the privacy of my car so meet me at….,” and she left me the directions to her car and a good time to meet with her. I took a warm shower and thought over my impending experience with yet another whore, while the warm water melted the guilt away from my dirty hair. What is a man to do when his sexual fantasies rule the day? Maybe soon I will journey to Tibet but in that moment the only journey that I wanted to undertake was towards her car.

I had a Therapy appointment which I decided to miss. I am more concerned about my sexual health than I am about my mental health (as you dear reader can probably tell). I called the Therapist and left a message saying that I was sorry but had a sudden foot ache flare up which I needed to seek out a Podiatrist to help me with. I wanted to tell her that I was being controlled and dominated by my lustful fantasies and was unable to control myself. I wanted to shout out for help and beg her to come over and stop me from doing what I was about to do, but I did not. I allowed my lust to direct the actions of my mind.

I drove to Washington Mutual in which I have a Checking Account. I went up to the ATM to take out cash but was shocked to find out that I had no more money. I was overdrawn and without a way to fill my account up. I stood there in the light of late morning in a kind of stupefaction that happens to one when they are 36, without a job and find out that they are broke. I had twenty minutes until I was to meet the prostitute at her car and no money to pay her for services rendered. I was stuck in a quagmire.

Desperate situations create desperate actions. I decided to go to her car anyhow. I would see if I could not somehow pay her back another time. I would use my skills to bargain with her. I figured that I was a good enough looking man to possibly make her want to forgo her fee. How could she refuse me? She did refuse. She swore at me for having the nerve to think that she would render her sexual services for an IOU. She asked me to step away from her old Cadillac as she climbed out of her car in a skirt that was so tight I could see the contours of her cunt. “If my friend had not highly recommended you to me I would currently be shouting at you so loud that your eardrums would pop,” she said. I tried to rationalize with her and tell her that I was coming into a good lump sum of money within the week. “I do not believe you she said. I stood there by the side of the road which was vacant and lined with used condoms and liquor bottles. “You need to go, before I spray your pretty face with mace,” she said.

Again, my efforts to find sexual release were futile. I left the prostitute before she turned violent. She had been looking forward to our arrangement and was seriously disappointed that I was without cash. I returned to my cold home with a lingering smell of her on my jacket. She was beautiful, a little worn down by the lifestyle, but she would have been a dream to respectfully cumm upon. I sat in a chair in my back yard and thought about all the different ways that I could acquire cash so that I could get enough money together to continue my immorality play on the following day.

How A Man Takes A Shower.

Once naked, I imagine myself to be some place else in time. Far away from the cold confines of my home and the dysfunctional harangues of my marriage. The warm steam fills the cold air with a sweaty mist and I am ready to leave my problems on the floor. When the temperature reaches a degree that would probably be to hot for most, I step into the claw foot tub without any thought for what I am leaving behind. In the nude, I am a threat to no one, innocent again. I am vulnerable to the whims of the world but alone in the privacy of a hot shower.

The first thing I do is warm my body and head (because I do believe the two are separate) with the hot water that is pouring against my fragile body. I think for a moment about death, but then comfort myself with humid deep breaths that open my lungs. I turn from back to front and front to back allowing the hot water to open all of my clogged up pores. I then lather my lanky body with a cinnamon soap that is carved in the shape of the Buddha. I suck in deeply the aromatic sweet and sour smell of the soap as I cover myself with its salve. The soap sizzles on my sensitive skin creating red spots that I sometimes confuse for boils. There are no sounds other than that of running water and the voices in my head. I clean my feet, thighs, buttocks, penis, chest, underarms and face- with a consistency that leaves me feeling untarnished by dirt or dust. Once this ritual cleansing has ended I then proceed to wash my hair with shampoo.

I use a natural shampoo that is made in Oregon and leaves my hair without dandruff or soot. It prevents my head from aching and it also limits the amount of negative thoughts that I think up. A lot has been going on in my mind as of late, and this shampoo lathers my thoughts with a preventative measure. My brain ceases to think about my impending separation from my wife or my fear of small, closed in spaces (like the shower). I am no longer feeling accents of anxiety or over heating pulsations of my heart. I am tranquil for as long as the herbal shampoo sits on my head and I can breath with a calm that evades me the rest of the day.

While the shampoo is still in my hair I take that time to clean out my ears and brush my degenerating gums and teeth. The toothbrush I use is long and cotton bristled and it has a particular knack for getting food out from small spaces. The toothpaste I use is a salt solution that claims to kill the bacteria which swim around in our mouths without any regard for human life. They spend their days eating away our gums so that in the end we are left with painful abrasions and aching molars. I brush my teeth, without the sensitivity that I have been told to use- but rather I brush with the determination of a man who has declared war upon an invading army. Once I am done with my frontal attack, I wash out my mouth with shower water and then proceed to empty the shampoo from my mind, head and hair.

The heat at this point begins to agitate my heart. I can feel its irregular gyrations that are usually the result of too much heat. I reduce the temperature of the water slightly and continue with my daily ablutions. I clean my face with a seaweed solution that my wife brought back from Spain. She yells at me whenever I use it, but I have learned to only abduct trace amounts of the solution so that she can not detect anything missing. I let this coral solution sit upon my face for five minutes and during this time I will normally apply a conditioner to my hair. At this point in my shower I normally used to masturbate. My reasoning is that it not only relaxes me, but after I orgasm in the shower I am able to wash down all of the remaining sperm with the conditioner in my hair and the coral solution on my face. This will guarantee that not a trace of my sperm will be left for my wife to detect on the tub floor. I like to leave the shower as I found it.

I have been abstaining from masturbation as much as possible lately. My hopes is to break free from any kind of sexual addiction I may have developed over the past 36 years of my life. I do believe that it is unhealthy to repress our sexual inclinations (this leads toward the individual becoming aggressive and irrational) but I have masturbated so much in my life that I can afford to abstain for a few months. Without masturbation, my showering ritual does feel incomplete, but I am learning to adjust to where I am at. I wash the remaining seaweed solution from my face and conditioner from my hair with a sadness that seems to come forth towards any ending. I turn off the hot water that has turned my entire body a velvety red color and I step onto the bah mat cleansed and a little less corrupted than I was when I first stepped into the shower. I dry my fragile body off with a 100% cotton towel and take a few deep breaths of the remaining warm steam. Because of my masturbatory habits the past few weeks when I get out from the shower I am left with an erection. I assume this is a result of my physiology which has been conditioned to associate showers with orgasm. Now that I am “attempting” to abstain from masturbation I have to wait a full five minutes for my erection to dissipate. I use q-tips  to clean out my ears, apply deodorant to my underarms and between my butt and then open the bathroom door where I walk into the world that for ten minutes or so, I was glad to leave behind.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #9

A naked prostitute in a tree!! This was too much. Yesterday I had seen a ghost for the first time in my life and now this! The days are just getting more interesting as I go on. What will tomorrow bring? For today was one of the stranger days in my life.

My wife and I have been fighting a lot lately. It is not a malicious fighting with raised voices, but rather a silent frustration which is expressed through various passive aggressive maneuvers. When we fight I do things like ignore her, sleep on the couch and seek out sexual deviations. This morning as soon as my wife left for work I decided to seek retribution for all the stress our clashes have cost me. I went straight to the Craig’s List Erotic adds and almost immediately happened upon an add that said “In calls In A Tree.” I was curious so I pushed on the link and saw a spicy picture of a beautiful blonde swinging from a tree branch in the nude. Her breasts were small and shapely and she had shaved off all her pubic hair. Below the picture was a caption the read Today I am doing in calls in my tree house, come on over and swing me from a branch. I am offering lunch time specials.

I could not contain myself. I had never heard of a prostitute doing in calls in a tree. I had nothing going on for the day other than a willingness to have an unusual experience. I called her number and scheduled a time for us to meet in her tree. When I asked her how to find the tree she said, “It’s easy baby, it’s the tallest redwood across the street from the Shell station on Hinterland Ave. Just park your car and you will see a sign that says pussy and an arrow pointing up. Just climb the wood blocks that are nailed to the tree.” “Okay,” I said “I will see you in an hour.”

I took a shower and dressed hurriedly. My stomach was fizzing with butterflies, all the result of my great anticipation. It always amazes me how quickly life alters its course. One moment you are experiencing joy and contentment and the next minute everything is turned upside down and you are standing in tears beside the death bed of a friend. Or in my case you are filled with anger and despair and the next moment you are as excited as a kid and filled with the most tantalizing anticipation you have ever felt. There is no such thing as security in this life. Everything is in flux, always changing. This makes human beings afraid, and so out of this fear we have created the illusory notion of security.

I stopped at the bank and withdrew $60.00 from the ATM. I could not help but notice that my balance was less than $300.00. I stopped myself from worrying about my financial future and just stayed focused upon the naked blonde waiting for me in a tree. The redwood tree was easy to find. I saw the sign that said pussy with an arrow pointing upwards. I climbed up ate least 150 wooden steps until I could hear the prostitute saying “you are almost here.” I was out of breath when I arrived to the platform which she called her home. There was a futon covered in red blankets and a green carpet all along the floor. I noticed a rack which had a bundle of clothes dangling from it and a shelf upon which was food and books. She offered me some water and asked me to have a seat. I was having a difficult time catching my breath and slowing down the rapid beating of my heart.

She was gorgeous and had a perpetual smile upon her face. She told me her name was Dawn and then asked me what I do. “I am an unemployed Blogger and Teacher,” I told her and she laughed. “What is a Blogger?,” she asked. “Someone who wastes a lot of time in front of a computer writing things for people that he or she will never meet,” I cynically replied. “So then why do you do it?” she asked. “Because I don’t have anything better to do, and besides it’s a good way to connect with strangers.” She looked at me curiously and then I decided to change the subject. “So you live in this tree?” “Only part-time,” she replied. “I come up here when I work and when I want to be alone. It is a good place to work because the police will never catch me and it’s a good place to be alone because I am above it all.” I looked around. There was a beautiful 360 degree view of the entire bay area. “I found this tree fort one day a few years back when I decide to climb this tree for fun.” “You mean you just happened upon it?” I asked. “Yes, I guess you could say that…although I think it was a gift from the gods.”

Dawn began to undress. “So you want to fuck?” she asked me. I was nervous and unsure what I wanted to do. She could detect this. “You don’t want to fuck, do you?” she said with sad gloating eyes. “No, I am a married man and can not fuck another woman, but I am wondering if I could see you in the nude and maybe get a hand job?” I said feeling ridiculous about my question. “A hand job, that is all,” she said surprised. “I am yet to meet a man who has climbed all the way up here for just a hand job.” “Well today’s a special day,” I said with a slightly twisted smile upon my awkward face.

She took off all of her clothes, and I took off all of mine. I lied back on her red blankets and felt the afternoon wind crawl around on my bare chest. Squirrels rummaged through the branches and quails sat on tree branches and watched the entire show for free. Dawn did a little erotic dance for me and then started to swing from a tree branch. She wanted me to masturbate as I watched her show, but I felt a bit awkward doing so. I was worried that the tree branch would snap and she would fall hundreds of feet to her death. She did flips and twirled around like a gymnast on that tree branch. “She kept yelling “rub your cock for me,” but I was hesitant. She then came over to where I lied naked on the futon and lay down next to me. I could feel the silk sweat on her petite body. She kissed my nipples and rubbed her long blonde hair along my bare chest. I looked up into the blue sky, and as I saw a large airplane make its way overhead I felt her warm comforting hand begin to caress my cock.

My semen sprayed all over the place. I was embarrassed and quickly dressed. I helped her to clean it up and was very apologetic. She smiled at me and maternally said, “you have not had sex in along time, have you?” “It has been awhile,” I replied as I rubbed the wet towel over the semen stains on her red blanket. “Does not your wife pleasure you,” she asked as she put on her red lace underwear and bra. “In ways that are not sexual,” I replied. “You have got to fix that baby or this may not be the right marriage for you.” I knew that what she was saying was true, but I did not want to get into it. Two squirrels chased each other quickly over a branch above my head as I handed Dawn the $60.00 that I owed her. I kissed her cheeks and thanked her for the wild experience. “I loved the way that you twirled from that branch,” I said and we both laughed. “I do that all day for exercise. Takes my mind of all the stress,” she replied. “On your way down make sure you step slowly and hold on tight to the wood spikes,” she said as I began my descent. Once I had made it down to the ground the feeling of anticipation I had earlier felt had turned into guilt. As I got into my old car I knew that it was now time to return to my real life. However, I could not deny the slight smile upon my face as I thought about Dawn- the prostitute who lived in a tree.

The End.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #8

What a strange life we are all stuck inside of. Some may be better at disguising the strangeness of life behind the normalcy of convention, but no one can escape from the mysteries of change and the passing of time. I am always amazed by the ways in which change and time impact my life. Just when I think that everything is becoming manageable everything falls apart. Just when I think that I am fully present in the moment- I seem to become stuck in the past. Maybe this is why people become so heavily addicted to sex. It is the one activity that defies change and time. There is a safety in sex- the safety of familiarity. In this ever changing odd world, familiarity is like raft or a life preserver. It keeps us afloat.

This morning I found myself back on Craig’s List looking at the erotic personals. My wife has gone out for the day and once again I am using my alone time to pursue sexual fantasies. I am terribly tempted by adds such as “How Many Licks Does It Take,” “Smother Your Face In A Catwax,” or “Super Sexy and DEELUSHIZ.” I am entertained by all of the possibilities that lay behind each of these adds. They are like little erotic stories waiting to be experienced. All I have to do is pick up the phone and dial. I could of never imagined that sex could be so easy.

The only problem is that I rarely ever call. I may dial quickly and then hang up when I hear a voice. Or I will ask a few questions like “so what do you do?” or “how much would it cost to get an erotic massage?” The girls are always nice and hungry for business- so conversation is never difficult. What is difficult is doing away with my guilt or shame and pretending that nothing is wrong. I have no desire to be unfaithful to my wife, and even the simplest thought that I may be betraying or deceiving her makes me feel like dirt. An object of scorn. A failure. But then again, I know that these feelings go way back before my recent obsession with the Craig’s List Erotic adds.

One of my earliest memories is of waking up in the middle of the night one summer and looking in my backyard where I could see over two dozen naked adults around a large wood hot tub, having sex in various primal positions. Steam from the hot water covered their bodies in a strange mystique and I was fascinated from the moment I saw this. My mother and father were swingers and would always host the most “active” of sex parties. They always started long after I would go to bed, but I was never quite fully asleep between the moving/gyrating floor boards above my head and the strange, languorous sex sounds that emanated from the bellies of participants in the throes of pleasure. I was always curious about these sounds because they seemed to express something about adults that I never heard expressed in words. It was almost as if all the clues about the meaning of life were hidden in these primal pleasure sounds.

As I grew older it seemed as if my parents became less interested in promiscuous sex. They had been hassled by police and even humiliated by a write up in the local press. I remember the headline read “Is Your Psychiatrist Hosting Sex Parties?” They wanted to become a normal suburban Jewish family and forget their infamous past. Occasionally they would have some friends over from the Temple and watch pornography behind closed doors but for the most part as the mid-eighties approached my home was free from the Debby-Does-Dallas clamourings of sex crazed adults. The only problem was that as my parents interest in promiscuous sex faded away mine grew stronger. By the age of thirteen I was masturbating like a mad man to my fathers dirty magazines and calling various phone sex services on a daily basis. I would stay up late at night and for hours try to unscramble a sex show on television. Often times I would manage to get a clear picture after hours of desperate unscrambling- with which I would proceed to watch with my penis in my hand until the picture scrambled out. I would make the strangest sex sounds from deep in my belly and somehow feel like I was finally acting like an adult.

My parents had no clue what was happening to their son. At my Bar Mitzvah I convinced a friend of mine to perform oral sex on me in the country club bathroom stall. When I was fifteen I remember taking the liver that my mom brought home from the butcher shop and having sex with it in the bathroom ( a friend at Sunday school told me that doing this felt like a vagina). By the time I was sixteen I had various sex crazed girlfriends (and a life sized blow up doll) and I was sneaking into strip clubs where the dancers knew me by my first name. I was so young and cute and they wanted to be the first to initiate me into a life of degeneracy. At that time in San Fransisco the strip clubs still had a seedy personality and smelled like sex and sleaze. They had a strange kind of animal luster in them that was decorated with red lights, candles and lots of hidden rooms. The strip clubs were dens of iniquity where no fantasy was too much and everything was legal. It was what I imaged the red light district in Paris at the turn of the century must of been like. Any time I could find a way out from my home and into the mire that was San Fransisco- I would do so without resistance. I would stay in the clubs until closing and at times, very special times…leave with a stripper and return to her residence. I was a young man out of control. By the age of twenty one I was unstoppable, broke and in weekly sessions with a sex therapist.

Now I have little interest in getting my penis licked by a stranger in a red lit room for sixty dollars. The Strip clubs in San Fransisco have all lost their charm. So, my final vice is these Craig’s List Erotic adds. Adds like “Suck You All Night Long,” or “Sex Kitten Wants To Purrrrr On You,” all make me feel young again. I realize that it is kind of pathetic to be spending my days caught up in the transgressive print of a seedy add. I also understand that behind the sexual lingo are broken dreams and desperate measures that are being taken to earn a buck. I am a married man, who should be spending his time learning about investments and savings accounts. Adult matters. Instead my head is still rapped around the pleasure or obsessions of my youth. It is familiar. A habit that keeps me from feeling the gravity of what my life has become. Rather it keeps me distracted- so I can not notice all the change that is happening around me, all the time that is passing away.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #6

Boredom has been tugging at me like a strange ache which refuses to let go. The days have been filled with a sharp cold and my will has dissolved into a kind of lazy melancholy. If you would of asked me a year ago- I would have told you that there was no way I could suffer from boredom. I would have told you that people who are bored lack true wonder for life and that I am fully occupied in my life just sitting by a window and watching the clouds drift by. Boredom had no grasp upon me then, but now a year later it is threatening to put its nappy little hands around my neck- and cut off the air supply.

It is my belief that boredom causes men and woman to do certain things that normally we may not do. We want to feel alive again, and are desperate for anything that will make us feel this way. So I did what I do best, I called a very attractive escort and told her to meet me at my parents house. It was time for me to take a small vacation.

My parents were out of town for a few more days and they lived in a rather decadent home not to far from where I am struggling to live. The add that I responded to on the Internet said “XXX Erotic Massage By Young Nympho….p.s. no full service.” This was perfect for me since I was uninterested in the sex part but wanted some small element of a sexual encounter. I was basically horny and wanted to see a young beautiful woman in the nude. If I could get her to take a shower and let me watch, even better. I had been stuck in a world lately that was heavy in disappointment and failure. After getting sick I was plagued by the what am I doing with my life? syndrome. This ridiculous blog that I keep repelled me like blue cheese and I was in need of an erotic holiday.

I arrived at my parents home with enough time to get the place comfortable and looking like it belonged to me. I took down a lot of the pictures and changed into my fathers silk bathrobe. Then directly at ten p.m. she promptly rang the doorbell. I was shaking a bit because of the anxiety that always seems to overpower me when I am about to do something that maybe I should not be doing. What life is worth living if you are not constantly breaking the boundaries that you have set up around yourself? I opened the door and before me was one of the most beautiful women I had ever beheld with my eyes.

“Wow, what a beautiful home!!” she said with her hands over her mouth, making her way through the marble and mirror filled entry way. I took her long blue coat from her, under which she was wearing a one piece very tight fitted blue dress that stopped right beneath her butt. She took off her heels and allowed her long brown hair to fall down by her shoulders. “So this is your house,” she asked. I nodded my head in the affirmative. “Wow, you must make a lot of money?” “I have my days,” I said knowing full well that I only had less than a thousand dollars left in my bank account. I showed her into the sitting room where I had lit a fire and had a glass of vintage port waiting for her. “Oh thank you but I do not drink, I am allergic.” I could relate I told her because it seems like lately whenever I drink I get palpitations and chest pains for the entire night. “Ouch,” she said.

“So what do you got on your mind?” she asked me curiously. “What do you mean,” I said surprised by her question.” “You know, what do you want me to do for you?” she said crossing her legs and letting me notice that she was not wearing underwear. I always felt uncomfortable about this question because I was afraid that my reply may make the women feel as if I could be a pervert. You see, most men want to have sex- but I just like seeing the girls naked and maybe orgasming by my own hand. When I tried to explain this to the escort, whose name was Rain, she could not of been more willing. And she suggested that I take a shower with her to get comfortable.

The hour we spent together could not have gone away quicker. We showered together and then I watched her petite yet substantive body dance around my parents bedroom and mimic acts of orgasmic bliss upon their bed. She at one point even did a head stand while playing with herself, followed by a back flip right into my lap. I was like a kid in a candy store and there was no trace of my boredom to be found.

A few days later my parents returned. This morning I received a phone call from my mother who was in a very frantic state. “I think your father is having an affair. After all I have done for him, the ungrateful son of a bitch is having his way with younger slutty girls!!” I tried to interject. “Mom…mom, what happened….calm down and tell me what happened?” Once she was able to calm her fury she told me that some strange women by the name of Rain had just come to the house and told her that she was here the other night and left a very valuable earing in the bathroom. My stomach dropped. “She was not older than twenty five and I know your father likes them petite brunettes with poppy personalities, and all this after we took that wonderful vacation together in India and shared so much love together.” My mother was now in tears.

I did what I could. I told my mother not to worry, that my father would never do anything to intentionally hurt her. “Oh I know he would that son of a bitch,” she kept responding. I was unable to confess my crime for sheer embarrassment of telling my mother that I had called a prostitute over to their home. The guilt of admitting this to my mom is too great. So now my father is sleeping in a motel, furious about the false accusations that are being leveled against him, and I am sitting here at home, uncertain what to do next.

The Man Who Walked Into A Black Hole

 

If you fall into a black hole you will never return. I remember hearing this. I do not remember where but I remember hearing this. I do not want to believe it.

 

 

Around me there is no oxygen. Thinking thoughts is all I have yet it is so difficult. I am able to listen to music in my mind/head, which is a piano concerto by Mozart or Satie. I prefer somnolent sound. It suits my incorpreal state, which seems to be nothing but a gradual but beautiful unfolding in time/space. Myself has been reinvented into a thought. Or should I say, my ego is but a dream. This is all that is left of me. A thought or an ego that believes itself to be residing someplace in the center of the galaxy. I am no longer with physical butt or penis or face – but I see stars dying all around me and I can I attest to the fact that I am not dead.

 

 

The genesis of my current condition is peculiar. I remember everything. I finished my job waiting tables and I was walking home some time after midnight. I was feeling very negative from a feeling of dissatisfaction with my job, my life and the peevish middle-aged man who was dissatisfied with my wine pouring capabilities. I suppose frustration mixed with despair would be fair ingredients to describe my mental state. I was aware of an overwhelming smell of carbon in the air. I walked past a home with a sullen woman playing a grand piano in the window. I could hear the subtle cords moving with the candlelight that sat on the mantle. As I walked past the home I looked up into the night sky and noticed a full moon and a mass of glistening stars. It was almost as if I could see the formations of galaxies and hear the pull of planets. I began to feel a bit fluish and light headed as I heard the piano chords change into a static hummm. Suddenly I was filled with a magnetic feeling that…. attracted the center of the galaxy toward me.

 

 

Everything went dark. Everything vanished and I was surrounded by what I can only refer to as invisibility. I felt my body begin to fall through a space, which seemed to be the shape of a ring. There was a loud gurgle accompanied with a sensation of weight or matter falling apart. I noticed that my disintegrating body looked like a dark shadow hiding behind a curtain of light. It was then that all gravity and matter was absorbed and I lost all sense of detail and form. I was leaving the territory of gravity where fruit hangs from trees and life is lived on solid ground.

 

 

As I passed through time I felt an incredible sense of tranquility. It was the feeling of a soft trace of silk caressing its way around my skin. I was almost bubbling with emancipation from my physical body. I had surrender into the situation without a sense of resistance. It was then that I repeated to myself several times a word I no longer remember.

 

 

As I moved through space I could see the entire history of the future universe in a very finite period of time. It was remarkable to see all of time, past and future unfolding before me in what felt like a brief moment or two. I saw everything that has ever occurred in human history within the blink of an eye. I watched a child born, grow old and be buried in a cemetery all in the time it would take to rub away a spot from a glass window. My favorite part was seeing large civilizations grow out from farmland and then collapse as a result of arrogance and the abuse of power.

 

 

Now there are only very few objects around me. Stars, space and what looks like an occasional bird. I feel as if I am looking through an open widow at objects that are billions of light years away. Light goes on as far as I can see, a constant succession of echoes and big bangs. I am alone and never tired. In fact I do not believe that I sleep. I know that I dream but I believe that this occurs while I am awake. Somehow matter takes form in my thoughts.

 

 

There is some light around me which seems be created by the energy ingesting some sort of matter. I am not certain about this because dust particles obscure the light. At various times the light will fall away and turn into a massive wind. The sound that is created reminds me of the summers that I would spend as a child singing and crying in an empty pipeline. It is a hollow sound that makes me long for a past that I have forever lost. The only evidence of my tears can be traced back to my thoughts.

 

 

I may be twelve billion light years away from my home. I become homesick when I am surrounded by the terrible sounds of constant explosions, which create such high temperatures that even sound eventually burns up. Everything around me begins to pulse and shine a bright luminescent light. It is as if I am within the beginning stages of creation. The light is so bright that it is like having a large searchlight shined directly into your eyes. The pulsation throbs like an irregular heartbeat and for a brief moment I can see what looks like a large piece of plasma floating through space.

 

 

I do not believe that I fell into a black hole but rather I attracted it to me. The immense amount of negativity that I was carrying home with me that evening caused the entire universe to be attracted to me. The degree of my negative energy attracted an equal external energy. This is the only way I can describe the phenomena. It was a self-induced condition in which my negativity burned away my physical life form. I was not pulled, stretched or forced- but rather walked right into a hole. For a brief second I was standing at the edge of the earth before I was propelled forward through a curve in time. I could see photons and electrons interacting in front of me, causing the light to flicker as my physical body disintegrated into ribosome’s, lysosome’s, mitochondria and nucleus’s set free from the bondage of a cell wall. I was slowly vanishing.

 

 

My main light source now is primarily light concentrated right above my head, like a cone, which is shinning directly down upon me. It flickers, goes out and radiates brightly all at a single time. When it grows dark for extended periods of time I experience a longing for home. I crave interaction with the outside world and attempt to dream scenes of escape and entertainment. I recreate my favorite Fellini films, re-living the entire script in my thoughts. I dream of sexual interactions I once had over and over refusing to let the experience end (I have become perverted in my incorporeal form). But it is the simple things I miss most. Walks with my wife, conversations with strangers or lying in bed reading a book. I see my wife’s face and I am overcome with a longing, which is strong enough to create a frantic light in the darkness. It is amazing to me that I can still think and feel; yet I have no physical body. I am only a series of thoughts exploring itself in the eternity of time and space.

 

 

In one of my dreams I held a conversation with a professor of Astrophysics. We were sitting on a white couch talking about how I could escape from my nebulous circumstance. The professor had created his own time machine, which could stretch time like a pretzel. He insisted that his machine could manipulate the energy of a star, which could then manipulate the past. “Like say you had the ability to go back in time and shoot your parents before you were born. Or you could go back in time and become a doctor or find work which fills you with joy so you could avoid the negative energy created by your job as waiter, which attracted the black whole towards you to begin with,” he would tell me.

 

 

He insisted that he could bend time, which would allow me to be freed from my immaterial condition. “By exploring Einstein’s theories and coming up with solutions to his equations I can free you from your present state. Think about cosmic strings, which have been left over from the big bang. If I can find one cosmic string then I will be able to solve a way to bend this string and allow you to arrive back home before you started.” I shook his hand and did not want to let go until he promised me that he would set me free. I had put on my finest suit for our meeting and was left sitting alone on the white couch waiting for a time, which would never come.

 

 

Day upon day I think within this endless cycle of interacting photons and neutrons, which seem to imprint context into my mind. I always find myself thinking about various ways of escape but these thoughts lack the matter to create any tangible device that would reward me my freedom. It is strange. When I was a physical body I always felt restricted by the society that I lived in. I was angered by the constant assaults on my freedom. I protested and rebelled and struggled to remain free. Now I am alone and without form, levitating for an eternity in the wide-open freedom of space and all I can do is think about how I am going to escape. I wait longingly for the professor to appear with his time machine and return me to a world I never was happy living in. I want to go back in time, get in my bed and finish the book that I was reading. I want to kiss my wife good night and learn to be happy with what I had before walking into a black hole.

Copyright © 2007 Randall Sokoloff

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #4

  It is raining out. There is a calm contentment in my chest. The air is pleasant to breathe and I am home alone. I was looking at clever erotic adds on the internet- “Sexy Freak 4You” “Young And Eager To Please” and as I was going through the adds my wife called to tell me that she loved me. She also told me about a new form of therapy, called EFT, which she thought might be good for me. I was in a bit of a hurry to get off the phone because I felt guilty about the naked brown haired lady spreading her legs on my computer screen. This throbbing lust seems to rarely leave me alone.

Last night I decided to venture out into the city on my own. I parked my car and wondered around the Tenderloin. It was drizzling. There is something magical about a city when it is raining. I met all sorts of characters from the streets, including a man with a moving nipple (whom I will talk about at length some other time). I sat in a dark smoky bar and drank ginger ale and decided that my body could benefit from an Asian Massage.

I had been thinking about doing this a lot recently but I was always unwilling to spend the hard earned money. However I was able to sell a few paintings the other day for a large sum of money- so I decided to celebrate.

Next door to the bar was a joint called “The Sun Spa.” I rang the rusty buzzer and was greeted by an older Asian lady dressed in a white dress. She offered me a cup of tea but I declined. I was shaking and a bit apprehensive about the situation I was walking into. “Did I really need to do this,” one half of my brain said while the other half shouted, “Yes…Move forward and Relax!” A line of scantily dressed Asian women lined up before me and I was told to pick which one I wanted. It was a hard decision to make because my anxiety would not allow me to see straight. The ginger ale rumbled around in my stomach as one of the girls said, “he is so tall and looks like a movie star.” I thanked her but she giggled and looked down at the ground.

I choose a woman who was dressed in black gown, which revealed her nicely shaped breasts, which hung like adornments from her chest. Her hair was black and straight and pulled back into a ponytail. She took my hand and lead me down a long hallway and into a red neon lit room. She went over to the shower in the corner and turned it on. “You like water hot?” she asked me in a high-pitched accent. “I do,” I said as I took off my pants. There was a small mattress on the floor covered with clean white sheets. Floor to ceiling mirrors surrounded the room and there was a long bar which hung down over the bed. By the side of the bed I noticed a table with all kinds of lotions and towels.

“You shower and I be back soon.” I did what she said and washed myself well from head to foot. I could feel my heart rapidly beating and I started to think about “what if I dropped dead now and my body was found in a massage parlor. What would my wife and family think!!” This thought made me even more anxious so I quickly washed the soap off my body and stepped out from the shower.

I wrapped a towel around my waist and sat on the side of the mattress awaiting the masseuse’s return. She came back into the room holding more towels and a cup of tea. She offered the tea to me and said, “I noticed you shaking, tea help you calm down.” She then set down the towels and told me to go ahead and lie on my stomach…., which I did.

I was starting to feel more relaxed as she walked on my back holding herself steady with the bar hanging over the bed. She walked up and down my spine saying “do you hurt” “is this okay” and beneath the pressure of her weight all I could do was say “yes…fine…fine…” I looked in the mirror and watched her hourglass shape walk up and down the length of my anxious body.

She then rubbed baby oil all over my legs, back and arms. She asked me if it felt good and I then asked her what her name was. “Amy, I know next you asked me where I from,” she said in broken English. “Yes, where are you from?” “Vietnam.” She continued to gently rub my arms which created a release of stress so great that I was finally able to be very comfortable in the present moment. She pulled on my fingers and toes, pounded my back (which made me burp) and did some sort of acupressure on the bottom of my feet, which made me laugh. “You ticklish?” she asked with a smile. “Very,” I replied.

She massaged my legs and testicles and stuck her fingers between my butt checks. I was not sure how to respond to this but it felt good so I let out a little mone of pleasure. “You like balls rubbed?” I took a deep breath, how was I to respond other than to say, “it feels very nice, thank you.”

While she continued to massage my body we had a small conversation. She told me that she comes to San Francisco for a few months a year to work for weeks straight earning enough money to return home and support her family. Her mother is dying and her father she said died at a very young age. I began to feel the guilt come over me but I stopped it as soon as she took off her clothes and asked me to turn over.

My heart began to rapidly beat again. This was the first time I had been in the presence of a beautiful naked body in some time. My first reaction was to reach out and touch her breasts but I was able to hold my self back. My erection was so strong that when she grabbed my penis in her hand and bent over to whisper in my ear “do you want to have fun with me?” I had an orgasm. I had lost all ability to restrain the biological impulse to cumm. It was something that happened without my own awareness, like the explosion of a valve. She was surprised when she noticed what was happening and let out a whooping, “mmyyyy gossshhh so quick!!!” I apologized profusely for my ”accident” and all she could do was look at me and say “you no have sex in long long time.” I shook my head and said, “no long long time.”

Amy was incredibly generous. She cleaned me up and led me back into the shower where I could get the residual sperm off my body. While I was in the shower she changed the sheets and told me maybe next time if I come back I would do better. All I wanted to do was get out of there and return to the bar and drink more ginger ale.

While I was dressing, she sat on the side of the bed and stared at the clock. “You still have ten minutes left,” she said. “It’s okay I feel good,” I replied for lack of something interesting to say. I then asked her how many times a day she has sex with men. “I have sex with ten to twelve men every day. Some days like today are good day. I see twelve men but today a few men like you. They cumm so fast, so no sex. Usually men stick penis in me and cumm fast, so no big deal. But sometime men take to long and it hurt.” I was surprised. “You have sex with that many men every day?” Yes,” she said with a sad giggle. “How many days in a row?” I asked. “I work for three weeks straight and take five day off. I do this for two or three months and then go back home to my family.” “That’s a lot of sex,” I said. “I know but its okay, I am young and like sex.” “How old are you?” She got up from the side of the mattress took the dirty towels from me and said without looking me in the eye, “twenty four.” I did not believe her.

She led me by the hand back down the hallway. I walked behind her looking at all the fish tanks filled with various kinds of fish and statues of Asian deities. I had not noticed this on my way in. I was more relaxed now and felt a calmness that only comes after the release of sperm. There was not an ounce of longing or lust present in my body. I was a man at peace.

She opened the gated door for me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “ You such a nice man, make sure you come back soon…and have more sex with wife!!” I walked out onto the street and was trying to figure out how she knew I had a wife. Then I noticed that I was still wearing my wedding ring. I returned to the bar and drank ginger ale and watched a fat elderly man fall asleep on the bar with a cigarette in his mouth. In the corner two lovers kissed and smoked cigarettes. They were very thin and looked as if they had not eaten for days. I wondered if what I had just done could be considered cheating and the answer to that I am still as of yet unable to come up with. All I know is that as I am writing this I feel calm, all except for the lust that has returned. I know it is only a matter of time before my lust takes control of me once again.