Some of you may wonder why I am not divorcing my wife. We have sex at most once or twice a month. I would like to have sex at least a few times a week. We have tried a number of things to make this work for us, but I think the essence of it is not going to change. I would like to divorce her, but it's not as easy as you think it is. It's not that I can just go to a lawyer, call her up and serve her the papers. Do I really want to live a pathetic, divorcee's life with two young children requiring years of child support? Do I really want my children to not have a father in their lives? Do I really want to wade through some custody battle? The answer is no. The lack of (enough) sex is not a sufficient reason to let things collapse completely.
Am I happy? I don't think I am. But there are many of you out there who are just as unhappy as I am, and you figured out your various ways of coping. I don't see how getting a handjob is hurting anybody. Unless you make an argument that there is such a thing as a victimless crime. That's my way. You can judge all you want and call it whatever you wish, but while I do feel guilty about it sometimes I despise you and your moral high ground. You don't know what you are talking about and you are just going to the same hell as I am.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Sunday, September 2, 2012
(Acu)pressure
I do apologize as I have not updated my blog as frequently. Situation between me and D are hanging out exactly where it was, with the requisite once a month or so intercourse and pretty much not a lot of anything else. She doesn't act as if she cares. I certainly have given up hope, even though I tried numerous times to communicate with her. I can't divorce her. I can't get away. I am stuck.
On Saturday I went to one of those local Asian spas that seemed to have sprouted out a lot lately. A work colleague recommended it. It was a small, sort of dampy place, ran by a couple of older Asian women who barely spoke any English. Each of the massage beds were separated by a thin screen, and you most certainly can hear your neighbors. One of the ladies pointed to an open bed and said, "take off", and I took off everything except my boxer briefs.
I lied on my stomach, my head in a hole facing the floor, and the masseuse began her work. As she used her elbows, I started to relax. The smooth, artificially warm touch created by the sandalwood massage oil, mixed with a faint smell of incense and that barely audible "Eastern" music was dizzying. Moments later, she pulled off my underwear to my buttocks, and I was startled, but she was only going to massage my back.
The best part was the head and face massage after I flipped over, and after that was done she whispered into my ear, "do you want a special massage?" "Ok." I said, and immediately regretted it because I forgot to ask her how much. She pulled off my underwear and skillfully started massaging my penis, which was already slightly engorged. A few stray thoughts came into my head: "Is this cheating? Is someone going to find out? My wallet is in my bag, what if someone I know comes in and picks me up? Would I lose my job? What if I can't get hard? That's gotta be embarrassing. I hope they don't try to blackmail me." But as her smooth fingers started tugging on my tumescent cock, the tide of pleasure started to turn, rising stubbornly from my pelvis up and down, above my belly into my chest and down my feet. And I realized that nothing mattered. Pleasure was the end in itself. Her other hand cupped my scrotum as I started squeezing my own nipples with my free hands and my mind went blank, with all the annoyance and troubles temporally escaping my cranium as the waves upon waves of pleasure tightened my rectum. I let out a slight moan but was reminded of the indecent and less than private environs. As the tension in my prostate built up, I relaxed every part of my body and focused my mind deep in my pelvis, and that tingling sensation went into the heels of my feet. I tightened my PC muscles a few more times as she slowly went up and down my shaft, and finally let that uncontrollable release envelope me. I watched the jets going straight up my belly, up my chest and shoulders.
She wiped me down with a warm towel. It was $150. I am definitely going back.
On Saturday I went to one of those local Asian spas that seemed to have sprouted out a lot lately. A work colleague recommended it. It was a small, sort of dampy place, ran by a couple of older Asian women who barely spoke any English. Each of the massage beds were separated by a thin screen, and you most certainly can hear your neighbors. One of the ladies pointed to an open bed and said, "take off", and I took off everything except my boxer briefs.
I lied on my stomach, my head in a hole facing the floor, and the masseuse began her work. As she used her elbows, I started to relax. The smooth, artificially warm touch created by the sandalwood massage oil, mixed with a faint smell of incense and that barely audible "Eastern" music was dizzying. Moments later, she pulled off my underwear to my buttocks, and I was startled, but she was only going to massage my back.
The best part was the head and face massage after I flipped over, and after that was done she whispered into my ear, "do you want a special massage?" "Ok." I said, and immediately regretted it because I forgot to ask her how much. She pulled off my underwear and skillfully started massaging my penis, which was already slightly engorged. A few stray thoughts came into my head: "Is this cheating? Is someone going to find out? My wallet is in my bag, what if someone I know comes in and picks me up? Would I lose my job? What if I can't get hard? That's gotta be embarrassing. I hope they don't try to blackmail me." But as her smooth fingers started tugging on my tumescent cock, the tide of pleasure started to turn, rising stubbornly from my pelvis up and down, above my belly into my chest and down my feet. And I realized that nothing mattered. Pleasure was the end in itself. Her other hand cupped my scrotum as I started squeezing my own nipples with my free hands and my mind went blank, with all the annoyance and troubles temporally escaping my cranium as the waves upon waves of pleasure tightened my rectum. I let out a slight moan but was reminded of the indecent and less than private environs. As the tension in my prostate built up, I relaxed every part of my body and focused my mind deep in my pelvis, and that tingling sensation went into the heels of my feet. I tightened my PC muscles a few more times as she slowly went up and down my shaft, and finally let that uncontrollable release envelope me. I watched the jets going straight up my belly, up my chest and shoulders.
She wiped me down with a warm towel. It was $150. I am definitely going back.
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