The deal is, I’m really fucking horny. Soooo fucking horny. And Belle’s on the rag. God. Damn. It.
This morning, we were rolling around in bed (read: I was holding on to her while I rolled around in frustration), kissing her face and putting my hand on her ass and generally going mad. I got pretty worked up. So much so, that a little later I had one of those patented long-term chastity precum eruptions that ran out the tube and was all cold, sticky, and wet down my left leg. There was a gooey patch on the inside of my pajamas and the tube’s end got all crusty as the fruit of my frustration cured.
How long has it been? August 25th was the last day I came. So thats…seventy-two days. And at least twenty-six more to go. Will she make me go an even hundred? Conveniently, the first Saturday in December would be exactly that.
In talking about her decision to let me go free once December rolls around (as in, free to do with the penis whatever I want whenever I want to), we agree that we’re both a little nervous. Part of me hates the idea. Not so much the coming a lot part, but the lack of all that coming being connected to her. If she told me she wanted me come every night for a month, I’d be cool with that. If she said I could come whenever I wanted as long as she was present, I’d be cool with that, too. For the past three years, I’ve essentially lashed my sexuality to hers. Pushing off from that will be hard. And somewhat sad, to be honest.
Then again, there’s another part of me (the part that’s so fucking horny) that can’t wait for twenty-five or however many days it will be so I can come again. As soon as I knew the plan, it felt like the penis was pushing against the inside of the tube wanting to get out. Everyone knows what’s coming now. The stasis field has been broken. Come on, already! But no, Belle says I will wait. So here I sit.
The other day, while tending The Portfolio, I found what I think is a picture of the world’s most perfect cock (with this one being a close second). Unsurprisingly, it is not entirely dissimilar to this one yet is totally different than the one currently secured in my pants. It inspired me to reignite a fiction project I had been working on involving my sexual fantasies. I had, in a sense, found my leading man. I’ve mentioned before how hot and bothered stories involving cuckolding get me so, of course, that’s what this is basically about. One of the main issues I have with written porn (besides the numbing redundancy of so much involving chastity and denial) is when it veers into the unbelievable. I get that it’s fantasy and all so a certain suspension of disbelief is required to enjoy it, but when it gets ridiculously silly, I lose my interest. So, in coming up with my story, I decided to try to lace just enough reality into it to ensure the reader can empathize with the happenings. Also, for me, what the characters are feeling is almost as important as what they’re doing. Maybe more important.
And now it’s gotten a little out of hand. I have so many scenarios and ideas in my head and am spending so much time trying to put myself in the shoes of each of the three characters, it’s become less a short story and more a novella. There’s a chance it’ll never get done, of course. The problem I’m facing is when I write a scene down, I get so turned on doing it that I have a hard time focusing my thoughts and making my fingers type the right keys. I may be too horny to write porn. Regardless, I posted a small (yet critical to the story) snippet to The Portfolio last night.
It’s interesting to me that I can post pictures of my junk online but writing down my fantasies like this makes me feel more vulnerable and nervous. I guess that’s because it’s a peek into my head while all the HNT in the world doesn’t give you much more than a surface view. I know that the story is from the part of my fantasies that will remain firmly planeted in Fantasyland, but maybe that makes it even harder to reveal.