Dry spell

Due to a series of events, some unforeseen while others weren’t, Belle and I didn’t have sex for something like six weeks.

It was brutal.

There are a lot of ways I can make being denied work for me, but being cut off from her sexually, period full stop, isn’t one of them. Eventually, it makes me start to question the why and the what of being denied. It causes me to feel depressed and unsettled. Permanent enforced denial has become a cornerstone element of who I am and being denied all alone by myself for that long erodes the foundations under that cornerstone.

None of this was anybody’s fault. Not mine, not Belle’s. It’s just how life is sometimes. I did what I could to shield her from how I was feeling because there was nothing to be done about it, but it was still hard.

Then this last weekend I was able to get her off. It wasn’t anything extraordinary. No bravura performance on my part and nothing especially earth-shattering on hers, but I got to kiss her and feel her pussy and lick her nipples and feel that familiar and welcomed tightness.

And then the past few nights have been WHOOSH. Suddenly I’m horny as ever loving fuck and having a hard time sleeping and the Orion feels amazing again.

I have a couple widgets on my phone. One counts the numbers of days since she last let me fuck her (422 as of today) and how long it’ll be until it’s been 1,000 days (assuming that if she won’t let me inside her by that time that I can assume it’ll never happen again).

While I was feeling down, these widgets made me feel worse. Lots worse. Like, why am I wasting my life this way? worse. Now, after she let me get her off just that one time, they make me feel totally opposite. While the prospect of making it to 1,000 days is a little terrifying, it also, deeply deeply turns me on.

I was considering last night as I lay, exhausted but unable to sleep, what it was like to not be able to feel one’s own erection when being that horny and thinking about never being able to feel it again and never feeling a hot, wet pussy slide around it and all I could do was clutch and claw at the unfeeling surface of the Orion as my fat, laden balls shifted back and forth uselessly. I thought about how it felt for the object that in a lot of ways is supposed to be central to the married life of a man and a woman — his erection — to be totally absent from ours now. A non-issue. Unused, unwanted, and neglected. And how, as a man, that should bother me. It’s supposed to be an active part of our relationship. But it simply isn’t and, with each passing day and week and month, I feel like metaphorically and emotionally that the contents are shrinking away. Obviously, it’s not physically shrinking because that’s not a thing, but it’s all but irrelevant in our dynamic and relationship.

The opposite of that, of course, is her pussy. It’s the all-powerful radiative source of her control over me. The promise of access to it. Feeling it, smelling it, tasting it. Just the suggestion of an invitation to be able to service it. That’s why I couldn’t sleep. She was zonked out but I knew that pussy was still over there nestled between her legs. And it was all I could think about. That, and the tight little package between my legs.