I guess I'm an old fuddy-duddy. That's what you get past forty. Though, every once in a while, in between guys with daddy issues and guys into wrinkles (a one-night-stand actually told me that) you get someone who respects you and looks up to you and asks you questions while actually listening while you answer.
And when those stick around, or come back, you know you have something special.
But when they leave, as they always must, even if you know they're coming back, you still get that wistful twinge in the pit of your gut that you're missing out. The kids call it FOMO when referring to social media, which I detest, but I get it. I totally get it.
I choose to be single (not that I don't have fun, are you kidding?) for various reasons, but the biggest reason is that--call me crazy--I like to be alone with myself. Working in the yard, tinkering about in the garage, sitting in my den with a good Nook (I'm not that out of touch)...the quiet is comfortable. My own brain is familiar. I'm challenged, not by other people but by myself.
Some would think I need therapy. My Lord, I'm not a recluse. I'm on the board of my damn HOA, for God's sake.
But you get these times, after company's left and you're down two or three loads, and you just can't get rid of the boner. Perhaps from the memory of the day, perhaps you're just super-potent.
So I break out the laptop (see...technology!) and surf XTube or something similar for a while, stroking with my sheath until I'm too hard to use the skin anymore. Or I put the big leather recliner back, spread my legs and just concentrate on the feeling of my soft pads on my hard dick. So many of my hookups are quick shooters these days, and it'll only get worse the older I get. There's something to be said about a nice hour-long pleasure session.
No one to beg for your load. No one to suck too hard or jerk with the wrong paw or whisper God-awful words in your ear. Just your own mind with your own fantasies and their own voices with the perfect sweet nothings. Or sometimes nothing at all.
If I force myself not to speed up in the final moments I can watch with a sense of detachment. Without the fervent fapping there's just the tension and spasms I can count while milking the sensation as long as I can. My record's been fourteen shots over about thirty seconds. I just gave up and went to bed early after that one.
I'm an old fart, don't you know. :3
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