Expanding Whorizons

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I remember, vividly, the feel of a black shirt under my hands.  I remember how the material felt as I slid my palms across it, across his chest.  Reverently, my fingers sought the buttons.  Nervous, I fumbled.  He was patient. Starting at his chest, at my hands, my peripheral vision could just make out the gentle smile on his face.  A curl of lip, more pronounced for the dark swath of goatee.  He didn’t help me.  This was my task.  This was my honor.  One by one, I undid the buttons constraining his chest.  Bit by bit, the cloth receded and I could see the skin of him, dusted with hair.  Once I’d unbuttoned all, I stood there – unsure if I should reach for his pants, unsure if I should take it upon myself.  Again, he read my thoughts, “Go ahead, finish with the shirt.” I reached, hands slightly trembling, to free the shirt tails from his pants.  To do so, I reached around him.  I drew so close to his chest that I could feel the heat of his skin, smell his scent, feel the hair a

Something remarkable happens to me, when i let down my guard.  It doesn’t happen often, but when it does… There i knelt, naked but for the collar and short leash He had placed on me.   i’d been bathing His boot with my tongue.  i’d been so intent on my task that i hadn’t noticed Him lean over me.  Gently, His hand touched my head, stroking my hair. “Good boy.” i felt so many things when He said that.  Pleased, grateful, perhaps a bit proud. “Take off my boots.” i sat back, on my haunches, head bowed, focused on untying His left boot.  Once untied, i gently lifted His leg until i could pull the boot off.  Once it was in my hand, i risked looking up at Him.  He was watching me, knowing what it was i wanted.  A small smile played on His lips, and He nodded – ever so slightly.  i slowly drew His boot to my nose, inhaling once, twice.  my chest felt full of His scent.  Before i could get too distracted, i placed His boot off to the side, repeating the process with His right boot.

We all respond differently to touch.  For me, touch has always been negotiated.  I know that may sound strange.  Touch has never been entirely safe – I won’t bore you with the reasons.  Suffice it to say, home never felt safe, and boundaries were never really respected.  Because I’ve always been a bit skittish about touch—whether touching , or being touched by, someone else—I’ve found it surprising that I’m drawn to massage.   Perhaps it’s because it is inherently a healthy, safe structure in which touch is healthy, respectful, helpful and therapeutic.  Sounds good, doesn’t it?  Ok, maybe it’s just because I know what the rules are and that gives me a false sense of safety. In any event, the recent addition of a couple of new sites dedicated to eroticizing massage has made for some interesting evenings.  Staunch supporter of porn, as I am, I find msyelf replaying the set up to scenes almost more often than the sexiness.  Something about touch, bare naked skin against skin, that I cov

Standing in front of me, naked, all I could think was ‘WOW!’ Gorgeous, head to toe.  Muscles, solid, rock hard.  Amazing, what his body felt like under my hands, my finger tips.  The room was quiet, everything we said between us was quiet, hushed. We’d started kissing, gently, lips touching lips.  Tentatively lips parted, tongues intertwined.  He tasted good.  Soft lips, light dusting of beard, smooth skin.  I enfolded him in my arms, feeling the hard muscles of his back with my hands, caressing his skin, amazed at the muscles of his ass.  Lips went to his neck, I breathed in the scent of him.  I’d watched him strip, the room fully lit, trying to take it all in.  Now that he was naked, he padded over the the bed – I watched his muscles play under his skin, felt how hard my dick was.  I’d stripped down as well, and as he sat – back against the pillows, legs spread – I moved to join him.  I slid my arms through the spaces under his knees, burying my face in his groin.  So warm, I c

Worshipping takes on many forms, tactile, oral, and other.  It was my privilege to start while He was still dressed.  He lead me from the living room to a large bedroom.  At the end of a king sized bed sat a bench – ordinary enough in appearance, though leather clad.  The leather about my neck now attached to a short expanse of chain, more a lead than a leash.  The links were small, and light.  The leash, and the collar, both more symbol than practical restraint.  i am naked, He is fully clothed. “Where shall we begin?” His voice, again low, rumbles through his chest.  It’s not, I realize, a rhetorical question.  Then it dawns on me, what good is worship that is driven by commands?  He wants, i hope, for me to enjoy his body as i hope, breathlessly, that he will take and enjoy mine.  “May i undress You, Sir?” my voice trembles slightly, afraid to misinterpret what is going on.  He hears that tremble, places a hand on my neck, feeling the pulse racing there.  He leans toward me, kis

Everyone worships in a different way.  Sacrileges as it sounds, I prefer to worship a man’s body.  In its way, it’s perfection – one could say that the hand of god made it, why would it not be something to worship. Walking into a quiet room, low lights.  Seated in a chair I find him.  He’s not naked, not yet.  If I’m fortunate, he’ll let me remove his clothes.  I have come here with the full understanding that I’m here for his pleasure.  I walk across the room, silently, reverently, and kneel beside his chair.  I wait to be spoken to, because that is the role we’ve agreed I’ll play.  Yet, it’s more than a role – I want this.  It’s not merely a play, acting out.  I volunteer myself to his service. He’s watched me walk across the room, and submit to him on my knees.  I kneel, with my head bowed, knowing he’s looking at me.  My heart beats fast, and hard, in my chest.  I force myself to kneel, not fidget, not look up.  I hear his voice, low, and my breath catches. “Are you a good

I haven’t touched myself in weeks.  Not sure why, what I’m waiting for.  Trying to hold back, for some reason?  Trying to avoid letting myself go, letting myself feel that rush.  More likely, I’ve not wanted to let go… of control.  Sex, even the kind by myself, has always been about getting out of my own head.  If I want to cum, I have to let go of all the control I try to exert on a daily basis.  Years of trying to forcibly keep myself, and my world, in check.  Rarely has sex been that all consuming.  And when it has, it’s been amazingly memorable.  More often, I’ve been in a position of trying to please another.  Gaining from that, I suppose, a sense of acceptance and approval.  In short, the past few weeks have left me feeling exhausted and not particularly sexy.  So what changed? Short answer, porn.  Not just porn, no.  Porn showing a guy I’ve whacked off to innumerable times in the past.  Why now?  Because he’s been out of the scene for a long time and it caught me by surpri