Lately, I have been noticing something a little strange. Approximately, every two days, I'll refer to my digital porn collection and rub a few out. I'll spare you the details of my pornographic tastes, but I'll tell you that it's a bit extreme. Stroking it, everything is beautiful and wondrous; but after I climax I am instantly grossed out by the acts playing on my computer screen. My interest is evident. These are the same films I have jumped through hoops to download and categorize. However, there is a fifteen minute period after cumming where I'm disgusted.
Is this kind of like after eating a big meal and your favorite dish becomes repugnant?
Whatever this phenomenon is: I don't like it. I am considering exercising some orgasm control. I love the peculiar curves my sexuality takes; I love the way my brain operates when it's charged. I fear that I might exhaust that facet of my identity. Everything I've been reading in my Tantra books supports my fear. According to several texts, I'm wasting my seed and leaking unrecoverable vitality.
(Check out the Tantric classic, "Secret of the Golden Flower" translated by Thomas Cleary.)
I look forward to exercising more ejaculate restraint. I do plan on having sex still, a lot of it; but I'll try to walk away satisfied without spilling anything. This could prove to be interesting. Watching porn without cumming into a towel. Fucking with breaks in between. Walking around with this primed sexually charge. I'm excited to see how far I can go.
This will result in a rash of crazy articles: you've been warned.
(Note: The photos are from my new artist-crush Erwin Olaf. He and his work is so dreamy!)