Showing posts with label Jesse Lenz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesse Lenz. Show all posts
The Worst Feeling
Coming home from work, I could instantly feel it in the air. Something was wrong. The silence and stillness of my apartment congested my stomach with caution. “Babe?” Calling for my girlfriend, the wrestling coming from the bedroom caused me more concern. “Babe?”
Swinging open the door to my bedroom, the discovery of my girlfriend crying escalates my bad feelings. Rushing to her body, curled into a fetal position, I reach out to touch her, “What’s wrong?” Her body jerks away from my hand. Her sniffling evolves into sobs. I am overwhelmed by confusion, fear and guilt. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
It takes her a while to collect herself. Something traumatic has just occurred. A myriad of morbid possibilities race through my mind. Finally able to touch her, it pains me to find that my touch is hurting her. No matter how tender, my touch is causing her great discomfort. With her face against a pillow, she struggles through the tears and mucus, “I….”
My fear and imagination joins forces to haunt me. What happened while I was away? She’s falling apart. Her voice trembles again, “I….” The message lodges in her throat is choking her. The subject of her next sentence is tormenting her thoughts, “I….found something.”
My heart drops. My stomach collapses. My thoughts of robberies, rapists and tragedies were all exchanged for something much worst. Playing stupid, I ask, “What did you find, Babe?” I know exactly what she found in the back of my linen closet. Do I pretend it isn’t mine? Do I make up an elaborate explanation to why I have a box full of gay porn in my apartment?
She looks at me for the first time, her brown eyes are bloodshot. She knows I know what she found. Her voice matures to the point its ancient, “Just tell me it isn’t yours. I’ll believe you, I won’t bring it up again; just tell me it belongs to a friend or your brother or something. Please.”
Two words, “It’s mine.” Shame of holy proportion stinks up the room. My head becomes too heavy to lift my eyes from the floor. It finally happened. Someone has finally stumbled upon my addiction. This is the worst feeling. A cardboard box turned me into a monster. Magazines. VHS tapes. DVDs. I’m no longer decent. “I’m sorry, babe.”
Microphilia
Soft. Dainty. Petite. Your small fist sliding across my erection fills me with both pleasure and pride. The sight of my remaining length overflowing from your slick grasp… The sight of your fingers struggling to encircle around my girth… The sight of your ambidextrous handling magnifies my dick into a strong tower...
You have pretty, little legs.
Smooth. Flexible. Graceful. I love the way both of your ankles fit in my left hand. I love the way I fill your insides to the brink. Taking me in completely, your pretty, little face twists. The sensation of ramming against the back wall… The sensation of rhythmically lifting your body off the bed… The sensation of your legs kicking helplessly gives me a taste of power.
I need to feel giant, for a change. Dwarfed in my work place. Deducted in my economy. Diminished on almost every other scale, I need to feel too big to fit. I need to feel taller than my credit score. I need to feel larger than my one-bedroom apartment. With you, I finally feel aligned to my true size. Or perhaps, you’ve managed to breathe life into my fantasy of being more.
You have a pretty, little mouth.
Pouting. Delicate. Ambitious. My cock splits your face in half. Your jaws are under stress, your cheeks’ elasticity is tested; but you want this so badly. I can feel your wisdom teeth… I can feel your gag reflex contracting… I can feel the muscles in your neck quivering… I am overwhelmed with pleasure and pride. Your pretty, little face multiplies my seed into an orchard as you beautifully fail to ingest.
30 Days of M-Drive (Introduction)
I recently received the opportunity to try and review a male supplement
This supplement enhances the production of testosterone using, supposedly, natural ingredients. I can attest that, in my thirty day trial, I have gone through subtle, yet significant changes in my behavior and physiology. I was amazed to find that many of my personality traits could be influenced hormonally.
30 Days of M-Drive
I found myself jogging at 3 am. Taking all the sketchy shortcuts. Circling the lake at its most vacant and dark time of day. Since taking M-drive, a part of me wanted to find trouble. I liked the way my heart races as I run behind closed shopping centers. The rush of dark, wooded areas made me feel alive. The higher volume of testosterone has turned me into a thrill seeker.
A few times, my runs were punctuated by a hook-up. Anonymous cocksuckers found on Craig's List, whom wanted nothing more than a hot load. No Strings Attached. No Reciprocity. No Names. Before the pills, I indulged and appreciated oral service. Laying back, I used to meditate on the pleasure. But these days? I want my head while standing over them. My fingers digging into their skulls, pressing their thirsty mouths downward until they choked.
My girlfriend recognized this difference. More frigid. More aggressive. More cum. Much more cum. Sex on M-Drive, made her feel like I was trying to kill her with my cock. She felt like I was trying to gnaw the meat off her bones. She loved it. She hated it. She contemplated breaking up. Naturally, I am more fluid; not so dominating. Naturally, I am more like a squishy octopus than a strong bull. In spite of multi-orgasmic nights, she missed me.
I found myself jogging at 3 am; I couldn't sleep. Taking all the short cuts, nothing was quick enough. I was an insatiable, bottomless pit. Wanting revenge. Wanting success. Wanting something wet, warm and screaming wrapped around my dick. But, after receiving all of the above, it proved to be dissatisfying.
The month I spent with higher levels of testosterone was an adventure. I was focused and motivated, but maybe too much so. Ultimately, I felt almighty and powerless because I couldn't dominate the world the way I wanted to. It was an agonizing, but sexy experience.
A few times, my runs were punctuated by a hook-up. Anonymous cocksuckers found on Craig's List, whom wanted nothing more than a hot load. No Strings Attached. No Reciprocity. No Names. Before the pills, I indulged and appreciated oral service. Laying back, I used to meditate on the pleasure. But these days? I want my head while standing over them. My fingers digging into their skulls, pressing their thirsty mouths downward until they choked.
I am different these days.
My girlfriend recognized this difference. More frigid. More aggressive. More cum. Much more cum. Sex on M-Drive, made her feel like I was trying to kill her with my cock. She felt like I was trying to gnaw the meat off her bones. She loved it. She hated it. She contemplated breaking up. Naturally, I am more fluid; not so dominating. Naturally, I am more like a squishy octopus than a strong bull. In spite of multi-orgasmic nights, she missed me.
I found myself jogging at 3 am; I couldn't sleep. Taking all the short cuts, nothing was quick enough. I was an insatiable, bottomless pit. Wanting revenge. Wanting success. Wanting something wet, warm and screaming wrapped around my dick. But, after receiving all of the above, it proved to be dissatisfying.
The month I spent with higher levels of testosterone was an adventure. I was focused and motivated, but maybe too much so. Ultimately, I felt almighty and powerless because I couldn't dominate the world the way I wanted to. It was an agonizing, but sexy experience.
After my thirty-day supply ran dry,
I was glad to return to my natural balance.
(But, I do miss the big loads!)
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