Aliphineurism: Oily Decadance

    One of my favorite things to do is to give myself long massages.  Catering to the attention glutton within, I spend a great deal of time on each muscle.  Stretching.  Vibrating.  Kneading.  After a couple of hours, I feel like self-appointed royalty.
     An interesting progression happened.  I slowly went from generic massage oil to Jasmine Essential Oil to thick, slippery oils like Olive Oil.  I can't get enough of that saturating feeling.  At this time, I'm indulging in peanut oil.  The consistency is perfect; heavy and buttery.  I've gotten to point where I apply generous amounts, smothering myself from head to toe.  Pouring on quarts, for a moment, I reside in the lap of luxury.  I'm suddenly surrounded by satin and service.

Peanut Oil has revolutionized my masturbatory life

The golden brown luster of my skin fills my eyes

The smooth movements of my hands travel all over my body

 Every throbbing vein becomes pronounced

Two fingers insert with zero effort

The honey hued oils takes on a silver tint

(Thank you, George Washington Carver!)

John Mayer: The New Generation of Masturbator

     I have a big, throbbing hard-on for John Mayer.  I have all of his albums.  I know all of his songs.  I hang on his every word.  I love him because he pulls off a rare triad: Goofy-Douche-Sexy.  So imagine my excitement when I saw this month's issue of Rolling Stone with my crush topless on the cover.  

     Reading the article, I came across a quote from him that turned me on a little bit.  Could it be that my guitar god is also an intelsexual?  My admiration may have elevated to terror-alert-level "orange"!

"I am the new generation of masturbator"

"Does this new generation of masturbator masturbate everyday?"

"I don't like that question, because it seeks to make me sound strange if I say 'yes', but of course I do.  I mean, I have masturbated myself out of serious problems in my life.  The phone doesn't pick up because I'm masturbating.  And I have excused myself at the oddest time so as to not make mistakes.  If Tiger Woods only knew when to jerk off.  It has a true market value, like gold bullion.  First of all, I don't jerk off because I'm horny...I do it because I want to take a brain bath." 

     A brain bath?  I never thought of it that way!  There is a refractory period that occurs after a sexual climax.  In that period, everything becomes pure logic.  It makes perfect sense to rub one out before signing contracts, making business deals or accepting that marriage proposal.  With sex out of the equation, its much easier to focus on the facts.
     I think I'll conduct an experiment.  I'm going to masturbate right before going to work and see if it benefits my performance.  Would I be more organized?  How would it affect my people skills?  My mathematic ability?  If I took a little "brain bath" before work, would I still be interested in working?  Let's see.

Masturbation for the Amish: Noisy Silence

Without my laptop

I didn't know how dependent I've gotten on technology for arousal

Pornography...

Things that rattle...

Instant messengers and cell phones...

Masturbating the other night, it was a bit difficult to remain erect

I've never noticed how active the night was

Midnight traffic...

Clicking high heeled shoes...

Feline conversations...

Opening my window

I wanted to invite the outdoors in

Instead of being annoyed by it

A breeze rolled across my chest and belly, striking my stroking hand

The car passing by sounded a lot like the seashore

Were there always so many crickets?

For a moment, I felt like I was outside

and the dogs were barking at me...

Was I pretending to be an exhibitionist?

Or did Berkeley become a voyeur?

Thrusting my hips, a group of giggling girls walk by

Would it change their mood?

To know what was happening right above their heads

I came at the thought of them seeing me

Imagining eavesdropping on their dismay

My moans were louder than usual

In hopes they would hear...

Masturbation for the Amish: Fantasy Fuck Fest

Normally...

After showering, I set up my laptop on the side of the bed.

Playing Ragin' Stallion's "Ink Storm" in fast forward,

I take the bottle of peanut oil down from my widow sill.

(Try it, you'll thank George Washington Carver in the morning.)

Watching Logan McCree spread them long, gorgeous, tattooed legs,

I start to masturbate as he gets serviced.

Positioning a towel on my leg,

I cum about three times before closing the laptop and rolling over to sleep...

Normally...

     Without my laptop, I was to forced to do something that I've haven't done since the discovery of VCRs.  I masturbated to nothing.  It has never occurred to me how much sensory input I take in while pleasuring myself.  There's always a sexy voice moaning over the phone.  There's always some eye candy performing on a screen.  I have a box full of devices that vibrate, twirl and plug.  I couldn't remember the last time I jacked off using only my hands and lube.

     Having to resort to my imagination.  My photographic memory started to replay my favorite scene of Logan's rim job; I even threw in some extra stuff that didn't happen.  Rolling onto his back, he grips the soles of his feet and stretches out until he was doing the splits.  His co-star, Steve Cruz, is especially going to town on his spread eagle platter.  I wish he was as talented in real life as he was in my mind!  Rotating seamlessly from fellatio to annilingus and back again, his mouth and tongue were making a "figure 8".  Overwhelmed with thirst and hunger. it was so messy and sexy!

     Suddenly, there was a knock at the dungeon's door and none other than The Rock walks in.  The duo stops everything and drops to their knees; The Rock unzips to reveal a pretty, golden anaconda dangling between his thighs. This is better than pay-per-view!  My mind was starting to create a fantasy orgy.  I felt like someone rolled the red carpet into my bedroom and I was star gazing.  Licking his lips, LL Cool J was there coaching everyone while kissing their necks and pinching their nipples.  A professionally dressed Anderson Cooper was getting head from Zac Efron; that boy can sure suck a mean dick!

Looking down at my pearl soaked thigh,

 I forgot how fun brainstorming could be!

The above photography is from "Flamingo"

You can view the rest of this photo set:

HERE