Thanks for all the groovy comments on my last post. I have an equally provoking entry waiting to be published, but needed the levity provided by someone elses blog before revealing that the best and most efficient way for me to experience the look and feel of lace and silk panties on a human body is to wear them myself.
I didn’t just write that, did I?
Good to see you back, Satan. You’ve been missed. FWIW, your youngling demons have been doing a fine job corrupting my tortured soul.
While browsing various blogs by linking through comments, blogrolls and other such means I did come across a group of them that gave me a new perspective.
Apparently, knitting is back. I’m not sure it ever left, but I stumbled across pictures of young, hot looking women who were knitting. It’s not just for your grandmother, anymore! I always pictured knitting as something done by grandma, or the crazy aunt. But there they were, pictures of groups of young women, sitting in a large open room, drinking beer and knitting. Doubtlessly going on about the screwed up men in their lives.
I just must be naive. I’m sure women of all ages (and maybe even some guys) knit. It’s certainly a more productive hobby than blogging. I had just never considered it. What’s more, I had never considered that people would actually blog about knitting. Or that I would somehow be attracted to knitting blogs. Maybe that will be my next kink. Yarn, wool, sweaters, knitting needles…think of the possibilities!
Okay, instead of posting whatever I had written this morning, I’ll just give the short version…
Last night, I tried to initiate something. I got the usual…nothing. So, I grabbed the towel and stroked myself off right beside Arwyn.
“Beside” needs some visualization. Arwyn and I share a bed, but this fact is misleading. I envision most couples who share a bed, meaning they actually share it, the covers, sheets, blankets as well as the physical space. Before marriage, I envisioned spending time cuddling, hugging and really sharing the space and the time spent in bed and pictured it as a truly intimate experience. Arwyn sleeps on top of the covers, with her own blanket that more closely resembles a throw rug. And she sleeps with her head at the foot of the bed.
and she sleeps more or less fully clothed. This is the inverted position, with my having ready access to the heels of her feet which stick out from under her rug/blanket.
So, with that in mind, I slowly and silently stroked myself off to a nice orgasm by imagining what it might be like to have a wife who would at least occasionally oblige by doing it for me and actually enjoy the act of giving the richest sort of pleasure to her chosen mate.
Help me out; is there any other human experience this side of Heaven, that reveals the sheer enormous magnitude of absolute pleasure than an orgasm? Anyone? Anything? It isn’t all about getting the orgasm. I wish to God that my wife would let me give her one. I want to see the pleasure on her face, and feel the release of her tension and hear the shallowness of her breath. YES! For me, that is the sort of intimacy that is nearly orgasmic in itself. To experience the other person’s joy. By the same token, I don’t understand why even a LL person wouldn’t want to see that from their spouse. Why wouldn’t they revel in their own power to deliver such awesome pleasure? A power that is theirs and theirs alone (or should be) to deliver. Sure, for whatever reason you don’t want to have sex. You don’t like the dripping, messy, icky stickiness. Or you don’t like all the politics of it. Or maybe there is even some physical pain involved. You’re always tired and have too much on your mind to get into it. Okay, I’ll grant you that much.
But you’re telling me that you can not take 10 fucking minutes out of your day to give the ultimate pleasure to the person you said you would love, honor and cherish for the rest of your life in front of God and everybody?!? You’re telling me that you can not derrive pleasure simply from the other person’s joy?
I love my wife and I love my kids. I like playing with my kids. I love tickling them and making them giggle and laugh and squirm. I love hearing the the sound of their joy and their laughter. I hate the sounds of their crying, whining, screaming and other assorted manifestations of pain or misery (real or imagined). What kind of parent would I be, if I did not invest a little bit of time on a daily basis in helping them experience fun and joy? I don’t let them eat ice cream every day, but I do indulge them with little treats on a regular basis. Because my joy is their joy. Just because I wouldn’t like being hoisted over someone’s head doesn’t mean I won’t do it for my kids. They love being lifted by their little ankles and twirled and spun around the room. Not something I’d enjoy, but I do it for them because their fun becomes my enjoyment. Are they selfish for asking me to do it again and again? Maybe. But I indulge them because it does as much for me as them. I do eventually tell them that is enough, and we’ll do something else equally as fun later. They don’t always appreciate my stopping the fun, and that is probably akin to the way a LL feels about the HL always pestering for more.
But the fact that the LL person seems unable to derrive joy from the pleasure of the other person is disturbing to me. The fact that they even resent their partner asking for some pleasure in the first place bothers me. I’m willing to exchange, trade, bargain and pretty much beg for it. And I’m resented mightily for wanting something that is pretty much considered a biological imperative and for actually derriving pleasure from it. That is what vexes me about the LL mindset.
Sorry if I’m leaning too heavily. I do know much of the way the LL thinks, but I don’t truly understand it. I can only identify to a finite point and then I end up lost.
I asked Arwyn last night if she was ever going to open up more to me. Her answer was, “I hope so.”
As if Hope was sufficient to make a thing reality.