Friday, April 22, 2005

Six days, 16 hours, 15 minutes and counting...

March 31, 2005, 8:45pm
Steve's house

Celibacy is liberating and agonizing.

It's terrible and wonderful, intriguing and maddening, valuable and pointless.

If you deprive yourself of food long enough, your life will revolve around it. Don't eat for a week, then turn on a porn film, and you won't even see the couple fucking on the kitchen counter: You'll be too busy salivating over the bowl of apples and bananas behind them.

Since March 12, my already-perverted mind has moved to a whole new level of carnal preoccupation. I've avoided porn almost completely, and tried to keep my IM chats clean (with varying degrees of success). And yet, I'm thinking of it more than ever. I have a newfound appreciation of how truly erotic it is to watch a 19-year-old yawn and stretch as she waits in line in front of me at the bank, her zippered pullover riding up and exposing her bare midriff, her wind pants sagging just slighly, showing the black waistband of her thong. I notice every curve, every partially exposed breast, every jiggle and bounce of every girl I come in contact with.

Steph and I have been having a lot of fun together these past few weeks. We've tried new restaurants, gone on long drives, and even visited an art museum and went skiing. We've also walked. A lot.

I've found that I behave differently when I know I'm not getting laid that night: I listen better, and I'm... friendlier.

Every once in a while, Stephanie brings up her father. It's such a sad story, how he died. He was only in his mid-forties, not a hell of a lot older than I am now.

I always wonder how she can be so strong about it, how it doesn't seem to bother her at all. But the truth is that it does bother her, sometimes very much.

One moonless night, we were walking down my street and we stopped next to the pond. I stared at the water for a while; it was perfectly still, more like glass than water. "Isn't that something, how-" I began.

I turned to look at Steph. She was bawling.

Her dad died from drowning.

I have treasured our non-sexual time together and I feel like I know her better than before, and that we are closer than ever. But at the same time, I'm terribly frustrated, angry even, that we are two young, healthy adults with high libidos who are denying ourselves something that we both want desperately.

We're obviously over the trust issues that we had, or at least that's how I feel. The Tim incident doesn't come up anymore. But even with a little after-the-fact tweaking of the agreement, we still have a week to go with no sex and no masturbation. It doesn't sound like a long time, but for me, another week would be an eternity. It's gotten to the point where I actually ache for it.

Some people refer to a male orgasm as "emptying your balls". Physiologically, that is not what happens. We men aren't walking around with two turgid water baloons swinging between our legs that somehow drain themselves when we come. But my testicles do feel full right now, big and sore and sensitive to every shift of my lower body.

My phone rings. Steph.



"What are you doing?"

"Just sittin'."

"Not studying?"

"Mm-mm. I'm thinking about you."



"What are you wearing?"




"Less than sweats?"


"Are you wearing anything?"


"You're naked?"


"And thinking about me?"


"Are you in bed?"

"Uh-huh," She purrs, her voice soft and little girl-like.

"You gonna touch yourself for me?"

This will be cool. I'll tell her exactly what I want her to do, like when a passenger has to land a plane and the control tower talks him through it.


"No? Tease!"

"I wanna come see you."


"I'll get dressed, silly."

"But we have a week left."

"Why are we doing this again?" she asks softly.

"I, um, don't remember."

"Sweetie, I really appeciate you doing that for me. I know it was hard for you. But everything is ok now..."


"So..." she says.

"You gonna come see me?"



Now that I know the drought is over (or about to be), I am so horny that I can't think of anything else. I walk aimlessly around the house, toting a huge boner like a cop's nightstick (ok, a little smaller than a nightstick). Suddenly, I get an idea and run up to my bedroom.

The door opens, then closes. "Steve?"


I'm laying in bed in my Perry Ellis boxers. She rushes into the room, her hair down, her hazel eyes smoldering. She's wearing a long wool winter coat and sneaker-clogs.

"What's with the coat?"

"It was the only long coat I had!"

"Why do you need a long-"

She drops it to the floor. She's completely nude.

I yank my boxers off. Tonight, there will be no foreplay, no preamble whatsoever. We're way too horny for that.

She climbs onto the bed and falls on top of me, her breasts pressing against my chest, her nipples rock-hard.

"I missed your cock."

"JUST my cock?"

"No, your balls too," she smiles.

I sit up on the bed. "Sit on my lap."

She straddles me. Our faces are almost touching.

"Turn around."

She looks over her shoulder. There's a full-length mirror 5 feet away from us, propped against my dresser.

"Is THAT why you have that mirror there?"


She gets up and turns around, lowering herself onto me. I slip slowly into her.

I missed this, too. I missed feeling her wetness, her tightness, the way her pussy seems to... grip me as we fuck.

She leans back so our faces are next to each other, and drapes her right arm around my head. I watch in the mirror as her hips rise and fall and my cock disappears slowly into her, then slides smoothly out again.

"I LOVE your big hard fucking cock baby," she coos.

"I-" I breathe. I can hardly speak. I am totally consumed by pleasure, completely preoccupied with our sex.

"You like my nice wet pussy? Huh? You like fucking me?" She leans forward. Her grinding gets harder and more urgent.

"I TOTALLY like fucking you baby."

She stands up, then lays down on the bed next to me. "I want you to fuck me nice and hard."

I am on top of her in an instant, jamming my cock urgently into her waiting pussy, all the way up to my balls, then slowly, languidly, pulling it almost all the way out before I shove it into her again.

"Ohhhhh, yeah, do it to me hard. Fuck me HARD, Steve!"

She crosses her legs around my back. I pump away at her as hard as I can, the bed squeaking and groaning in protest, pushing her little hips deeply into the bed with each thrust.

I lose track of time as I pound away at her, but eventually I get tired. "You gonna get on top of me?"

I turn over and lay down, my cock standing straight up, shiny with her juices. She straddles me, grabbing my shaft and guiding it into her, slowly. "Lick my finger for me," she says, shoving her right index finger into my mouth.

She rides me hard, back and forth, her eyes closing, her head leaning back. She fingers her clit slowly. "Oh fucking shit I am gonna come!"

Her eyes flip open. She leans forward and grabs my forearm, squeezing hard, her nails digging into my flesh.

"Oh SHIT. Holy fucking shit!" she whispers. Her grip tightens; I watch intently as her body shudders and trembles with orgasm.

I am glad she came; holding back has been painful. The fastest way for me to get where I'm going is if I am on top of her, so...

I grab her around the waist and pick her up, all the while still inside her, then turn around and fall on top of her, pumping away.

The orgasm comes, and it's small. Or, at least, smaller than I thought. "What the-" I think, and then I realize what's happening.

The orgasm comes again, the real orgasm, big and intense. My arms and legs quake as I blast the inside of her pussy with wave after wave of cum.

She looks up at me again, silently, with her big eyes. "You're gonna drown me," she smiles.