rosco rathbone
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Solid gold beebs. You've really caught on to how to write up a jack. Fookin psychosexual, what? The Program has agreed with you.
Jacking-Off Log
- Thread starter rosco rathbone
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bridgeburner
threadkiller
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I've had excellent teachers.
Last night 6:40p - Still fixating on the cult gang-rape scene in the back of my mind while reading and doing other things. The lustful thoughs just boiled over and I stopped in the middle of washing dishes to go rub one out. O-rating 4
Last night 11:50p - Same pattern as yesterday it seems. I couldn't quite muster the same excitement for this jack as for the one earlier in the day. Perhaps that's for the best since a mild 1.5 is pretty easy to sleep after. Sometimes O's are too energizing and awake-making. Usually I want to laze afterward, but that's in the afternoon primarily. I've noticed that if I'm already mostly asleep before I start jacking, or if I have to wake myself up in the middle of jacking then the resultant O - provided that I actually get there - wakes me up too much.
Day - 84
Count - 67
-B
Last night 6:40p - Still fixating on the cult gang-rape scene in the back of my mind while reading and doing other things. The lustful thoughs just boiled over and I stopped in the middle of washing dishes to go rub one out. O-rating 4
Last night 11:50p - Same pattern as yesterday it seems. I couldn't quite muster the same excitement for this jack as for the one earlier in the day. Perhaps that's for the best since a mild 1.5 is pretty easy to sleep after. Sometimes O's are too energizing and awake-making. Usually I want to laze afterward, but that's in the afternoon primarily. I've noticed that if I'm already mostly asleep before I start jacking, or if I have to wake myself up in the middle of jacking then the resultant O - provided that I actually get there - wakes me up too much.
Day - 84
Count - 67
-B
Last edited:
rosco rathbone
1. f3e5 2. g4??
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Odd that you mention the curious energizing power of masturbation. I always have a bit of wank in the morning when I see that the alarmer is going to ring in five or ten minutes. I never bust, though--that's disastrous. It gives me the zip and pep I need in order to get up and performing my morning routine; which is always totally unvarying: turn off AC, piss, brush teeth ,apply deodorants and male cosmetics, examine my face in the morning mirror for signs of weak character, perform my chinese-boxing form, dress, drink one glass cold filtered water and eat two (2) pills, stretch my back, and leave for the morning train.
bridgeburner
threadkiller
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Wednesday - 11:40p - was out and busy in the early evening and so missed my preferred jack time. I felt the urge but I was in the middle of Ikea and I didn't think they'd appreciate me lounging on the beds there with happy families running hither and yon.
Still fixated on the scene in the book I read, but I think I'm at a definite hormone ebb for the late-night jacks. I thought before that perhaps it was that the early evening jacks were bleeding off steam too much for me to work up a good one later at night, but I'm pretty convinced that I'm just a better jacker around 5-7pm.
O-rating 2.5
Thursday - figured I'd test my suspicion about early v late evening jacks and refrained from indulging at my normal time. Went to bed around 10:30 and fell asleep before I was sufficiently worked up to presevere in my jack.
Woke up at 5am from a rather childish nightmare. Childish in the sense that there were zombies in it rather than tax collectors or some other adult fear.
Yes, flesh-eating zombies and I only tell you here because it was a sexual situation.
DO NOT READ THIS if you have a weak stomach or vivid imagination or even expecting to get off. It wasn't sexy. It was gross and humiliatingly terrifying, but I'm telling it anyway.
The only set up that you might need is that this is your basic modern zombie scenario --- some plague is sweeping the world and it makes zombies who do what all zombies do.
Scene In:
Well-lit but unfinished basement. Naked, obviously infected Asian man laying on a bare, stained mattress with a sheet tangled around his lower body. He's sweating, suppurating and losing his hair. His eyes are jaundiced and his gums are bleeding. Not a pretty sight. He knows he's doomed BUT his comfort in his last days and hours is that he has abducted a young woman and has been forcing her to service him. He knows he's infected her. He knows he's repulsive, but he has the power to compell her to service him and so he does.
Now we see the girl. She's probably in her early 20's, well-built, crying but pretty even though it's obvious that she's in the early stages of the disease -- sweating profusely and her skin is going a bit translucent so you can see the veins too clearly.
He's telling her to hurry up and get over and suck him. She's crying but reluctantly moving forward because there's not choice. He pulls the sheet back and some of his flesh sloughs off sticking to it. (fortunately I've never been able to smell in my dreams) "Hurry up, come and make it hard. " etc. and she leans over reaching out and then doubling over coughing as if the sight/smell/idea is just too much for her. There's blood, not a lot, but apparently she's coughing it up.
Then she looks up and her face is bristling with sharp rotting teeth and you realize that the disease progressed faster with her than with him. She's going to eat him before he finishes changing.
And of course I woke up. I was all hot and sweaty but I was too disoriented to think properly and I was still terrified and I didn't want to move for fear that something would get me. The house is deadly silent but I can hear a lot of traffic rushing by outside. It's unnerving because there really shouldn't be that much traffic at 5am. I try to ease the blanket up so that some of the heat will escape and cool air come in --- but I don't want to let on that I'm really awake. Of course the bed squeaks. This usually alerts the dog that I'm up and I'll hear her grunting her early morning stretch before coming to see what's for breakfast.
But the dog didn't make a sound and it's still stifling and the traffic is weird and I just had a really bad zombie dream and it's not light enough to make me "safe."
Finally I woke up enough to realize that it is ridiculous for a woman of 34 to be laying in her bed terrfied of zombies from a nightmare. But the adrenalin made it pointless to try and go back to sleep for the 30 minutes until the alarm went off. So I got up and met the day.
And why I just told you guys all of this I couldn't say, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time.
Now I am off to the hospital to await the arrival of my new nephew to whom I swear I will never tell any zombie stories.
-B
Still fixated on the scene in the book I read, but I think I'm at a definite hormone ebb for the late-night jacks. I thought before that perhaps it was that the early evening jacks were bleeding off steam too much for me to work up a good one later at night, but I'm pretty convinced that I'm just a better jacker around 5-7pm.
O-rating 2.5
Thursday - figured I'd test my suspicion about early v late evening jacks and refrained from indulging at my normal time. Went to bed around 10:30 and fell asleep before I was sufficiently worked up to presevere in my jack.
Woke up at 5am from a rather childish nightmare. Childish in the sense that there were zombies in it rather than tax collectors or some other adult fear.
Yes, flesh-eating zombies and I only tell you here because it was a sexual situation.
DO NOT READ THIS if you have a weak stomach or vivid imagination or even expecting to get off. It wasn't sexy. It was gross and humiliatingly terrifying, but I'm telling it anyway.
The only set up that you might need is that this is your basic modern zombie scenario --- some plague is sweeping the world and it makes zombies who do what all zombies do.
Scene In:
Well-lit but unfinished basement. Naked, obviously infected Asian man laying on a bare, stained mattress with a sheet tangled around his lower body. He's sweating, suppurating and losing his hair. His eyes are jaundiced and his gums are bleeding. Not a pretty sight. He knows he's doomed BUT his comfort in his last days and hours is that he has abducted a young woman and has been forcing her to service him. He knows he's infected her. He knows he's repulsive, but he has the power to compell her to service him and so he does.
Now we see the girl. She's probably in her early 20's, well-built, crying but pretty even though it's obvious that she's in the early stages of the disease -- sweating profusely and her skin is going a bit translucent so you can see the veins too clearly.
He's telling her to hurry up and get over and suck him. She's crying but reluctantly moving forward because there's not choice. He pulls the sheet back and some of his flesh sloughs off sticking to it. (fortunately I've never been able to smell in my dreams) "Hurry up, come and make it hard. " etc. and she leans over reaching out and then doubling over coughing as if the sight/smell/idea is just too much for her. There's blood, not a lot, but apparently she's coughing it up.
Then she looks up and her face is bristling with sharp rotting teeth and you realize that the disease progressed faster with her than with him. She's going to eat him before he finishes changing.
And of course I woke up. I was all hot and sweaty but I was too disoriented to think properly and I was still terrified and I didn't want to move for fear that something would get me. The house is deadly silent but I can hear a lot of traffic rushing by outside. It's unnerving because there really shouldn't be that much traffic at 5am. I try to ease the blanket up so that some of the heat will escape and cool air come in --- but I don't want to let on that I'm really awake. Of course the bed squeaks. This usually alerts the dog that I'm up and I'll hear her grunting her early morning stretch before coming to see what's for breakfast.
But the dog didn't make a sound and it's still stifling and the traffic is weird and I just had a really bad zombie dream and it's not light enough to make me "safe."
Finally I woke up enough to realize that it is ridiculous for a woman of 34 to be laying in her bed terrfied of zombies from a nightmare. But the adrenalin made it pointless to try and go back to sleep for the 30 minutes until the alarm went off. So I got up and met the day.
And why I just told you guys all of this I couldn't say, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time.
Now I am off to the hospital to await the arrival of my new nephew to whom I swear I will never tell any zombie stories.
-B
rosco rathbone
1. f3e5 2. g4??
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So, your dream life merges with your jacking life as well.
*puts on Freud beard, nose and glasses* AS I see it, the female zombie represents your rage at the idea of forcible sexual servitude; which you have been repressing. The fear is your own fear at the depth of your feelings.
Hmmm. *strokes beard*
See the receptionist about my fee, beebs.
I saw the new Day of the Dead four times in the theater. I love zombies.
And now, to the jacks:
It has been a week free of penis related activity. Last night in the middle of the night I rubbed out a weak one just to break the losing streak. One the feeblest nuts I can ever remember. My gland hawked and spat penis phlegm with all the verve of a dying old man in a Bowery flophouse.
Thank God that was only a penis anomaly. This morning I got one off; a good solid pipecleaner. The O was quiet excellent. I was thinking about this one ex; how she used to just lie there face down passively waiting for me to board her and hump away like a Victorian lord and master of the house. In the roman ejaculatorium, I got caught a bit off guard by the upwelling seed and had to fumble to lay my nut sack squarely on the cold porcelain; but I got it into position just in time and the coldness kicked my O right upstairs like an afterburner.
*puts on Freud beard, nose and glasses* AS I see it, the female zombie represents your rage at the idea of forcible sexual servitude; which you have been repressing. The fear is your own fear at the depth of your feelings.
Hmmm. *strokes beard*
See the receptionist about my fee, beebs.
I saw the new Day of the Dead four times in the theater. I love zombies.
And now, to the jacks:
It has been a week free of penis related activity. Last night in the middle of the night I rubbed out a weak one just to break the losing streak. One the feeblest nuts I can ever remember. My gland hawked and spat penis phlegm with all the verve of a dying old man in a Bowery flophouse.
Thank God that was only a penis anomaly. This morning I got one off; a good solid pipecleaner. The O was quiet excellent. I was thinking about this one ex; how she used to just lie there face down passively waiting for me to board her and hump away like a Victorian lord and master of the house. In the roman ejaculatorium, I got caught a bit off guard by the upwelling seed and had to fumble to lay my nut sack squarely on the cold porcelain; but I got it into position just in time and the coldness kicked my O right upstairs like an afterburner.
rosco rathbone
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I got off another pipecleaner yesterday, then later I had a long wank with some interesting mental play, yet chose not to carry it to conclusion. Here, I'll relate the tale:
I was exploring an under-used area of fantnasty; yet one with which I am not totally unfamiliar: blowjobs before audiences. It all hinged on the black-leather, executive-style swivel chair I was sitting in as I worked it. I have never actually been blown while sitting in this executive-style; although I had the option-I passed on it for some reason.
Anyhow, sitting there I was, upright, with legs spread and feet firmly planted on the deck--jacking. I had my chair set so that I could lean way back in it. They ought to market this thing as an oral service throne. It would be perfect. I was picturing a temple priestess between my legs, her hair woven in some elaborate headdress; practicing the ancient rites and rituals of oral worship.
That kept me going for a good long while. My tool felt unusually sensitive and responsive and my mental imagery was sharp. A master of cocknockery--and if I am not that, then no one is--can enter a mental world of astounding sharpness; when at the peak of his powers. And what is masturbation if not sex with ghosts? But I digress.
I was trying to experience the exact soft rasp my penis makes when nudging into an esophagus, and simultaneously enjoying the concept of my executive-style chair. It sounds odd but I was sort of seeing with part of my brain, a layout in a glossy catalog for high-end office furniture. I entered a trance, eyes open, where my inner world was laid over the world of my monastic cell.
I suddenly thought that it would be nice if the chair were centered on a kind of turntable laid into the floor, so that instead of swiveling on its roller base, a whole round section of the floor would turn, and me and my temple prostitute with it--just like a scenery changer in the theater.
Thus, from ideas of swivelling, I surmised an audience, dusky and barely seen, filling my cell. Ranked high and fading upwards as if in one of those operating theaters at an 18th century medical school. All the while, I was maintaining a steady jack and approaching the moment of ecstasy. Then I began to (in imagination) slew the turntable around violently in order to give the audience a better view of this or that angle, as I imagined myself a professor of the oral sciences, or perhaps those of humiliation and oral domination--or what have you.
Then, at the moment of decision, I stopped and sat there thinking, half dreaming. A strange melancholy pervaded my soul. I remembered times gone and days of hope and innocence. All desire for conclusion flooded from me abruptly.
And that is the tale of a nut deferred.
I was exploring an under-used area of fantnasty; yet one with which I am not totally unfamiliar: blowjobs before audiences. It all hinged on the black-leather, executive-style swivel chair I was sitting in as I worked it. I have never actually been blown while sitting in this executive-style; although I had the option-I passed on it for some reason.
Anyhow, sitting there I was, upright, with legs spread and feet firmly planted on the deck--jacking. I had my chair set so that I could lean way back in it. They ought to market this thing as an oral service throne. It would be perfect. I was picturing a temple priestess between my legs, her hair woven in some elaborate headdress; practicing the ancient rites and rituals of oral worship.
That kept me going for a good long while. My tool felt unusually sensitive and responsive and my mental imagery was sharp. A master of cocknockery--and if I am not that, then no one is--can enter a mental world of astounding sharpness; when at the peak of his powers. And what is masturbation if not sex with ghosts? But I digress.
I was trying to experience the exact soft rasp my penis makes when nudging into an esophagus, and simultaneously enjoying the concept of my executive-style chair. It sounds odd but I was sort of seeing with part of my brain, a layout in a glossy catalog for high-end office furniture. I entered a trance, eyes open, where my inner world was laid over the world of my monastic cell.
I suddenly thought that it would be nice if the chair were centered on a kind of turntable laid into the floor, so that instead of swiveling on its roller base, a whole round section of the floor would turn, and me and my temple prostitute with it--just like a scenery changer in the theater.
Thus, from ideas of swivelling, I surmised an audience, dusky and barely seen, filling my cell. Ranked high and fading upwards as if in one of those operating theaters at an 18th century medical school. All the while, I was maintaining a steady jack and approaching the moment of ecstasy. Then I began to (in imagination) slew the turntable around violently in order to give the audience a better view of this or that angle, as I imagined myself a professor of the oral sciences, or perhaps those of humiliation and oral domination--or what have you.
Then, at the moment of decision, I stopped and sat there thinking, half dreaming. A strange melancholy pervaded my soul. I remembered times gone and days of hope and innocence. All desire for conclusion flooded from me abruptly.
And that is the tale of a nut deferred.
bridgeburner
threadkiller
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Except that I don't have any rage about forcible sexual servitude. I think it's hot. Heh, no wonder! Those are the Groucho glasses not the Freud glasses.. That's quite an impressive proboscis, though.
Honestly, I think it was just one of those "all your waking thoughts and recent references in a dream jambalaya" instances. It's been a rather zombie-full few months for me --recent big-screen showing of the original Night of the Living Dead, Resident Evil: Apocolypse is due out soon, I also indulged in multiple viewings of the Dawn of the Dead remake (yes, I'm one of the blasphemers who thinks the remake wiped the floor with the original sequel.)
Did I mention that Burt Reynolds played the Chief of Police? I don't know if maybe that shouldn't be listed as the most disturbing item.
But enough babbling on about inconsequential things. I have jacks to report.
Friday - 6:10 - needed a jack and a nap in order to prepare for an all-night vigil at the hospital awaiting the arrival of the new nephew. I'm still getting plenty of bang for the buck out of the Cult book. Nice shuddery 4.
Saturday - No jacks. Too much running around and then there was that hospital smell.
Sunday - 11:40p - was so tired earlier that I was afraid to jack at the usual time. I was sure I'd fall asleep and wake at some odd hour suitable for doing nothing but waiting around for the day to begin. Re-read the passage again and it was as hot as I remembered. Not sure how I could get so much out of essentially so little but it's happened before. Sometimes a single phrase or sentence will do it. O-rating 3.5
Day - 89
Count - 70
I realize that tomorrow is the official end of my 90 Days, but because I'll be here before I'll have completed my jack hours I will have to report on the 1st for a final count.
-B
bridgeburner
threadkiller
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Monday - 6:10p - standard VJ, still getting mileage out of the current fantasy. O-rating 3
Tuedsay - 10:50p - The final jack. Truthfully I almost fell asleep but I felt that even though I wasn't going to make my full quota it was lazy of me not to make my best attempt to jack on the 90th day so I shook myself awake and redoubled my efforts.
Another book-inspired fantasy that's been with me for several years. Typical period heroine is set up by a scorned man and carted off to prison. In the jail-coach on the way she is of course assaulted by her keepers who are already into her before the cart has pulled through the gates of the property they've arrested her from. Nice warm up to a stop at a changing station where the jailers get the excellent idea to prostitute her to a small company of soldiers. She's tied face down with her ass out the back door of the cart while the soliders queue up to fuck her.
Ah, it's the simple pleasures in life. I'm occasionally bothered that my fantasies don't show more variation and originality, but I think that's only because I've been posting them here. Left to my own devices I'm happy with whatever works for me.
O-rating: 4.5
Final count: 72 jacks in 90 days.
I would likely have done better if I'd gotten seriously dedicated sooner and not had the panic of realizing I was behind, but I'm still happy with my efforts.
What have I learned? Hmmm....I'll have to think about that a bit and get back to you.
-B
Tuedsay - 10:50p - The final jack. Truthfully I almost fell asleep but I felt that even though I wasn't going to make my full quota it was lazy of me not to make my best attempt to jack on the 90th day so I shook myself awake and redoubled my efforts.
Another book-inspired fantasy that's been with me for several years. Typical period heroine is set up by a scorned man and carted off to prison. In the jail-coach on the way she is of course assaulted by her keepers who are already into her before the cart has pulled through the gates of the property they've arrested her from. Nice warm up to a stop at a changing station where the jailers get the excellent idea to prostitute her to a small company of soldiers. She's tied face down with her ass out the back door of the cart while the soliders queue up to fuck her.
Ah, it's the simple pleasures in life. I'm occasionally bothered that my fantasies don't show more variation and originality, but I think that's only because I've been posting them here. Left to my own devices I'm happy with whatever works for me.
O-rating: 4.5
Final count: 72 jacks in 90 days.
I would likely have done better if I'd gotten seriously dedicated sooner and not had the panic of realizing I was behind, but I'm still happy with my efforts.
What have I learned? Hmmm....I'll have to think about that a bit and get back to you.
-B
rosco rathbone
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Oy, such a wank I had just now.
I have this length of 3/4" compressed-air hose; about 16" long. I always intended to use it for asswhippings; but frankly it just hurts too much. When I apply chastisement to the wayward female form, I need to use a full-arm swing; in order to let out the bad spirits that live in me so that they don't cause me more trouble than necessary. So I never knew what to do with this thing.
Then, at lunch today, I was taking a nap and got a good idea. I've always dreamt of combining hard fucking with asswhipping; but I think my arms are too long or something. I can never get a satisfying hit with my hand; and the doubled-over belt which is my usual tool of chastisement (my regular pants belt) just doesn't work. But this thing hurts like fury even if you only give a little wrist snap. No wonder the rubber hose is a famous torture implement, most notoriously in Chile.
So my idea was to combine a hard humping from the posterior position with occasional sadistic pauses to flick this diabolical tool. I was picturing the sexual synergy of this, mixed in with words and phrases of chastisement and humiliation. Anyhow, I developed the most poisonous, malignant boner I've ever had at work. It was touch and go whether or not I was going to try and sneak off and have a bit of a wank on the QT.
So I got home and decided to seek sweet relief. I was picturing my idea in action and built up a good head of stream, as I jacked. But then I thought; "ah hell with it--I'll retain the seed tonight. If I spend; I'll feel like a shitheel--a degenerate--a wanker--a lesser man" And I got so far as to begin to tuck my unit back into my drawers. Then I stopped and, completely compulsively, opened my drawer to look at my secret cache of filthy sex pictures of me. As the gods of cockknockery and purvurted filth would have it, my eye chanced to alight straightaway on a POV shot taken by me as I was rogering a girl in her bottom. All you can really see is her splendid ass cheeks, which are completely mottled from the chastisement I'd just given her. That did it: it was another of those times where I had to literally run for my roman ejaculatorium. There, I spilt seed with eyes uplifted in prayer to what chthonic gods and qlipotic angels there may be in the outer spheres, supervising and guarding all cockknockers and perverted filthy men. As the fine wine flowed out from the chalice and ran down over my fist, I let out an animalistic gasp.
Now I feel like ordering a diamond jim brady type spread: oyster rockefeller, champagne, the works--and smoking a ten dollar seegar.
I have this length of 3/4" compressed-air hose; about 16" long. I always intended to use it for asswhippings; but frankly it just hurts too much. When I apply chastisement to the wayward female form, I need to use a full-arm swing; in order to let out the bad spirits that live in me so that they don't cause me more trouble than necessary. So I never knew what to do with this thing.
Then, at lunch today, I was taking a nap and got a good idea. I've always dreamt of combining hard fucking with asswhipping; but I think my arms are too long or something. I can never get a satisfying hit with my hand; and the doubled-over belt which is my usual tool of chastisement (my regular pants belt) just doesn't work. But this thing hurts like fury even if you only give a little wrist snap. No wonder the rubber hose is a famous torture implement, most notoriously in Chile.
So my idea was to combine a hard humping from the posterior position with occasional sadistic pauses to flick this diabolical tool. I was picturing the sexual synergy of this, mixed in with words and phrases of chastisement and humiliation. Anyhow, I developed the most poisonous, malignant boner I've ever had at work. It was touch and go whether or not I was going to try and sneak off and have a bit of a wank on the QT.
So I got home and decided to seek sweet relief. I was picturing my idea in action and built up a good head of stream, as I jacked. But then I thought; "ah hell with it--I'll retain the seed tonight. If I spend; I'll feel like a shitheel--a degenerate--a wanker--a lesser man" And I got so far as to begin to tuck my unit back into my drawers. Then I stopped and, completely compulsively, opened my drawer to look at my secret cache of filthy sex pictures of me. As the gods of cockknockery and purvurted filth would have it, my eye chanced to alight straightaway on a POV shot taken by me as I was rogering a girl in her bottom. All you can really see is her splendid ass cheeks, which are completely mottled from the chastisement I'd just given her. That did it: it was another of those times where I had to literally run for my roman ejaculatorium. There, I spilt seed with eyes uplifted in prayer to what chthonic gods and qlipotic angels there may be in the outer spheres, supervising and guarding all cockknockers and perverted filthy men. As the fine wine flowed out from the chalice and ran down over my fist, I let out an animalistic gasp.
Now I feel like ordering a diamond jim brady type spread: oyster rockefeller, champagne, the works--and smoking a ten dollar seegar.
rosco rathbone
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By the way, congratulations on your achievement beebs. I'd love to hear what you may have learned about yourself through psychosexual journalling. You've kept the log alive though hard times.
rosco rathbone
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I want to have a calming, stress-relieving wank...but I am afraid to. I fear to fuck up this testosterone high that I am on.
rosco rathbone
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I was finally driven by the fires of lust to seek blessed relief in the cooling waters of sweet cockknockery; last eve. Not much to tell; it had been a case of bases loaded, score tied and 2 outs in my balls all day. I basically just flipped through my purvurted filth seeking a reference point and then strolled into my roman ejaculatorium to release with all the flare of a bulimic excusing themselves from the banquet table. A few hard strokes and my "a-rod" sent one right into the grandstands. It was another of those old-mangasms I've mentioned, with slow, deep throbs--almost more internal than anything, as if my body hadn't the strength to send the seed all the way to the surface, so the chi collapsed back in on itself in a molten implosion at my core. I've had these before, the seed does arise but it flows out like warm blood.
Then in the middle of the night I got off an insomnia jack, holding a visualization of nighttime oral servitudes and shadow head between my legs, unmoving, everything done with throat muscles. I came right in my bed with a sharp, knotted, suprising KAPOW! that startled me after the previous jack and caused me to cry out in amazement. My body seems to be wandering along the borderline between 2 orgasm styles, now one, now the other.
Then in the middle of the night I got off an insomnia jack, holding a visualization of nighttime oral servitudes and shadow head between my legs, unmoving, everything done with throat muscles. I came right in my bed with a sharp, knotted, suprising KAPOW! that startled me after the previous jack and caused me to cry out in amazement. My body seems to be wandering along the borderline between 2 orgasm styles, now one, now the other.
rosco rathbone
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2 pipecleaners last night when my mind was on the plane of sleep.
And one big masturbation this morning; thinking about what it is to be known; what sex is between two who know their proper places . Big O from that one.
And one big masturbation this morning; thinking about what it is to be known; what sex is between two who know their proper places . Big O from that one.
rosco rathbone
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I must have been really manhandling my membrum virile in a more hamfisted manner than usual lately, for when I took it 'tween thumb and forefinger for my regular insomnia masturbation this day it was sore.
I had to grip it in an unusual fashion, tweezerswise, like a debutante giving her first handjob in the back of daddy's limo after the cotillion.
I'm suprised I got one off at all, but I am feeling a lot of lechery and lust these days.
I was thinking about a conversation I had; about how hot placatory blowjobs , or you might call them lion tamer blowjobs were. The idea that a distracted and violent man might be calmed and put to sleep--might-- by an appeasing milking of his violence glands.
I sent the best of me into the wastewater system of Queens; but in my mind's eye it was a soft esophageal vagina into which I unburdened myself.
I had to grip it in an unusual fashion, tweezerswise, like a debutante giving her first handjob in the back of daddy's limo after the cotillion.
I'm suprised I got one off at all, but I am feeling a lot of lechery and lust these days.
I was thinking about a conversation I had; about how hot placatory blowjobs , or you might call them lion tamer blowjobs were. The idea that a distracted and violent man might be calmed and put to sleep--might-- by an appeasing milking of his violence glands.
I sent the best of me into the wastewater system of Queens; but in my mind's eye it was a soft esophageal vagina into which I unburdened myself.
bridgeburner
threadkiller
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2001
- Posts
- 2,712
What I Learned Through Obsessive Masturbation
By Bridget Burns
1) That my libido and therefore willingness and ability to jack to completion is affected by my hormonal cycle.
Okay, I knew this already, but I paid more attention to it over the last 3 months particularly when I hit a dry spell and didn't jack for days.
2) That I jack both less and more than I originally thought.
I don't get one off EVERY day, just most days and then I double up when I have more leisure time --- weekends. I could tell when I was jacking because it was homework and when I was just needing to get one off.
3) I think I already mentioned that I'm aware of how habitual my fantasy fodder is. It wasn't something I'd ever thought about until I started writing it out.
4) That I am somewhat inhibited rather than aroused at the thought of uninvolved others following the progress of my jacks. This was really the tough part for me. It was like I wasn't totally alone, but not in a jack-enhancing way.
At the same time, the pressure of knowing that I had agreed to report in and even had a quota helped me to eke out some jacks that ordinarily I would have just skipped.
5) Now that I've completed my assignment my ramped up jack schedule has tapered off, but I'm enjoying them more because they're mine again without any kind of pressure.
So did I actually learn anything I didn't know? Not really --- other than things about performance anxiety which I already knew in regards to other tasks I've had in my life (non-sexual). But I did have a good time!
And I feel the need to announce that I had a rare occurance the other day of two jacks in under an hour. Jacked before a shower and then immediately after --- just HAD to. Then later again that night. Now, recently I've jacked multiple times in a day because I felt the need to meet a goal, but it's been some time since I felt compelled -- physically driven --- to jack 3 times in a day and I haven't done it twice in 40 minutes in a couple of years.
And that's what I learned through obsessive masturbation.
-B
By Bridget Burns
1) That my libido and therefore willingness and ability to jack to completion is affected by my hormonal cycle.
Okay, I knew this already, but I paid more attention to it over the last 3 months particularly when I hit a dry spell and didn't jack for days.
2) That I jack both less and more than I originally thought.
I don't get one off EVERY day, just most days and then I double up when I have more leisure time --- weekends. I could tell when I was jacking because it was homework and when I was just needing to get one off.
3) I think I already mentioned that I'm aware of how habitual my fantasy fodder is. It wasn't something I'd ever thought about until I started writing it out.
4) That I am somewhat inhibited rather than aroused at the thought of uninvolved others following the progress of my jacks. This was really the tough part for me. It was like I wasn't totally alone, but not in a jack-enhancing way.
At the same time, the pressure of knowing that I had agreed to report in and even had a quota helped me to eke out some jacks that ordinarily I would have just skipped.
5) Now that I've completed my assignment my ramped up jack schedule has tapered off, but I'm enjoying them more because they're mine again without any kind of pressure.
So did I actually learn anything I didn't know? Not really --- other than things about performance anxiety which I already knew in regards to other tasks I've had in my life (non-sexual). But I did have a good time!
And I feel the need to announce that I had a rare occurance the other day of two jacks in under an hour. Jacked before a shower and then immediately after --- just HAD to. Then later again that night. Now, recently I've jacked multiple times in a day because I felt the need to meet a goal, but it's been some time since I felt compelled -- physically driven --- to jack 3 times in a day and I haven't done it twice in 40 minutes in a couple of years.
And that's what I learned through obsessive masturbation.
-B
rosco rathbone
1. f3e5 2. g4??
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- Aug 30, 2002
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- 42,431
That's gold; beebs. Solid gold. Capital self-analysis and I'd like to leave it as a highwater mark of the JOL.
For myself, I've decided to give the log a rest. Pearls before swine and all of that. My pertinent remarks re future masturbations will be posted on my blurty until such time as I decide to recommence the Literotica JOL--if ever. Carry on jackers.
rr
For myself, I've decided to give the log a rest. Pearls before swine and all of that. My pertinent remarks re future masturbations will be posted on my blurty until such time as I decide to recommence the Literotica JOL--if ever. Carry on jackers.
rr
rosco rathbone
1. f3e5 2. g4??
- Joined
- Aug 30, 2002
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- 42,431
I Am A Wanker: Against Human Sexuality
Wanking and jacking are perhaps not the most fulfilling forms of sex; but when I consider the options, I am not suprised to learn that I have chosen masturbation as the sole method of relieving myself.
Here are the consequences of sex with others; at least some which are impossible to avoid in a lifetime of fucking human women: pregnancy, abortion, parenthood, marriage, STDs both major and minor, having one's heart broken, breaking the hearts of others, long boring relationships, short boring relationships, tormenting memories,the list goes on and on.
I've always wanted one of those Realdolls, but the cost seemed ridiculously high. But whtn I think about it, what is some 6K next to the time & money I have spent chasing women, keeping them, losing them, etc etc, not to mention the stress, irritation, lust, rage, heartbreak etc.
Yes, it's wanking for me from here on out.
Wanking and jacking are perhaps not the most fulfilling forms of sex; but when I consider the options, I am not suprised to learn that I have chosen masturbation as the sole method of relieving myself.
Here are the consequences of sex with others; at least some which are impossible to avoid in a lifetime of fucking human women: pregnancy, abortion, parenthood, marriage, STDs both major and minor, having one's heart broken, breaking the hearts of others, long boring relationships, short boring relationships, tormenting memories,the list goes on and on.
I've always wanted one of those Realdolls, but the cost seemed ridiculously high. But whtn I think about it, what is some 6K next to the time & money I have spent chasing women, keeping them, losing them, etc etc, not to mention the stress, irritation, lust, rage, heartbreak etc.
Yes, it's wanking for me from here on out.
rosco rathbone
1. f3e5 2. g4??
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- Aug 30, 2002
- Posts
- 42,431
strange surmises of wankery from distant lands
My wanking pattern has undergone some seismic shift related to sleep and lack thereof. Number of wanks have increased greatly, but all take place between midnight and 5AM. There was no warning of this shift; which took place practically overnight. Punctuated equilibrium at work.
I've been jacking 2x per night, usually. It is an attempt to relieve stress and stop tossing and turning.
Also the mode of my wanking fantasies has changed. I have been fantasizing heavily about random women; such as the heavy-bodied, cow-eyed Latina waitresses in the Wakamba Cocktail Lounge, where I meet the people and settle my business matters; or the tall, skinny, pixie-haired Roumanian girl who came home with her irritating ROumanian boyfriend at three last night when I was up walking the floor like a restless shade or revenant; and whose white bikini panties I watched through a slit in the Venetian blinds.
In bygone times, I could only fantasize about current or recent sex partners; if "fantasize" is the right word. Perhaps "replay" would be more accurate. Now I find my wanking brain willing to take the leap of fantasy and offer up surmises and imagery of sex with strange women.
Also in these night wanks, I do not use my roman ejaculatorium; but simply O in a towel.
My wanking pattern has undergone some seismic shift related to sleep and lack thereof. Number of wanks have increased greatly, but all take place between midnight and 5AM. There was no warning of this shift; which took place practically overnight. Punctuated equilibrium at work.
I've been jacking 2x per night, usually. It is an attempt to relieve stress and stop tossing and turning.
Also the mode of my wanking fantasies has changed. I have been fantasizing heavily about random women; such as the heavy-bodied, cow-eyed Latina waitresses in the Wakamba Cocktail Lounge, where I meet the people and settle my business matters; or the tall, skinny, pixie-haired Roumanian girl who came home with her irritating ROumanian boyfriend at three last night when I was up walking the floor like a restless shade or revenant; and whose white bikini panties I watched through a slit in the Venetian blinds.
In bygone times, I could only fantasize about current or recent sex partners; if "fantasize" is the right word. Perhaps "replay" would be more accurate. Now I find my wanking brain willing to take the leap of fantasy and offer up surmises and imagery of sex with strange women.
Also in these night wanks, I do not use my roman ejaculatorium; but simply O in a towel.
rosco rathbone
1. f3e5 2. g4??
- Joined
- Aug 30, 2002
- Posts
- 42,431
That damned orgone bubble again
I've written before of the orgones and their cumulative effects and the need to pop the orgone bubble; generally through bdsm activity with actual human women. Orgone accumulation is the bane of the solitary man, and the habitual masturbator.
I didn't realize that I have been suffering from serious orgone accumulation recently until yesterday. I'd been neglecting the symptoms even though they were right before my eyes. Orgone accumulation lends a terrible vitality to a man's masturbatory activities; enabling him to jack night and day while barely pausing to rest, because masturbation and physical orgasms do not affect the orgone bubble. It is sort of like lancing a boil of pus repeatedly without treating the underlying infection.
A man wanking, seeking relief from orgone accumulation, experiences a terrible "dryness" though he may be having intense fantasies and physical orgasms. It is this dryness which causes tossing and turning and the inability to rest. The skin is feverish and warm to the touch, and a hot, dusty, parched air as if from an invisible ventilator connected to an oil burner that is always on, seems to play upon the brow.
I'd been awake all night for days, in a state of suspended masturbatory hysteria. Some of these nights; I really feel that I understand the old myths of dead souls that can never rest. I feel like a proper shade myself. Nothing avails, no tonic quenches the orgone fire. The orgones are intimately attached to; yet unaffected by, the normal cycle of physical tension and release.
But strange things happen. I finally fell into a sort of sleep last night and recieved a visitation from a ghost, form, soul, or other entity who relieved my bubble. It happened in dream form as these things generally do.
I dreamed that I was sweeping a bed free of huge piles of needles and razor sharp metal shavings. Then my love and I; she who bore the outer form of one long loved and long lost, coupled in that new bed. It was almost motionless and impossibly intimate and I seemed to be orgasming over and over, sending the seed into her depths; which in a way were my own depths.. There was a feeling of completeness such as one only finds in dreams, and the unspoken sentence between us was "now at last we will finally make a child".
Then I seemed to hear a voice saying over and over in my ear "drugs! drugs! drugs!". I awoke and the voice became an inistent honking as some frustrated driver in the street below plied his noisemaker. Cool breezes stirred my muslin drapes as the light of morning greeted this urban cockcrow and I smiled to myself and composed a line of spontaneous verse:
"tis the idiot horn/ which summons the morn "
I was free of my orgones once again.
I've written before of the orgones and their cumulative effects and the need to pop the orgone bubble; generally through bdsm activity with actual human women. Orgone accumulation is the bane of the solitary man, and the habitual masturbator.
I didn't realize that I have been suffering from serious orgone accumulation recently until yesterday. I'd been neglecting the symptoms even though they were right before my eyes. Orgone accumulation lends a terrible vitality to a man's masturbatory activities; enabling him to jack night and day while barely pausing to rest, because masturbation and physical orgasms do not affect the orgone bubble. It is sort of like lancing a boil of pus repeatedly without treating the underlying infection.
A man wanking, seeking relief from orgone accumulation, experiences a terrible "dryness" though he may be having intense fantasies and physical orgasms. It is this dryness which causes tossing and turning and the inability to rest. The skin is feverish and warm to the touch, and a hot, dusty, parched air as if from an invisible ventilator connected to an oil burner that is always on, seems to play upon the brow.
I'd been awake all night for days, in a state of suspended masturbatory hysteria. Some of these nights; I really feel that I understand the old myths of dead souls that can never rest. I feel like a proper shade myself. Nothing avails, no tonic quenches the orgone fire. The orgones are intimately attached to; yet unaffected by, the normal cycle of physical tension and release.
But strange things happen. I finally fell into a sort of sleep last night and recieved a visitation from a ghost, form, soul, or other entity who relieved my bubble. It happened in dream form as these things generally do.
I dreamed that I was sweeping a bed free of huge piles of needles and razor sharp metal shavings. Then my love and I; she who bore the outer form of one long loved and long lost, coupled in that new bed. It was almost motionless and impossibly intimate and I seemed to be orgasming over and over, sending the seed into her depths; which in a way were my own depths.. There was a feeling of completeness such as one only finds in dreams, and the unspoken sentence between us was "now at last we will finally make a child".
Then I seemed to hear a voice saying over and over in my ear "drugs! drugs! drugs!". I awoke and the voice became an inistent honking as some frustrated driver in the street below plied his noisemaker. Cool breezes stirred my muslin drapes as the light of morning greeted this urban cockcrow and I smiled to myself and composed a line of spontaneous verse:
"tis the idiot horn/ which summons the morn "
I was free of my orgones once again.
rosco rathbone
1. f3e5 2. g4??
- Joined
- Aug 30, 2002
- Posts
- 42,431
cockknockery
The Japanese girl who lives across the way has set her intimates out to dry upon a wooden frame set in the middle of the kitchen floor.
...must have a wank....
An ugly, frizzy-haired black girl with pop-eyes passes in the subsurface corridor, clutching a trombone case, and returns my hateful glare. Her spandex tights make me turn and with heart in mouth I see that, though she is hipless as a boy, her ass is high, wobbly and three-dimensional.
....must hie me home and seek sweet relief...
In the laundromat; a bald-headed, bespectacled white youth sits speaking on his cell-phone while his sweet-faced Asian girlfriend carefully sorts the laundry. Something she does annoys him and he speaks sharply and exasperatedly to her and returns to his phone. She says nothing and continues folding with a sad and downcast look.
...O masturbation deliver me from these fires...
The Japanese girl who lives across the way has set her intimates out to dry upon a wooden frame set in the middle of the kitchen floor.
...must have a wank....
An ugly, frizzy-haired black girl with pop-eyes passes in the subsurface corridor, clutching a trombone case, and returns my hateful glare. Her spandex tights make me turn and with heart in mouth I see that, though she is hipless as a boy, her ass is high, wobbly and three-dimensional.
....must hie me home and seek sweet relief...
In the laundromat; a bald-headed, bespectacled white youth sits speaking on his cell-phone while his sweet-faced Asian girlfriend carefully sorts the laundry. Something she does annoys him and he speaks sharply and exasperatedly to her and returns to his phone. She says nothing and continues folding with a sad and downcast look.
...O masturbation deliver me from these fires...
Queen Bee
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Dec 14, 2000
- Posts
- 333
Oho
The orgone bubble. I had forgotten about that perfect and useful construct.
Lately I have been delving into My Secret Life for masturbatory purposes. The breadth and detail of this Victorian sexual autobiography amaze me anew each time I read a bit. I get a kick out of the bawdy dialogue of the era, too:
"Oho, oho -- spend, darling, my spunk's coming!"
My teeth are feeling very restless and predatory these days, and as a result I've been gnawing on my silicone cock toys. They are surprisingly resilient and impervious, but if you look closely you can make out a few faint rows of tiny dents. Their satisfactory performance as chew toys reminded me of those nylon bones for dogs, which I think have excellent humilation potential. You could fuck a girl with one and make her carry it in her teeth all day. Or rap her sharply on the forehead with it.
The orgone bubble. I had forgotten about that perfect and useful construct.
Lately I have been delving into My Secret Life for masturbatory purposes. The breadth and detail of this Victorian sexual autobiography amaze me anew each time I read a bit. I get a kick out of the bawdy dialogue of the era, too:
"Oho, oho -- spend, darling, my spunk's coming!"
My teeth are feeling very restless and predatory these days, and as a result I've been gnawing on my silicone cock toys. They are surprisingly resilient and impervious, but if you look closely you can make out a few faint rows of tiny dents. Their satisfactory performance as chew toys reminded me of those nylon bones for dogs, which I think have excellent humilation potential. You could fuck a girl with one and make her carry it in her teeth all day. Or rap her sharply on the forehead with it.
rosco rathbone
1. f3e5 2. g4??
- Joined
- Aug 30, 2002
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Re: Oho
Odd. Victorianiana is in the air.
Shitting I was, in the clean lavatory of my local, preparatory to a pint; when I chanced to think upon the phrase "knocking shop"; which led me down a helter-skelter chase through my thesaurus mind in search of synonyms for "whorehouse". These are the thing men think about as they defile the bowl.
Re: the humiliation potential of chew toys and such; twas I who first employed the jelly cock as an instrument of chastisement.
Although I did not wank this day; I had a long slow warm sunny nap at midday; comfortable as a cat or a snake or some other predator. I had a long slow poisonous erection as I pondered the sexuality of training someone to please you, orally, in the smallest detail.
Queen Bee said:
Odd. Victorianiana is in the air.
Shitting I was, in the clean lavatory of my local, preparatory to a pint; when I chanced to think upon the phrase "knocking shop"; which led me down a helter-skelter chase through my thesaurus mind in search of synonyms for "whorehouse". These are the thing men think about as they defile the bowl.
Re: the humiliation potential of chew toys and such; twas I who first employed the jelly cock as an instrument of chastisement.
Although I did not wank this day; I had a long slow warm sunny nap at midday; comfortable as a cat or a snake or some other predator. I had a long slow poisonous erection as I pondered the sexuality of training someone to please you, orally, in the smallest detail.
bridgeburner
threadkiller
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2001
- Posts
- 2,712
Another experiment for me prompted by a chat with an old friend yesterday. I generally don't fantasize about actual events from my own life or even people that I know when I jack, but inspired by my conversation yesterday I thought I'd give it another try. Perversely enough I've tried with thoughts of this particular man in mind before.
A very little back history - I knew D when I was 14 and he was 21. He was the first boy/man ever to feel me up, the first penis I ever touched and as 14yo girls are wont to do I had a huge crush on him. Here we are 20 years later on different continents and he's gone to the trouble of looking me up after we lost contact at the end of that one summer. He knew my age at the time, but apparently had since forgotten --- he was horrified at my youth and feeling a bit of a rat bastard not just for the things he'd done with me but for all the things he'd like to have done and would have if I'd been the teeniest bit more adventurous.
I never thought I'd been pushed or taken advantage of and even expressed to him that knowing what I know now I wish we'd gone a lot further than we did.
And so that's what last night's jack fodder revolved around. I've exercised a similar fantasy once before while trying to see if I could get off imagining someone I knew. I did quite well up to a certain point --- as I had before --- but in the end I needed a "bump" to really get over the edge. He's not the sort of man who would take pleasure in causing me real pain and particularly not while deflowering me, but I found that trying to visualize such an encounter in a realistic way was just too nice to really buzz me. So, it was nice to a point and not violent even when I altered his personality to be more cruel, but I needed the image of him taking pleasure in hurting me in order to get off.
Unlike my usual fantasies, however, there wasn't any malice or contempt. In the few moments of post-orgasmic fog the fantasy actually continued -- Having hurt me but made me come anyway he cuddled me like an even younger girl than I would have been just like a favorite uncle might, proud of his ability not only to bring me to tears but to soothe them afterward. The other unusual thing is that it was actually me getting fucked in this fantasy rather than a surrogate.
I can't even begin to tell you how mightily fucking odd this was for me to imagine. I'll be picking over it for days to come, I'm sure.
Later last night after I'd fallen asleep I had a semi-sex dream. I say semi because it was somewhat sexual in nature but it wasn't an arousing dream and even shared elements of recurring nightmares that I have although this dream itself didn't frighten me.
I was assaulted in a parking lot by a bum. He never spoke. Never blinked and I was incapable of producing anything more than a whisper when I tried to scream for help. I could feel him pulling my clothes off and the drag of his hand down my flank as I fought him. I'm kicking and trying to punch and then trying to put my thumbs in his eyes and he's hardly straining at all maintaining this completely impassive face.
Some people came to help sort of and he stopped and I knocked him down. I started tearing open his clothes and cursing him and calling him a motherfucker. I pulled his pants off and he's laying there on the ground and his legs and feet and cock are filthy --- there look to be splotches of tar or axel grease all over him. He's got this thin little uncircumsized cock that isn't even hard and I'm shouting at him telling him he ought to be ashamed of himself and he's still giving no reaction at all. Because the dream didn't scare me I didn't wake up but it had no resolution either. It was just not happening anymore all of a sudden or if it was I have no memory of it.
The elements I recognized were the threat of harm from a silent, stoic being upon whom I can have no effect. Other than that it didn't seem nightmarish to me because I wasn't scared. bizarre.
And that's the strange goings on of my brain and libido of late.
-B
A very little back history - I knew D when I was 14 and he was 21. He was the first boy/man ever to feel me up, the first penis I ever touched and as 14yo girls are wont to do I had a huge crush on him. Here we are 20 years later on different continents and he's gone to the trouble of looking me up after we lost contact at the end of that one summer. He knew my age at the time, but apparently had since forgotten --- he was horrified at my youth and feeling a bit of a rat bastard not just for the things he'd done with me but for all the things he'd like to have done and would have if I'd been the teeniest bit more adventurous.
I never thought I'd been pushed or taken advantage of and even expressed to him that knowing what I know now I wish we'd gone a lot further than we did.
And so that's what last night's jack fodder revolved around. I've exercised a similar fantasy once before while trying to see if I could get off imagining someone I knew. I did quite well up to a certain point --- as I had before --- but in the end I needed a "bump" to really get over the edge. He's not the sort of man who would take pleasure in causing me real pain and particularly not while deflowering me, but I found that trying to visualize such an encounter in a realistic way was just too nice to really buzz me. So, it was nice to a point and not violent even when I altered his personality to be more cruel, but I needed the image of him taking pleasure in hurting me in order to get off.
Unlike my usual fantasies, however, there wasn't any malice or contempt. In the few moments of post-orgasmic fog the fantasy actually continued -- Having hurt me but made me come anyway he cuddled me like an even younger girl than I would have been just like a favorite uncle might, proud of his ability not only to bring me to tears but to soothe them afterward. The other unusual thing is that it was actually me getting fucked in this fantasy rather than a surrogate.
I can't even begin to tell you how mightily fucking odd this was for me to imagine. I'll be picking over it for days to come, I'm sure.
Later last night after I'd fallen asleep I had a semi-sex dream. I say semi because it was somewhat sexual in nature but it wasn't an arousing dream and even shared elements of recurring nightmares that I have although this dream itself didn't frighten me.
I was assaulted in a parking lot by a bum. He never spoke. Never blinked and I was incapable of producing anything more than a whisper when I tried to scream for help. I could feel him pulling my clothes off and the drag of his hand down my flank as I fought him. I'm kicking and trying to punch and then trying to put my thumbs in his eyes and he's hardly straining at all maintaining this completely impassive face.
Some people came to help sort of and he stopped and I knocked him down. I started tearing open his clothes and cursing him and calling him a motherfucker. I pulled his pants off and he's laying there on the ground and his legs and feet and cock are filthy --- there look to be splotches of tar or axel grease all over him. He's got this thin little uncircumsized cock that isn't even hard and I'm shouting at him telling him he ought to be ashamed of himself and he's still giving no reaction at all. Because the dream didn't scare me I didn't wake up but it had no resolution either. It was just not happening anymore all of a sudden or if it was I have no memory of it.
The elements I recognized were the threat of harm from a silent, stoic being upon whom I can have no effect. Other than that it didn't seem nightmarish to me because I wasn't scared. bizarre.
And that's the strange goings on of my brain and libido of late.
-B
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