doctorsleaze
Experienced
- Joined
- Jun 18, 2008
- Posts
- 71
I have Katbound to thank for giving me the inspiration for starting this post. Her posts are so horny and so arousing, they just drive you to throw caution to the wind and blurt out all the secret stuff you know you've always wanted to share....
I went to an all male grammar school, and the lack of female company was soooo frustrating as a teenage boy. The speeding around of hormones between, I don’t know what ages, 12 and 16 probably (actually let’s say 12 and 20 - it’s all a bit of a blur) just drove me completely mad. Judicious washing and showering a couple of days helped keep the greasy hair and spots at bay and gave me an excuse to get away from the family and have a wank in peace. Not that I really needed any excuse – there were times when thought I was going nuts – 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 times day, I lost track of the number of times my balls needed to be emptied and there was tonnes of the stuff, litres of it, always, and even as I was finishing and pulling up my things, this thing would kick in and I’d still be horny, and I would still need to do it. I used to sit in my room on this old vinyl covered chair so I wouldn’t ruin the furniture with all the sweat and cum and outpourings that my body would deliver. When you’re that age there is gallons of the stuff and you know, you just don’t care, you’ve got some tissues or toilet paper to clean up, wipe the sweat away... Suddenly I was having to explain what was happening to all the toilet paper – ‘why are we using so much toilet paper?’ my mother would say – ‘dunno, must have got a stomach bug.......’ well, you're a boy, aren't you, you can hardly respond with : ‘look, a 4 pack of bog roll is 2 quid...... steam cleaning the domestic equivalent of the fallout from a nuclear attack on a yoghurt factory off of my bedroom carpet costs a hell of a sight more,’ now can you?).
I was possessed and this went on for years. Sometimes I would look down at my dick and it just felt like it belonged to someone else, the head red-raw, the stiffness making me feel faint as it drank the blood from the rest of my body, the incessant demanding to be drained, abused, satiated, fuck, fuck, fuck me. Bereft of female company, the choices for stimulation were either porn or other boys, but this wasn’t the 21st century or even the 90s, and with no internet and fairly repressed attitudes to anything that hinted that you might be gay, both options were difficult – which meant that you had to use your imagination, at which I became extremely adept. The slightest well-posed bit of leg or skirt in the Sunday Times, the underwear section in the Littlewoods mail order catalogue (neither of which, let me assure non-UK readers, is up there with Henry Miller, the Marquis de Sade or Anna Span in the litany of erotica !) – but whatever, it did it for me.... until of course you managed either to trade at school to buy a well thumbed Forum or Club International (the holy grail), or sweating and clammy like a mad thing queue up to buy one from the battleaxe in the newsagent, head down, breathe normally, yes that’ll be a bike mag, an NME, a kitkat, and oh, yes, I just happen to be casually buying some top-shelf filth – “What? Of course I’m 18, what was that, 15? No really, of course I’m 18...... and it’s just out of curiosity, you understand, and not because I can’t wait to rush off to somewhere quiet, devour all the photospreads, drink in the teasing, stripping, cutesy, fresh little things, turn page after page in frenzied anticipation, mainline endorphins in and out of my brain, and spurt gallons of liquid nitrogen-semen like a fucking wild animal whose balls represented his species’ last hope of avoiding extinction....” God it was like a fucking death-instinct, it was life itself, there wasn’t anything much outside that – it’s a nonsense to say guys think about sex every 6 seconds or 6 minutes or whatever – it’s all the time – a continuous perpetual fucking process – and not even always a welcome one – almost like slavery – happiness is slavery (dontcha know, Trent), – orgasm addict....
This post was going to be about body worship, and lust for what you don’t have access to – it was a rejoinder to Katbound's post about cock worship – and it was also going to be not just about cock worship and the lust for pretty much any other kind of worship too... Her post is here, and it’s very horny and it's very very good -
http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?p=27475459#post27475459
....... alas I haven’t got past the porn stage – but as I only write when I’m in the mood and I feel more stated now, this will have to stay for another day. Here’s hoping someone finds this interesting and worthy of comment! Well, whatever - more another day...
Remember, you only have one life, and it’s not a dress rehearsal....
I went to an all male grammar school, and the lack of female company was soooo frustrating as a teenage boy. The speeding around of hormones between, I don’t know what ages, 12 and 16 probably (actually let’s say 12 and 20 - it’s all a bit of a blur) just drove me completely mad. Judicious washing and showering a couple of days helped keep the greasy hair and spots at bay and gave me an excuse to get away from the family and have a wank in peace. Not that I really needed any excuse – there were times when thought I was going nuts – 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 times day, I lost track of the number of times my balls needed to be emptied and there was tonnes of the stuff, litres of it, always, and even as I was finishing and pulling up my things, this thing would kick in and I’d still be horny, and I would still need to do it. I used to sit in my room on this old vinyl covered chair so I wouldn’t ruin the furniture with all the sweat and cum and outpourings that my body would deliver. When you’re that age there is gallons of the stuff and you know, you just don’t care, you’ve got some tissues or toilet paper to clean up, wipe the sweat away... Suddenly I was having to explain what was happening to all the toilet paper – ‘why are we using so much toilet paper?’ my mother would say – ‘dunno, must have got a stomach bug.......’ well, you're a boy, aren't you, you can hardly respond with : ‘look, a 4 pack of bog roll is 2 quid...... steam cleaning the domestic equivalent of the fallout from a nuclear attack on a yoghurt factory off of my bedroom carpet costs a hell of a sight more,’ now can you?).
I was possessed and this went on for years. Sometimes I would look down at my dick and it just felt like it belonged to someone else, the head red-raw, the stiffness making me feel faint as it drank the blood from the rest of my body, the incessant demanding to be drained, abused, satiated, fuck, fuck, fuck me. Bereft of female company, the choices for stimulation were either porn or other boys, but this wasn’t the 21st century or even the 90s, and with no internet and fairly repressed attitudes to anything that hinted that you might be gay, both options were difficult – which meant that you had to use your imagination, at which I became extremely adept. The slightest well-posed bit of leg or skirt in the Sunday Times, the underwear section in the Littlewoods mail order catalogue (neither of which, let me assure non-UK readers, is up there with Henry Miller, the Marquis de Sade or Anna Span in the litany of erotica !) – but whatever, it did it for me.... until of course you managed either to trade at school to buy a well thumbed Forum or Club International (the holy grail), or sweating and clammy like a mad thing queue up to buy one from the battleaxe in the newsagent, head down, breathe normally, yes that’ll be a bike mag, an NME, a kitkat, and oh, yes, I just happen to be casually buying some top-shelf filth – “What? Of course I’m 18, what was that, 15? No really, of course I’m 18...... and it’s just out of curiosity, you understand, and not because I can’t wait to rush off to somewhere quiet, devour all the photospreads, drink in the teasing, stripping, cutesy, fresh little things, turn page after page in frenzied anticipation, mainline endorphins in and out of my brain, and spurt gallons of liquid nitrogen-semen like a fucking wild animal whose balls represented his species’ last hope of avoiding extinction....” God it was like a fucking death-instinct, it was life itself, there wasn’t anything much outside that – it’s a nonsense to say guys think about sex every 6 seconds or 6 minutes or whatever – it’s all the time – a continuous perpetual fucking process – and not even always a welcome one – almost like slavery – happiness is slavery (dontcha know, Trent), – orgasm addict....
This post was going to be about body worship, and lust for what you don’t have access to – it was a rejoinder to Katbound's post about cock worship – and it was also going to be not just about cock worship and the lust for pretty much any other kind of worship too... Her post is here, and it’s very horny and it's very very good -
http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?p=27475459#post27475459
....... alas I haven’t got past the porn stage – but as I only write when I’m in the mood and I feel more stated now, this will have to stay for another day. Here’s hoping someone finds this interesting and worthy of comment! Well, whatever - more another day...
Remember, you only have one life, and it’s not a dress rehearsal....
