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On Women and Desire

Posted by: Author: Age: 28 Posted on: 0 comments
0 likes 444 views Category: Masturbation Male-Female Tags:

In response to the absolutely wonderful 'Women Lack Desire' submission


I can't tell you how thrilled I was to read the 'Women Lack Desire' story linked above. It may be among the more maligned submissions here, but I can't help and applaud it from the very bottom of my heart.

I am approaching five years of marriage now. We haven't had sex in years; I can't even remember how many. Any sexual encounter we ever did have-save the one on our wedding-night-has always ended in minutes, so masturbation and I have become quite good friends. Honestly, it's the one thing that keeps me sane. I went into marriage thinking that things would get better with time. They have: I have learned how to masturbate better.

About two years ago, I found myself, very tired and sleepy, on a couch with an absolutely stunning busty blonde longtime friend. It had been a very tiring day or meetings and events, and we were finally beginning to wind down after a rough day. Without really realizing it, my hand drifted on her stomach. 'Careful,' she said, 'I'm not wearing much under these short-shorts.' I moved my hand up, and was met with a sharp intake of breath as I accidentally brushed her breast. Her amazing C-cup breasts boasted two nipples that visibly hardened. She grabbed my hand, and without saying a word, moved it over her pussy. Her hand, with my hand over it, started moving in slow circles. She was soaked, and within seconds, tiredness forgotten, I was hard as steel. She ground her butt against me as we worked her clit, her juices slick against our fingers. She started moving urgently, then let out a gasp, followed by a series of short moans as she came.

It was December, and I remember her gorgeous, post-orgasm eyes in the firelight. We never went beyond mutual masturbation, but those few evenings many years ago was really the last sexual encounter, and certainly the last real connection, I had with another person.

As with all things, this too ended. I took my frustrations and doubled up at the gym, and put all my energy into my career-my attention was really not welcome at home, and just about anything I did was thanked by nagging and even, occasionally, screaming. I have since won several athletic awards, and am in excellent shape. My work with my company and other initiatives is beginning to pay off, and now, at the age of 28, I am looking at the very real possibility of having my first million in the bag before too much longer. I expect many more to follow.

I have, since, forgotten the frustration about the lack of sex in my life. Masturbation it is. It's just sex, after all. Even though, every now and then, I miss those wonderful nights I had with my busty beautiful blonde bombshell. Then, I find other ways to distract myself.

I find I'm hardly alone. I see people everywhere with the very same dead look in their eyes. At the mall, at the gym, at the store-holding the shopping bags, quiet and subdued, watching the kids, not saying anything because it won't change anything, because it won't matter, and because it's just not worth another argument. Let her have what she wants, the look says, I just don't care anymore. It's not anger, exactly. We're too tired, too dead, to be angry, to be entirely honest.

At least I can focus on my work. By Dec. 2012, I will have my first charities off the ground and running, which has been a goal since October 27, 2007 (the first time my wife shouted me down in a truly petty argument, the night I started working towards my financial and physical goals as they currently stand.) At least some good will come of this.

I don't know if it's a lack of desire, though. I think it's something more.

I remember what the small fling I had felt like, and it gave me the motivation and spark to change my life. Ever since, it's not just the lack of sexual desire. It's the repeated and often painful negative feedback that eventually completely kills any motivation to try again. Eventually, a dog beaten long enough just sulks in a corner. So, we move to other areas of our lives, returning home with submissive zombie-like stare. Start looking for it. I promise you, it's out there. There's more of us there than anyone, I think, realizes.



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