This post is likely to be offensive, and definitely falls into TMI territory. You have been warned.
Last night at 2350 local time, I completed my fiftieth orbit around the sun on this mudball we call earth. In all that time, I have discovered nothing more pleasurable either physically or emotionally, than sex. A few things come close, but none equal it. However, I have reached the conclusion that, at least for me, the effort and associated drama involved make it a poor investment. In redneck vernacular, it just ain’t worth it. I’ll explain.
Compatibility does not generally seem to exist beyond the basic the penis fits into the vagina, especially when factoring in the non-sexual side of a relationship. I’m probably the odd one, as I am the only common factor in this sample study. I have to be okay with that, since I have no way to change that fact.
I’m currently in marriage number five. I’ve been engaged three times that didn’t result in marriage. Total sexual partners, eleven. I’m not someone who can do the casual sex thing, or use some chick as a cum depository, with no consideration for her or whether she got anything from the experience. I mean, I could, physically, but if those are my only options, I’d rather just do it myself.
In my limited experience, women either have no interest in sex at all, or they require things that I (and probably most typical/average men) do not possess in order to be satisfied. Usually, that “something” is either size, stamina or technique. The rare ones for whom this isn’t true are either unicorns, psychopaths, or both, and/or are in very narrow windows of their life that are subject to slam shut at any time without warning. At which time, they will fit the aforementioned statement.
Size – Either they can’t feel it (my problem) or they bitch about dude tapping on the back wall and how painful that is.
Stamina – Then there are those who want to go all night (more about that later) or the flip side of that, aptly demonstrated by the old joke: What do women think about during sex? Beige. I think I’ll paint the ceiling beige. Not a problem that I ever had. Unfortunately.
As for technique, for the main event, there are only so many different ways to stick a pole in a hole. Sure, there are lots of position choices but basically all any of them do is change the angle or penetration potential. With my short dick, lots of those alternative positions eliminate any chance of me getting anywhere close to the holy grail. And if I do try multiple positions that I am able to manage during the same event, one of two things is going to happen. Either I’m going to be done three strokes into position two, making it not worth the effort for me or her, or my dick is going to get pissed off that I removed him from a perfectly thrilling location before he could finish his job there and go soft in retaliation.
For pre-event festivities, I’m avoiding her asshole, no matter how much she claims that it turns her on. Sorry, exit only. Otherwise, I’ll rub, lick, kiss or suck anything from her neck to her ankles. Hygiene dependent (more later), of course. If a woman’s titties spend time in her armpits, I’ll ask her to forego the deodorant. I’d much rather taste sweat than get a mouthful of cologne laced with aluminum chloride. Anyway, if they don’t like where or how I’m touching them, I welcome instruction. I’ll try to adjust. If I’m doing it wrong and they won’t tell me, it’s not my fault. It is however, still demoralizing to fail.
One more thing about oral sex. I’m cool with a lady squirting when she orgasms, but I don’t want my face there when it happens. Which makes me reluctant to go downstairs if I know that she is prone to such things. I feel it’s only fair. Unlike probably ninety-eight percent of heterosexual men, I don’t enjoy fellatio. More than likely because I find the idea of forcefully expelling that into a lady’s face or mouth to be disgusting and disrespectful. I’m very self-conscious about my own hygiene given my expectations in that department regarding my partner. No matter how clean I’ve tried to get myself, I can’t help but think that the taste is going to be unpleasant for her, especially when the pre-cum and more eventually shows up. So I beg off if it is offered. I’ve only once ejaculated into a woman’s mouth, and only at her insistence. It was pleasant enough (or would’ve been had she not nicked me with her teeth on more strokes than she didn’t) but it felt odd. I couldn’t imagine her enjoying it beyond the enjoyment of giving me pleasure, and I’ll take a slick vagina any day.
On to specific experiences. Once in my life, for a few very short months, I got all the sex I wanted, and it seemed to be mutually satisfying. Overall, the best sex of my life, and not just in quantity. One comment of note that she made towards the end of this good part of the relationship supports my original statement, though. We were discussing our sex life in a general, positive and conversational manner. I commented on the frequency, and she admitted that she wasn’t always interested, but was afraid that I would leave if we didn’t indulge so frequently. It hurt that she saw me as that kind of a person, but I got past it. The sex was that good, and I was truly in love with her. But of course she was a psycho. She ended up cutting me off, and a month or so later she moved out of my home without any notice, stealing several thousands of dollars worth of stuff as she left. I’ve spoken of her here before.
My first sexual partner took advantage of my youth and gullibility. She was a few years older (early 20s, not cougar old) and married, but when she found out that I’d never been with a girl before, she wanted to be my first. She swore that her husband abused her and the marriage was over just as soon as she could leave. There was a child from a previous relationship prior to her marriage in the mix, which should’ve been a huge warning sign. But I wanted to be the knight in shining armor, so at 18 I tried to help her accomplish her stated desire. I loaded her, some of her stuff and the kid into my truck and took her to a neighboring state. We had one very enjoyable weekend, after which neither of us could walk normally. The next week she was back home with hubby and no longer interested in me.
The rest won’t be in any particular order, and some traits apply to more than one. There was the one for whom I was the first. I never did figure out how to get her interested, although she was able to reach orgasm at least on occasion. She was accommodating, though, which I appreciated. “I don’t want any, but you go ahead,” was an oft-repeated phrase in our bedroom. But she fell in love with her boss, then called me a sex addict (complete with a self-help book) and told me she wasn’t sure she ever loved me as she exited my life. Seems I broke her for white guys in the process, as she ended up leaving me for a drug addicted Mexican Indian, then left him for another Mexican, and is now married to a black dude. Not that it matters, just a notable tidbit.
There was another, early in my “career” who never provided any feedback either during or after the act. Consequently, I have no idea if I ever did anything for her. She seemed eager enough at first, and there were two particularly memorable moments with her. One was when we were in the swimming pool at her mother’s house and chatting with another couple sitting nearby but outside of the pool. At one point she slid her bottom to the side and I maneuvered inside. We gently rocked back and forth while continuing to carry on conversation with the other couple. The other time was the single best experience of my life to date, bar none. It was a couple years after the pool event. We broke up for reasons related to youth, but tried again later. I can’t tell you what it was about that particular night, but it was an earth-moving, near religious experience for me. I was physically shaking afterward, and not from exertion (although it was energetic sex). Of course she had to ruin the moment by saying that my reaction was like a virgin who’d just gotten his first piece. Our second attempt at a relationship didn’t last long either. Soon after we got back together and she rocked my world, she cut me off completely. After more than six months of being told that my time would come, I got tired of waiting and being used financially while obviously being lied to. Bye, bitch.
Then there are the hygiene issues. One partner was interested regularly, and I seemed to be doing things right. But when I go downstairs (which by then I’d learned was a thing, although I still hadn’t figured out how everything worked down there yet) and come back up with a face full of toilet paper flecks, it’s not exactly pleasant. Also, a strong odor or taste of urine isn’t exactly sexy. I mean, how difficult is it for a lady to at least rinse the area a little before letting their man head down? Things there naturally have a unique and moderately strong scent, but that’s not a turnoff. The opposite, actually. But if it’s covered in pieces of TP and smells like the bathroom in a third world fish market before her legs are fully open, I’m not going down there. I’ll stick my dick in it, but I’m not putting my mouth on it.
On a related note, there was the one who let her dog (unbathed for years) sleep on everything. Her bed. Her pile of “clean” laundry. Everything. Bitch smelled like wet mutt from across the room because of how much her clothes reeked. My nose insisted that I was making out with a dog whenever we were together, especially when we were at her house. I couldn’t maintain that. Even if it was nice and tight down there.
And what the hell is wrong with so many women who want to be dominated, humiliated or hurt in bed? One bitch had a rape fantasy. More than one wanted to be spanked and/or have their hair pulled. Sorry, but no. I’m all for enthusiastic sex, but in my book it should be respectful and tender (if not necessarily gentle – although that’s my personal preference). I won’t smack or hit a woman unless she’s trying to kill me.
Back to the unachievable requirements. One lady appreciated digital and oral stimulation, but needed PiV to be satisfied. The problem was, she needed twice. The first one was just an appetizer. I was never able to last long enough to give her that all important second orgasm. That left her unfulfilled. It should’ve come as no surprise when she went completely cold after a couple years. Honestly, I’d already taken to doing things myself more often than not rather than initiating what I knew would inevitably turn into a frustrating experience for her. Not her fault, just incompatibility.
Then there was the one that never lasted long enough to determine compatibility. She got so homesick within weeks after the wedding that she packed up and moved back to her mother. Total number of bedroom encounters can be counted on one hand. After more than a year of waiting for her to be ready to come back, I divorced her.
Then there’s the one who hadn’t yet had her first orgasm when we got together, although I wasn’t her first husband. That didn’t change with me. Not sure if she ever has/did. She married the dude she left me for and proceeded to shit out three kids for him to abuse. She eventually left him and was in a lesbian relationship last I heard.
Then the other side of that – the ones who can have at least 6.02 * 10^23 back to back orgasms. You never know when you can stop, because they’re never done. And what if you stop before they want you to? Again, failure. Again, not worth it.
One more thing I want to get off my chest. Whoever popularized the French kiss needs to be shot. With one notable exception, every woman I’ve ever kissed (not including pity kisses on the cheek at the end of a date that both knew wouldn’t have a follow-up) wanted this. For some, it was the ultimate turn-on. It feels awkward and is thus extremely uncomfortable for me. I don’t know what to do since it’s not natural to me. Instead, French kissing feels like I need to be able to unhinge my jaw like a snake trying to swallow a small dog in order to participate. And there is the tongue play. No. Just no. If a lady wants me to use my tongue on her, she needs to drop her panties and spread her legs. Then I’ll happily oblige. With gusto.
And about that. I always thought that women love cunnilingus. I guess, despite my enthusiasm, the women I’ve been with don’t. More likely, I’m doing it wrong. They give the it feels good even if I can’t finish that way response just like the it felt good even if I didn’t finish that they say when guys finish without getting them off. It’s a kindness, but it’s also bullshit.
Back to the French kiss thing. Only one lady in my life didn’t want to kiss that way. We talked about it and even tried it. Neither one of us liked it. We were in high school, and the relationship died before things never went sexual. Looking back, I’d give my left nut, one kidney and probably a finger or two from my left hand if I could go back in time and kiss Chastity (yes, her real name – it was over a third of a century ago and nobody who knows her reads this) again. And try to not fuck things up with her this time around. We would spend our lunchtimes in a seldom used alcove of lockers in each other’s arms. I didn’t appreciate the experience then nearly as much as I should have, and I regret it. I hope Rusty made her happy. She was one hell of a lady, and deserves happiness if anyone does. But I digress.
Not that any of this matters at this point. I’m old and fat. I can barely reach my dick to jerk myself off. As for with a partner, things hurt and cramp long before I get done. Not to mention that her body doesn’t work much better than mine in that department, so she can’t be on top and do all the work. Which further frustrates things. Getting old sucks.