Cock-up


Dare to breathe. Dare to feel. Dare to let your guard down.

Dare to acknowledge the difference between a one-off fuck, and real feelings.

Dare to believe that such a thing can happen.

Dare to have your head turned by compliments.

Then you dare to screw me over.

How dare you.

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I appreciate that the arguments over taste, flavour and preference are almost entirely academic. What I may like, you may hate, and so on. In addition to making a mockery of the reality competitions involving advanced cheffery and food porn, this also applies to the world of attraction between two human beings. (I do not presume to exclude the sort of polyamorous relationship involving 3 or more, but for the purposes of this specific discussion  this is an irrelevant issue.)

However, since I’ve been around the block once or twice, and have the gravitas of my super-advanced age to back me up (no one has been able to convince me that I’m not heading the way of Methuselah ever since I passed the big four-oh), I’ve decided to give you the benefit of my experience and opinion. Image

Attraction is a funny thing. There are those who attribute all the highs and lows of emotion, feeling, sensation and sensuality to various chemical surpluses or imbalances. There are those who declaim proudly that true love is true love, and it manifests itself through attraction. (This, as a theory, is bollocks, but what can you do. People. Kfff.) Then there are those who realize that attraction is a subtle blend of the physical, the mental and that x-factor that causes one person to be as handsome as Paul Newman in his heyday, whereas another somewhat resembles the Notre Dame’s most infamous resident.

All of this taken into account, the truth is that the real attraction between two people, happens when they have something in common. It can be tangible — a love for basketball, perhaps. It can be ethereal — a love for fantastic boobs, or blonde hair. It can be the x-factor — an indescribable and untouchable reason that sends two people careening back into each others arms, even after political disagreements, or within the uncomfortable familiarity of an abusive relationship.

But what is so fundamentally important, is that if there is something there — something real, where two minds meet and connect — don’t throw it all away upon viewing a bad photo. Not all of us are as photogenic as <insert supermodel of your choice here>. All of us, however, when met in real life, have the potential to ensnare and bewitch another with the glinting sparkle in our eye.

It’s one thing to initially look at a picture and have no desire to communicate any further. But to establish a line of contact  and talk — non-stop — for two hours, only to abruptly rule out any further communication? That’s just fucking stupid.

Of course, the world is your oyster, and you are free to make the choices as your heart dictates. But you should know something. From the moment you disqualified me with your heartless “you’re not my type”, any attraction I had for you dissipated into thin air, like so much angel dust. Not because you weren’t attracted to me, because believe me, my ego is not so fragile as to be unable to withstand such a blow (!). Rather, because I could in no way be attracted to one who acts in a manner so shallow and pathetic. You implied that you were a mature, intellectually stimulating and intelligent human being — but you betrayed your true colors in one sentence. Not only was I no longer interested from that second on, but I feel as though I had the luckiest escape. As Beyonce so wisely (and beautifully) sings, “you turned out to be the best thing I never had.”

It’s how we always do things. The practical takes precedence over the emotional. It was cold, so the socks stayed on.

Naturally, no other garment can remain and effect true practicality — at least, not when the most significant achievement being aimed for is an abundance of orgasms all round. But socks keep your feet warm, and there’s a lot to be said for warm feet when you’re engaged in prolonged fellatio.

Not that practicality as a concept should be knocked, but it’s also safe to say that it hadn’t been the main feature in this particular turn of events. Getting into the right position required much heaving, grunting and the occasional giggle — but again, it was a means to an end. The required positions were achieved, and the resultant touching, licking, stroking, pinching, caressing always pleased.

*****

I always enjoy a good solid straight forward orgasm, unenhanced by the wonders of nature, but goddammit  I just love it when said enhancement is there. The climax takes on a different hue — in fact, several. The jagged breathing as I near my peak melts into layered waves of bliss, each color more vivid and intense than the last, my lungs expanding to fill my chest cavity, until I finally burst and come, showering rainbows all over the room.

There was a moment one time, where I floated above my supine body, and watched such a set of proceedings unfold from above. My head on his leg, my tongue millimeters from his cock, where until recently — up until my attention was too severely distracted to continue — it had been engaged in providing some pleasure of its own. His head resting on one arm, regarding me with a knowing smile as his other hand engaged itself in painting me into a bed mural; my legs akimbo, a spreading dark patch beneath me, evidence of what had just ensued.

*****

Of course, I’m not without my own contributions to the hoopla. How he responds to my tongue is a source of pure pleasure for all concerned. Me, because I delight in his enjoyment, and him because…. well, because show me the man who doesn’t become an inanely grinning Mr Happy when their cock is firmly ensconced in the mouth of another, and I’ll show you a wax model. It takes a moment for the cock to realize where it is, and then it all of a sudden grows into its full glory, and hits the back of my throat — requiring my best gag reflex control skills.

It’s enormous fun. Watch this space.