Like most great things in life, pussy seems to come when you least expect it. Just when you've given up hope of bagging the love of your life and you think god is a cruel sadistic bastard who likes watching your impotent pick up attempts as you try to recover from an obliterated heart, just when you figure your right hand isn't so bad after all, just when you think you can relate to the himalayan monks who meditate instead of ejaculate, just when you think working longer hours and doing more exercise is the appropriate way to deal with the despair of overwhelming loneliness pussy comes cascading down on you like its fucking niagara falls.
I don't know whether it's luck, coincidence, attitude, or lower standards but at moments when I'm at my lowest there is usually a catapulting motion back up to unseen heights. There is no gradual climb up rocky terrain, no slow moving love affairs or flirtatious trysts, no I'm in a rocket ship straight for orgasm after orgasm. Is it all fulfilling? A moral man with self respect might say no, but I haven't been one of those in a long time. I'm having a great time meeting girls and actually having success in gaining access to their most private possessions.
Is this sustainable? Of course not, like a violent thunderstorm it will probably be followed by an unbearable drought. And here I am constantly being thrown from one extreme to the other, avoiding any sort of consistency or normalcy. I guess it keeps me from my number one fear of being boring, but the roller coaster motion of ecstasy and agony is overwhelming and it'd be nice to maybe find that love of my life and settle down. Call me a romantic but I'm not sure if there's anything more appealing than having a girl you can sleep with on any night of the week with whom you'd actually LIKE to wake up next to.
I'll enjoy this oasis of vagina while it lasts, but when it inevitably dries up I'd like to avoid asking myself if I should've maybe cut back and looked for something different this time. Otherwise I know what comes next, and I know the pleasure isn't worth the pain.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Friday, August 07, 2009
Booze Clues
Booze cruise can mean alot of different things. To me it simply implies drinking booze on any sort of water traversing vessel. On 25th and the West Side resides an assortment of boats gently swaying with the Hudson that are hosts to (from what I can tell) some of the most attractive women in New York. The place, dubbed the Frying Pan (Not sure why), is made up of two ships tied together with thick seafairing rope and bridges (more like planks) to cross from one to the other. The one on which you enter is the larger of the two and has two bars. The drinks aren't cheap, but weren't as expensive as I might've thought being on the Hudson with a gorgeous view of Downtown and Jersey. My friend and I arrived around ten and after passing through various cliques of hot girls and post work guys we found the group with whom we were meeting. They were on the side ship, the smaller one, towards the back. We quickly said hi then immediately turned around recognizing our overwhelming need for drink. We bought a pitcher for what seemed like an affordable price and immediately started downing it. We knew one of the girls there, apparently it was her friend's 21st birthday party and what could be better than celebrating on a boat?
The views were astounding and I have to say that the attractiveness of the Pan's female guests was significantly higher than the average East Village bar (where I usually ply my trade). Our mutual friend introduced us to a few of the other guests at the party, but mostly we remained with said company. So there we were, the girl we knew, her roommate, my friend, and I, the perfect foursome. The rocking of the boat only served to enhance the feeling of inebriation. I was sober when I got there but the rising and falling of the ship could've convinced me otherwise. Funny enough, once I did reach the point of intoxication I hardly noticed the river's movement, probably attributable to my intense concentration on the drink at hand.
As the night moved further along and drinks continued to dissapear and reappear with purchase it became obvious that we would all be hooking up. Myself with the girl I had known before arrival (had hooked up with her once before) and my friend with her roommate (to my knowledge also with one prior hook up). It's likely this is what was always going to happen, but the booze definitely accelerated the process. I desperately wanted to stay awake but the movement of the water was so soothing and I had worked, and I was drinking, all things that alone could send me into an inescapable slumber. However, the thought of sex and all of its accompanying foreplay propelled me to wrestle back the fatigue.
I don't remember what time we left The Frying Pan, but I'm pretty sure we all then went to another bar to further pursue our alcoholic tendencies. It was at this point that I began feeling the gentle hands of my female companion along my rapidly growing member. Above the table we drank intermittently from our beers, but beneath we were rapidly moving towards mutual masterbation, or third base, or whatever you call it when your hands are fondling eachother's pleasure points. I don't know if this was more from sexual attraction, drunken horniness, or a desperate attempt to stay awake. Either way, even the sensitive attention being paid to my enlarged, throbbing...fatigue was only enough to keep my consciousness in flashes. She helped by repeatedly slapping me in the back of the head whenever I started to fade. I'm already sensitive to blows to the head (not like that, but yes like that too), but I had undoubtedly drank away alot of important brain cells and this latest trauma to my cranium could not be helping things.
I woke up to her laughing at me saying that it was 6:30 and I had to go to work, almost on cue my alarm went off. I had no idea of when I fell asleep, but as soon as I moved to get up I realized I was very much without clothes. Upon further investigation I discovered she must've been afflicted with the same desire to derobe...or we had just had sex. There were flashes of scenes in my mind, but I wasn't sure if they were real or not, but when I inquired, "So...did we...you know?" She curtly responded, "yes, we had sex and no I don't feel good about it either." Wait a sec, who said I didn't feel good about it? Either way I was late for work and probably still drunk, I found my clothes and stumbled out of her apartment trying to make my way back into my life.
The views were astounding and I have to say that the attractiveness of the Pan's female guests was significantly higher than the average East Village bar (where I usually ply my trade). Our mutual friend introduced us to a few of the other guests at the party, but mostly we remained with said company. So there we were, the girl we knew, her roommate, my friend, and I, the perfect foursome. The rocking of the boat only served to enhance the feeling of inebriation. I was sober when I got there but the rising and falling of the ship could've convinced me otherwise. Funny enough, once I did reach the point of intoxication I hardly noticed the river's movement, probably attributable to my intense concentration on the drink at hand.
As the night moved further along and drinks continued to dissapear and reappear with purchase it became obvious that we would all be hooking up. Myself with the girl I had known before arrival (had hooked up with her once before) and my friend with her roommate (to my knowledge also with one prior hook up). It's likely this is what was always going to happen, but the booze definitely accelerated the process. I desperately wanted to stay awake but the movement of the water was so soothing and I had worked, and I was drinking, all things that alone could send me into an inescapable slumber. However, the thought of sex and all of its accompanying foreplay propelled me to wrestle back the fatigue.
I don't remember what time we left The Frying Pan, but I'm pretty sure we all then went to another bar to further pursue our alcoholic tendencies. It was at this point that I began feeling the gentle hands of my female companion along my rapidly growing member. Above the table we drank intermittently from our beers, but beneath we were rapidly moving towards mutual masterbation, or third base, or whatever you call it when your hands are fondling eachother's pleasure points. I don't know if this was more from sexual attraction, drunken horniness, or a desperate attempt to stay awake. Either way, even the sensitive attention being paid to my enlarged, throbbing...fatigue was only enough to keep my consciousness in flashes. She helped by repeatedly slapping me in the back of the head whenever I started to fade. I'm already sensitive to blows to the head (not like that, but yes like that too), but I had undoubtedly drank away alot of important brain cells and this latest trauma to my cranium could not be helping things.
I woke up to her laughing at me saying that it was 6:30 and I had to go to work, almost on cue my alarm went off. I had no idea of when I fell asleep, but as soon as I moved to get up I realized I was very much without clothes. Upon further investigation I discovered she must've been afflicted with the same desire to derobe...or we had just had sex. There were flashes of scenes in my mind, but I wasn't sure if they were real or not, but when I inquired, "So...did we...you know?" She curtly responded, "yes, we had sex and no I don't feel good about it either." Wait a sec, who said I didn't feel good about it? Either way I was late for work and probably still drunk, I found my clothes and stumbled out of her apartment trying to make my way back into my life.
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