Summer Celibacy and Scintillating Women Are Frying My Brain

School’s out, leaving me edging every day and no finish.

Photo by Fabio Pelegrino: https://www.pexels.com/photo/photo-of-a-topless-man-surrounded-by-plants-2809478/

The end of the school year is typically a time of rediscovered freedom — a time to play around and lay around, soaking up the lazy hours of easy days. But summer vacation has become torture for me with a spouse as a teacher, and a child set free from their hours confined to learning institutions.

Entering the fourth year of forced celibacy (my wife lost her libido years ago, and there are still no signs of it returning) and not one to seek satisfaction outside of marriage, my abstinence has taken another hit.

Like many of you who write here behind the red doors of fantasy and forbidden desires, I hide behind my pen name. But, I don’t hide strictly — I separate my life from real to unreal. The person I am here has no bearing on who I am IRL, but this bad guy keeps the good guy alive.

Sadly, with the house no longer empty during the daytime, both of us suffer with virtually no playtime.

But you are still here. All of you incredible, sexy, powerful, confident, and coy women. You’re all here writing about terribly delicious, dirty things that drive me crazy.

It’s hard, and I’m always hard.

With the tap of a finger and the click of a mouse, I move from one busy browser to another. Then, when I know the crew is downstairs or outside, I sneak a peek. I read a story or two, scroll my bad guy Twitter, and I’m thick and throbbing in seconds.

But there’s hardly a safe opportunity to see it through. My wife has a disturbing penchant for coming into the bathroom while I’m in the shower, my cock lathered up with conditioner, hard, hot, thick, and heavy in my hand. My eyes closed, my mind playing reels while indulging in feels.

Then, nine out of ten times, the Missus walks in, starts chatting, and I turn my blue balls to the tile wall. Finally, I step out, washed clean but with my thighs locked, trying to restrain the jettison of cum from my blocked cock.

Encouragement is a dangerous drug.

My desire, lust, fantasies, and need rise and fall with more calamity than rough seas. When I first released the bad guy, and he found an outlet on his bad guy Twitter, he threw caution to the wind and embraced the opportunity to express himself and to accept appreciation for what he still had to offer.

And yes, I’m going to brag a little bit because I have a lot to offer, and Gawd, I’d love to have someone take it all.

That guy didn’t care. That guy stripped-down, gripped it round, and tapped the camera. Then as close as he dared to give the full Monty, he posted his body and let the chips fall where they may.

The few appreciative responses nearly unraveled him entirely, but after a vicious debate with the good guy, he relented, covered back up, and eventually deleted the pictures. But if only one of the women had asked for more —

The Drought of Ages.

Four non-fucking years. 1460 days, 35, 040 hours — wasted. The only thing more astonishing than that is my ability to restrain myself. The good guy behaves, sometimes barely, but he keeps it together.

I love women. I’m in love with loving women, and summer doesn’t help.

Naked necks, bare legs, sundresses, sunglasses, and sandals. Shorts, sleeveless shirts, suntanned shoulders, hips, ass, and breasts.

Summer brings ready smiles of pearly whites from beneath pastel lips. Conversations start with ease, and flirtations fall from me like an afternoon breeze. A smile, a laugh, and a look back over the shoulder as innocent words sprinkled with innuendo make her think twice for a fleeting moment.

I watch, sigh, smile, and die a little more.

When I go out to the grocery store or run errands in town, I’m semi-hard and thick. With each step, I feel my bare cock jostled against my thigh, and on the rare occasion where a woman sends back the same signals and communication is cerebral and in body language? I have to lock that shit down and evacuate the area. A green light will cause a wreck like you’ve never seen.

“Thank you, you’re gorgeous, unreasonably sexy, and now I’ve got to get the hell away from you.” I have said those words. I have had women raise an eyebrow and shake their heads because they weren’t all the way there — yet.

I’ve had other women shake their heads, touch a fingertip to my arm and say, “that’s too bad.”

I practically run from them.

Lockdown in Cock Town.

Now the house is full, and so are my balls. I know that’s crude and crass, but it’s the truth. Typing with my fingers firing away on the keyboard below with constant shoulder checks over my shoulder looking behind is improving my blind typing but murders my peace of mind.

It’s a struggle to juggle my balls and my brain.

I’m not complaining for pity’s sake. I have no one to blame but myself. Many of you take matters into your own hands to satisfy yourselves. I don’t judge cheaters; in fact, I applaud all those that get what they want how they want it. Good for you. Good. For. You.

Confident women are sexy. Women acknowledging and embracing their power is sexy. Getting fucked is sexy.

But my disadvantage is two-fold. 1) I’m a terrible liar, and 2) I love my wife. I don’t resent her (anymore). I accept her struggle. It’s not her choice. Her body inside and out has changed. She tried to fake it and make it work, but that’s so bad. It’s not fun, and sex has to be fun.

We’ve discussed it openly, with empathy and understanding, but there is nothing to be done. All we can do is wait and see if it turns back in the direction it once was.

And once, it was awesome. That’s another reason sex with someone feels like it would be a disappointment. Why would I want to have sex with a woman I don’t know, when sex with my wife was the best sex I’ve ever had?

It was hot. It was often. It was kinky and fun. Fuck, it was fun!

My wife is pretty and cute. Sure, her body has changed, and she’s gained weight which adds to her discomfort of getting naked, but who cares about that?

Sex starts in the brain and finishes with the body. Then the trust factor. Having a partner that you trust and trusts you completely allows you the freedom to play.

There’s no judgment of each other. All you want to do is please one another, and it doesn’t matter what that looks like.

To me, if it makes her wet and wants me more? I’m not just down; I’m double down. That’s hard to give up, and I’m going to guess, nearly impossible to find on the quick and dirty affair.

That’s all the good guy wanted to say. He needed to get it off his chest and release the pressure.

Last word from the bad guy.

Ladies, you’re gorgeous — all of you. Keep up keeping me up.

And if you want…ask for more.

Come say hi on Twitter!

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