Life has a way of throwing stimulation in my face. Work stimulation. Family stimulation. Romantic stimulation, sexual stimulation, obsessional stimulation.
Over the course of three days, I found myself contending with all of that, and more. Four different areas, each of which alone might well have deprived me of a night’s sleep – whether because of excitement or dread; pleasure or pain.
My cock was drained expertly, twice, but never got well and truly hard.
My obsessionality was temporarily rewarded with a second-best outcome. But one that, I fear, is not likely to last.
My mind and my cock are subject to phenomenal (and near-constant) stimulation, thanks to a good, longtime, distant buddy.
And in a sphere that usually is one of pure pleasure for me – work – I was confronted with a nightmare of seemingly epic proportions to manage. Which, with the help of a LOT of support from mentors and colleagues, I managed. But the very existence of the nightmare raises all sorts of really big questions about my judgment in precisely one sphere: my moth-like attraction to difficult, narcissistic women.
Anyway: at the end of the three days, I was exhausted, and only slightly illuminated.
I need a weekend after my weekend.