Over the past month, my underwear have continually bore the odor of dried cum. THe moments alone, in the bedroom, watching porn at Maxporn. Lately, a fascination with the pornstar named Eve Lawrence. Why, I do not know. I imagine a meeting between us would be tempting, because of the curves of her wild body and the desire this might momentarily inspire. The effectiveness of porn lies in the imagination. But when people speak, everything changes. The dimension of character emerges that can be very un-sexy. Of course, I'm sure Miss Lawrence is a lovely woman, but I suspect that she could not hold my attention to her.
I have at least two students now that interest me as sexual objects. The one is a fair-skinned blonde beauty. Her hair is actually a light brown, I suppose. She is generally quiet, but she stares at my during my lectures with such open, observant eyes that are generally not afraid to meet mine. Yet I must admit that Iam afraid to meet hers. I worry that my attention to her beauty might be noticeable to other students. Perhaps I overcompensate. The truth is that she is beautiful, and I have caught a few glances at her body--a sliver of her midriff exposed when she stood up and was putting on her coat--but I doubt that there could be more than that. And I would never pursue it. This is an ethical boundary I must maintain.
The other student is delicious in appearance. My mind exclaims: du siehst mir sehr lecker aus! She seems very nice. But again the reflection here is the moment. Otherwise, she is still just a student and ...
Beyond these respects, I am without sex. Over the past six months, I have had so little sex! All sex has been the eyes and the left hand and the right hand and this is it. Since Anya and I have moved in together, sex has dropped off the agenda. She is tired when she comes home and I am tired. I do not feel bad about this. I still love her as I have before, quite sincerely. Perhaps it is our domestic partners.
We are getting married in a few months and I am content with this. Yet I feel I need to tell her that I will cheat on her. But that this will not mean that I do not love her.
New Year's Eve we spent at our friend's house. The Pet, as I like to think of her. Pet and I have slept together numerous times over the past few years. Since I have been with Anya, perhaps twice, three times. When I lived in my other east-coast city, she lived only a few blocks away and our friendship involved going out to eat and drinking together, on the not infrequent occasion, and then making out in front of her apartment. Now Pet lives here.
That Eve, apart from the other guests for a minute, Pet and I made out. When Anya was in the bathroom and everyone else had left, we kissed. And days afterward, I wanted to do more. Pet, having now met and spent time with Anya, has decided that her lust cannot withstand the sense of violation, now that Anya is not to her merely a name, but a person. I suspect this will only last until we get drunk together, alone. When that will be, I do not know.
In the meantime, I will stroke my long, plump hard cock while watching Eve Lawrence, or reading Marianne's blog, or thinking about students I will never fuck.
