Saturday, November 24, 2007

Almost came....The Nerdish Husband.

You would think as a fully proficient, pre-information age, last of the babyboom generation certifiable geek,that I would have a real 'handle' on wanking off.

The Wifey, a fine diddler in her own right, has always encouraged me in my self-molestation attempts. On occasion, though it is a real shame to pull out of her warm, wet willing mouth,I have finished myself off imitable porno stud style to provide creamy protein to tighten the skin on her lovely face.

Generalized tossing one off though seems to be a problem for me. Not that I can't get off from my self-ministrations,but the level of privacy I seem to require for this borders on the ridiculous. I prefer that she be out of the room and for that matter out of the house when I feel such an urge. It isn't that I am shy. In fact I feel that by ow I would be a dirty old man in a trench coat if not for a rather sad abortive flashing attempt with the neighbor girl at 14. (Not that she wasn't enthusiastic about my display, but inviting her little brother to view the show cooled my ardor a bit, but I digress..) I like stroking it for her and her little touches and licks that so often lead to a blow-job are wonderful.

Part of the problem is that when I discovered masturbation about the time I was letting the neighbor discover my maleness, it was an organic self taught process. There was a smut provider called ON TV that broadcast scrambled signals over the airwaves late at night. Subscribers were given a black box that arranged the signals properly. Being a geek I realized that signals in the open are signals and that the only way (this is in the pre-digital age) to mess them up is to broadcast between the set frequencies assigned given channels. Using an older tv with a manual tuner I had my choice, good sound and vibrant but squiggly color or snowing black and white silent film. I went with the silent version and read lips. And learned. Sort of.

Despite my dad's generous offer to have my mom (a registered nurse) show me in pictographs in her medical books how it is that a sperm actually gets inside an egg, I had declined this advanced instruction course. So repressive was what was unsaid in my home that when it was time to view the sixth grade sex education film, I was too embarrassed to bring home the permission slip. I was mortified when the teacher offered to let me go next door to watch if I "thought my parents would be OK with it". Worse yet was hearing the ENTIRE film word for word through the wall of the dual classroom portable building as I sat with the girls who stifled most giggles but not grins as we all learned about nocturnal emissions.

So back to the snowy pictures. I would watch as studs in these relatively tame pornos went at their buxom conquests. I was a bit frustrated that the angles were always devised to show no ore than a little late 70's bush, but not the level of detail my inquisitive mind required. I was fascinated a bit with the bouncing breasts, but not really in a sexual way. As the 2nd of seven children I only saw my mothers bosom free of a child about every other year as she weaned each successive child. To me breasts were nourishment not really the delightfully sensitive erogenous zones I see them as now. I probably worried a bit that the poor girls obviously swollen udders would leak if the stud kept up his rough treatment.

Rather than taking things in hand as I later reflected in my room on those things I had seen I merely laid on my belly with my maleness threatening my belly-button and gently humped the mattress, much as in those modest pornos the guys seemed to be humping the girls. I honestly didn't quite understand that there is a vaginal opening as well as a urethra and penetration unseen was not in the realm of my imaginings. The first time I had an "emission" in a nocturnal setting, I was very much awake, and quite surprised. I felt a little guilty and a lot sticky.

I persisted in my pursuit of this little amazing trick achieving great proficiency to wilder and wilder fantasies in my head. Most improbable, many technically not feasible, but the main thing is I got off. A lot.

I caught on later that the standard "beating off" hand gestured represented an alternate style, but that way always seemed crass and crude to me. I was under the impression that only perverts and losers masturbated at all much less in such a wanton manner. Privacy even when I finally had my own room at about 14 with the addition of three more rooms on a 4 bedroom tract home still did not exist. My mother, truly making Norman Bates mother seem reasonable would burst in announced at odd times for what I know believe were exactly what I thought they were then, attempts to catch me molesting myself.

I have been, with the wifey's loving encouragement been working on a one-handed technique that both is more interactive for two and photographs better. I woke her yesterday humping the bed re-living one of our many recent romps. I threatened to finish it off with a morning facial. Yesterday while I was uploading the pic on this blog I imagined the hordes of wankers that might well beat-off to pics of my wife..(I am NOT even going to consider the prospect of those with more adventurous orientation including me in their musings). It has always amused me that the freshman nympho that was dating the senior captain of the football team happily ended up with the nerd. The idea that others can see and perhaps be a little envious of the attention and more to the point amazing fellatio. She was down making us omelettes and came up to ask me whether I wanted portobellos in mine. She noted I was doing a modified wank. (I can actual cum in a non-prone position but it is usually as I grope myself against my will through my clothes in a semi-involuntary way usually while reading something provocative. Pictures and videos aren't my first choice, unless they are illustrative of the verbiage. She smiled encouragingly as I announced I intended to toss one off. She apparently took that to mean this was a continuation of my earlier announced intention to finish off with a morning facial. She was a bit crestfallen as she returned with the steaming breakfast, fully expecting to have some of that "on the side" as Meg Ryan would say only to find me finished and smugly satisfied.

This morning as I awoke with a fantasy in my head about her offering her photographic services for boudoir photos, I was more careful not to rock the bed during my humping and managed to getup, close and lock the door and drop trou over her before she sleepily opened her eyes. She (as she often does) cheated by licking the glistening drop of retcin from the tip. I was jacking away over her face eager to please her with her promised treat. I forgot to mention that last night I had showed her the site "Beautiful Agony" one that I had forgotten finding in one of my solitary masturbatory sessions. Overcoming my inborn squeamishness, we watched the facial expressions of a dude cranking one out. This morning she laughed gently about the fact that my distracted staring at the wall technique chanting silently in my mind, "cum on her cum on her cum on her..." wouldn't film well for a submission to beautiful agony. That broke the spell a little and just made me aware that I was "chasing" an elusive orgasm and was likely not going to cum.

I have threatened to bind her, gag her, and blindfold her and THEN give her whats coming to her just to fulfill the promise.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You are so right about the ON TV thing. I'm completely messed up now from watching it every night in high school. Actually it was something to do with the sync portion of the NTSC signal, but as you observe, older TV's did a decent job of turning it into a silent b/w movie...