When a Dick Goes Limp…Or Some Similar Sexual Fiasco.
So, aside from getting “Losing My Religion” stuck in my head, here’s what this weeks video “Losing His Erection” got me thinking about.
Generally, unless it’s an emotional problem or the whiskey has disabled more than his dick, my protocol for a lost erection is more or less the same as what I do in cases of early ejaculation. It’s a bummer, but it’s not going to keep me from my big moment. So warm up your hands or massage your jaw, because it’s downtown you go, mister.
Now, most of the time, this is an easy process to get going. Most guys aim to please, and often, they go at it without asking. If they need prompting, usually all it takes is for me to start masturbating, and they are all too eager to lend a helping hand. If all else fails, I just ask. Once again, unless the problem is emotional or emotionally damaging (or the dude has passed out already) this method is about 99.9% effective.
And for your entertainment, I present one of the .01% of trials that failed.
So, this guy I was seeing (many moons before all this wisdom kicked in) had some issues when it came to doin’ the nasty. He was great at it when all the conditions were right, but let’s just say…Mr Man had a lot of conditions. Not to mention, he had a bit of a selfish streak that he explained away with tales of deep insecurities, all of which magically evaporated when I was sucking his dick. Anyway.
One night, I decided to do something cute and sexy to get him in the mood, so I got gussied up and put on his favorite dress of mine- a shiny, minuscule, skintight little number that I bought for the express purpose of having dirty, dirty sex. The first time I put it on, Mr. Man was on top of me before I could bat an eyelash.
So I make my grand entrance and I purr:
“So, I was clearing out my closet, and I just couldn’t decide weather I should keep this dress. What do you think?”
Not exactly my best work, but I thought it would do the trick.
And yet. Instead of engaging in some sexy repartee or immediately throwing me down on the bed, Mr. Man announces that it’s hot and I should keep it, but immediately returns his gaze to the computer screen and starts typing away.
OUCH.
Secretly defeated but mostly still intact, I shimmy back into the bedroom and sit down on the bed to take off my shoes. Evidently struck with the feeling that this may not have been the response I was looking for, Mr. Man enters the bedroom and stares at me.
“Why did you put on that dress?”
He DEIGNS to ask.
Annoyed but still horny, I tell him. So, BEGRUDGINGY, Mr. Man finally starts to fool around with me….for about 30 seconds…before he goes in for the blowjob.
So I roll with it. Dejected and confounded as I am, I haven’t given up hope. And, because our prior sexual encounters made it necessary for him to do so, he reassures me that he will, indeed, be fucking me after this blowjob.
Lo and behold. Ten minutes of cocksucking and about 45 seconds of a tit-fuck later, my chest is covered and semen, and not so much as a gosh-darned finger inside me.
At this point, he begins apologizing and whining, apologizing and whining, and instead of going for my natural response, ANGER, I decide to play it cool. After all, by now? I would pretty much do anything in my power to have an orgasm, despite the colossal MESS that this night had been so far. Time for the old 1-2. I open the drawer in my bedside table and pull out my vibrator.
In the 5.2 seconds it took me to do this, Mr. Man ACTUALLY goes ahead…and TURNS HIS BACK TO GO TO SLEEP.
Blinded with rage and confusion and arousal and impatience and everything in between, I turn him over and say:
“HEY! Maybe you could give me a hand here?”
Can you guess what he said? Guess! Really. You don’t know? Well, here it is.
“Oh…well…I guess…if you really WANT me to.”
Aaaaaaand then my head exploded.
The end.
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