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Oh god I feel ridiculous. My embarassment is as huge as my agony. I’ve injured my hip.

Masturbating.

Fucking hell.

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Occasionally, I feel intensely jealous over one particular friend. When it happens, it perplexes me for a bit - we don’t have any claim on each other. We’re not in anything that can be described as a commitment based relationship. I’m not his girlfriend, and certainly not his wife.

I turn this over, and prod at it, and remember that jealousy is really fear of replacement. It’s fear that someone will either take your place, or will supercede you by so much that your place is irrelevant anymore.

I don’t get jealous often at all. I generally feel secure in my relationships. I seldom get jealous over wlofie or spc476, and I believe that’s because I trust them. They’ve made strong commitments that they’ve lived up to - there don’t appear to be any status changes coming anytime soon.

And perhaps that’s it. He and I have no commitment, and our relationship is so peculiar that it’s unique among those in my life. Sometimes he is my teacher and protector. Sometimes I am his guide and oracle. Sometimes we are comrades in arms, fellow soldiers against the onslaught of absurdity that life throws at us. Always, we call each other on bullshit, and offer such friendly comforts as we can. But we are far distant, and not just geographically speaking. Each of our present lives is veiled from the other, although our pasts are open books.

Though it’s probably inevitable, I don’t want to be obsolete. I don’t think that anyone can be exactly the same thing for him that I am, but I have no reason to think he will always need or want what it is that I am.

Is it happening even now? I hope not. It feels as though there are adventures still to undertake. But it’s not for me to say.

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All Madonna lyrics aside, if you are thinking of someone specific when orgasm hits you, is it anything like a prayer? Is it like calling upon a ghost? Does it invoke the object? Do they perhaps far away think suddenly of you, then wonder why? After all, there is this sudden surge of energy - where does it go, when it’s done racking your body?

Today’s Os were hard won, and not particularly juicy nor round.

The bed’s foot rail is an awkward but somewhat useful mount for toys, though all I have to fasten them with at present is rope, but it satisfies the need to use the whole body in play, as well as the urge to see the happenings in the closet mirror. My oldest fantasy is the “subject of scientific study” fantasy, and mounting the tools plays into that.

Towards the end, riding in slow long strokes of penetration, vibrator in close, I felt something I hadn’t felt before. It was a building feeling of juicy hot tension, one that felt surely to be leading to orgasm, but not the crackling electric kind that is most familiar. On the near end of each stroke it intensified, wave after wave of what was clearly definable as pleasure. The thought occurred to me that this must be how it feels to women who have the capability of achieving orgasm through intercourse. This must be what it’s like, and it’s so beautiful.

The just like that, it was gone. Without ever reaching climax, it fled, leaving the usual nice, but now not quite nice enough, sensations of penetration and vibration. I nearly cried. Then I set it aside and went on.

I am as I am. What good to lament how I’m made?

I thought of someone precious and beloved, as I came, and wondered if they ever thought of me.

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