Time for a change
If you know this blog well, Dear Reader, and have been dropping by regularly over the last month or so, you’ll know it’s been quiet round here recently. For various reasons I’ve been re-assessing why I write publicly and what I write about. I think it can all be summed up in the following ways:
- It’s fun. I’ve always enjoyed sex, and writing about it is almost as self gratifying as the orgasms I so frequently indulge myself with after, or indeed while I write. Blogging in itself is a bit like wanking. Except …
- … except it’s a bit like wanking with an audience. That’s you, Lovely Perverts. And sometimes I think there’s more than a little bit of an exhibitionist in me. But …
- … but that is not the only way in which it is gratifying. It is not only a selfish pleasure. Yes, I get off on the thought of you observing my mental masturbation, but in a more altruistic way, I love the idea that I am pleasuring someone else. Which as you will doubtless realise, Loyal Reader, is not something I get to do in reality, what with my marital sex life being akin to the Marie Celeste. And …
- … and to some extent, writing about how this became such an abandoned ship has occasionally helped me get my head around the situation. Granted there is a sense in which it may have exacerbated my frustrations, keeping my mind in the gutter more that it might have been, had I occupied myself with other pursuits, but such swords are always double edged.
Reading other people’s blogs, I have watched more than one couple fall apart in intimate, sometimes horrifying detail. I’ve watched more than one blogger fuck their way out of a relationship with the assistance of a third set of genitals. Or at least to jump ship, only to land in another bed. (Though I’d be the last to critise anyone for that!)
However, that’s not what I want for myself.
Nor did I ever intended to write a blog about my marriage. I just wanted to write about sex. And that’s what I’m going to do. Or at least that’s what I intend to do. Who know’s whether I can stick to that, but at least for the time being, I shall no longer be writing about the desert between our bedsheets.
There seem to be some amongst your number, Dear Reader, for whom the tales of my dystopian sex life are of greatest interest amongst my epistles, and I have been consistently grateful for their input. But as I am drawing a line under this chapter, at least in terms of narrating it, I feel I should at least set the record straight …
I don’t envisage a scenario in which my marriage will become a sexual relationship again.
I don’t envisage a scenario in which I shall ever get divorced. Till death do us part. End of story. Not gonna happen.
I don’t envisage a scenario in which I shall have an affair or find a fuck buddy. (I’ve been wrong before on that, but hey …!)
I don’t envisage a scenario in which I shall have either sufficient motivation or expendable income to hire an escort. (Though it may be seen as a pragmatic approach and one which has more than a little appeal.)
I can’t say what scanario will unfold, but my marriage is not something I want to write about right now. On the upside, I have been a wanker for as long as I can remember, I like being a wanker, I like being wached while I wank, and I like the thought that you might wank while you watch me.
Let’s get back to the wanking and have some fun!
With kindest, grateful, and most lascivious regards,
Your humble and most accidental of Accidental Masturbators.