the bane

Its been so long since I wrote, it took me 3 tries to remember how to log in. I started writing this in my head yesterday while taking my dog on her morning walk. It was good then, but now its already fading. It was to describe Saturday nights activities. The guy flies in from out of town. He calls before he leave to ask for a 9 PM appointment and I agree with some difficulty. I rather not work on weekends, yet the unending need for money prevails. He calls back when he has his hotel room number and I arrive. In a darkened room he begins a passionate embrace. I try to follow each individuals lead and so I try to match his energy. I prefer a shy person who naturally defers to my lead. Soon we are undressed and he is going down on me. I notice that although I most probably would not be turned on anyway, the yeast infection that my dose of antibiotics I had to take for a recent earache, is leaving me feeling raw and irritated. Yeast infections are the bane of a vagina's existence. Antibiotics are a fool proof way to acquire one, but many other unknown and probably everyday occurrences can inspire them as well. They are not contagious and are easily fixable by a 3 day program of squirtng some white cream stuff up your cooch at night. I keep pushing his head away from me which I imagine would be a clue to one who was paying attention, to ease off with the pressure. No, instead he pushes against me. I allow this and try to provide a reasonable fascimile of enjoyment until alas, I must get him off me. I try to reciprocate in turn, but he says no. I soon learn he is worried about coming very quickly. This makes sense suddenly, all the passionate anxiety is his strategy to avoid his own demise. I however have other ideas. I have read about what is called in literature "premature ejaculation" but as Dr. Marty Klein calls "coming before you want to." (I prefer the latter.) It is caused by anxiety. Connecting yourself with the present is the antidote. Activities like looking into eyes of the partner and breathing are ways to become more present to the actual moment. I suggest these techniques but call them "distractions" so I should not sound too woo woo for him. I ask him to look in my eyes. Not surprisingly he is not able to do this. I continue asking in sweet ways. At this point I believe my purpose is to serve him in a real way instead of trying to circumvent his problems and make him feel manly. I feel like talking openly is for his benefit. I ask him to let me massage his back. He assumes the position, but the whole time is massaging what parts of me he can reach. I interpret this as anxiety to give to me and so not allowing himself to receive. I ask him if that is difficult for him to receive. He says it is selfish. I ask him if he thinks there is a difference between selfish and self-careish. This is another linguistic reframe of Dr. Klein. He doesn't bite. His dick is nice and fat so I tell him I want to fuck him. He can barely stand me putting the condom on him. He thinks he will come from that. I let him try to put it on himself. He comes rolling on a condom, but not in an expression of pleasure. It looks more like agony. Now I wonder if he will want to get rid of me, or go for round 2. He wants more and so we talk and fondle more. He touch is like sandpaper to my poor pussy and I try to find ways to make it not hurt. When he is ready for round 2, he manages to fuck for a minute before coming. I notice that he holds his breath as he thrusts and I mention that afterwards. "That's not good?" he asks. "Well why hold your breath when you're doing physical exercise." He tells me long and involved stories about his wife and grown children and his dog who I could tell he loves more than any of them. His wife is "not interested." I ask if perhaps he adapted to coming fast because he knew she wanted it to be over with. He thought that was an interesting question. He told me so many boring stories, I was dying to leave. It had been 2 hours. It was the weekend. I was dressed and moving towards the door and he brought up a conversation about a comedienne who he hated but yet he knew a lot about her and was telling me. Waiting for a natural break in his ongoing monologue was not happening. Finally I blurted, "I gotta go" and I did. I actually would like to see him again and continue progressing on his anxiety. He doesn't get to come my city too often.