Fucked.

December 12, 2007

On Sunday, I was hungover. Hungover means one thing: The hangover horn.

I got up late, probably around noon. I turned on the computer. Straight for the porn. A nice way to start my day.

I start browsing. I start stroking myself. Very often I’m not in it for the quick orgasm. I appreciate the build-up.

An hour passes. Not much longer. I’ll finish the job soon.

Another hour passes. I realise I haven’t eaten or showered. So I go and cook breakfast; naked of course, and pre-orgasm. I eat in front of the computer, resuming my hard-on. I still haven’t showered.

In the back of my mind, I’m thinking about all the reading I wanted to get done today. But nudity and fucking is captivating.

Another hour passes. By this point, I’m at the stage where I can barely touch myself without almost climaxing. This just adds to the fun. The pre-cum dribbles down the side of my dick in sometimes alarming volumes.

Another hour passes, and I’m still going.

Another hour.

I decide to cook dinner. Again, naked. Again, pre-orgasm. I eat, and watch some TV to allow myself to calm down. So to speak.

I go back to the computer, and resume from where I was previously. It never takes long to get back into it.

Another hour passes. And another.

And at this point, I climax unintentionally. I would probably have kept going for another couple of hours, and just spent the entire day at it if I could have. I found myself longing to have my tongue buried between an intelligent woman’s legs when I accidentally let go. The accidents are never so much fun, scrambling to avoid the inevitable mess as I was.

Fucked self.

Since it was accidental, I quickly have another one.

Fucked self again.

The Sunday alone with my thoughts in front of my computer seems prompted my RSI to flare up.

Fucked wrist.

Fuck.