My journal 1.

Here I am sitting at this damned terminal… No news in the world worth looking at; more wrecks, crashes and murders. No e-mail worth responding to. I need a job, I shouldn’t postpone it but I will. Another day, that’s all I need, I’ll get my shit togather and go build a few houses, pay some bills…

I’ve never been a morning man. I know some of my lovers needed it then, wanted it then, but I’m slow to rise. I won’t talk untill my second cup of coffee and prefer a beer after that. I’m thinking about Tiffany on the other side of town, working at a coffee shop no less, as I sip mine here. Our relationship was wired, lots of energy but not allways of the positive kind. On again/Off again, and now definitly OFF. We’re cordial, we can hang out and burn one or go see a movie but she’s not giving it up and I can’t say that I blame her. The only really great times we had were in bed, it’s the only way I can truly show my love for anyone.

She should be here. It’s one of those mornings when she would still be sleeping but I’ve finally awoken, had my coffee and smokes, becoming human again. I only did this a couple of times, waking her this way, and she loved it. Waking up all bleary-eyed to my attentions. Her hair would stick to her face as she slowly rolled over, realizing what I was up to. I’d lift the covers back, one hand carressing her back, pulling her close. A kiss here and there, exploring her body, letting her wake up just enough, trying to be slow but it’s hard. I really wan’t to be in one place, between her legs, and NOW! My dick is raging, you could look at it and take my pulse, but I wan’t to move slowly and give as much pleasure as I’m going to get.

A heat radiates from under the covers, her’s and mine as I slide in there with her, feeling (perhapse to quickly) for her mound, for that delicious center of things. And it’s wet, and she spreads her legs so I’ll have better access, my fingers enlarging…

But she’s not here. She’s at her coffee shop and won’t have anything to do with me. I’m searching the net for a hard-on. Not something I’ll get from a picture, I need to know what’s happening. I need to be told, to read it, and I do. I start thinking of what to do and get some margarine from the fridge, put a big spoonful in a coffe cup and pop it in the microwave for about thirty seconds, back to the computer. (Wish there was some K-Y handy but hey! Go with what you have).

I think about her rounded little toes, the tan lines on her feet from a summer in sandals. Her legs curve up to a great ass, just plump enough and just the way I like it. I borrowed a friends car one day and almost wrecked it, almost rear-ended someone (no pun) while looking at my her ass as she stood there by the river. How would you ever explain that? “You were looking at Tiffany’s ass and wrecked my car!?How many times have you seen that ass!?” I like it sticking up. She loves to get herself off that way, laying on her stomach, her hips grinding in the air, a finger grinding her clit. She was never shy about it. I was. She’d love to see me know…

On the bed and my dick is as hard as it gets. I slowly wrap a warm margarine coated hand around it and think of evey woman’s hand that ever DID wrap around it. They were all smaller hands, and curious hands. They wanted to know just where and how, and I told them, some were shy. I think about Tiffany and her coffee shop several blocks away. I think about where she looked when she was stroking my cock, at the head and then into my eyes. Slowly over the head and then concentrating there, squeezing and moving. She looked into my eyes and we shared something, a knowing, an understanding. We were free with one another in a sense, how many people look straight into your eyes as they’re getting you off? Not affraid of what they see but enjoying it, enjoying what they can do. How many people let that be seen?

I’m grasping my cock and sliding up and down with the margarine, paying special attention to the head, grasping and squeezing off the end of it, then squeezing my hand back over the tip. Thinking about how I loved to do her from behind and have her play with herself, in her favorite position, on her stomach in bed. I’d enter from behind and lower her to the sheets, and then slowly put each of her legs between mine. She’s flat on the bed with one hand under, on her clit, and the other grasping a pillow. I’m on top from behind. I have her hair in one hand and I’m kissing her neck, nibbling on ears, wiping the sweat from the corner of her forehead with my cheek. This incredible feeling of grasping her legs between mine and holding her there, my cock sliding in and out of that one space between the legs and below the ass cheeks…

This is intense and I feel it coming. My hand has to leave the head and just slide over the shaft, the head is too much, it’s way to much. And then I can’t even slide over the shaft, I have to grasp it through the margarine and work the skin up and down, sliding has become too much. I’m on all three’s, the forth grasping my dick, and spewimg cum all over the towel under me. Sounds? Groans and gasping for big gulps of air, falling on my back and sweating…

And thinking about Tiffany, and a cup of coffee.