In pre-pandemic days, I filled my life with people. With friends, with strangers, with men, with women. I don’t have a drinking problem; I have a people problem. I like to sit in bars and meet new people. I like to interact with everyone, everywhere. I know the names of the porters in all the buildings I frequent, of the waiters in the restaurants I frequent, the immigrants behind the counters in the delis I frequent.
Much has been written about “weak ties.” They’re my fucking lifeblood.
I’m surrounded by love. I have a close family – both my nuclear family and the family I’ve built. Unusually among my friends, I’m close with many of my second cousins. My phone vibrates all day with communication from people I love – and from people I barely know.
If there’s one thing to which I’m addicted, it’s not sex; it’s connection. I’ve written about this before, but back in the day, I used to run home from work to check my answering machine, to listen to the messages I’d gotten between when I left for work and noon. There almost always were messages. There almost never were enough.
God endowed me with an enduring loneliness that no degree of connection can remove. I’m blessed – both with the personal characteristics that enable me to connect well with people, and with an enormity of people with whom I connect well. Close friends, acquaintances, and strangers.
The pandemic has hit me hard. I fucking thrive on newness, on the hot chick – or the fat old guy – I meet at the bar. It doesn’t, honestly, matter (though I won’t complain if I connect almost exclusively with hot chicks).
My recent stretching jag, in which I’ve met a woman or three a week, and collected more than a few with whom I’ve stretched repeatedly, has been a bit of a genius move on my part. It’s not cheap, but it’s not, honestly, that expensive, given all the money I’m saving by not eating out in big parties with friends, etc. And I’ve collected quite a few new playthings. I’ve written about most, but not all, of them. I’m learning (see this recent post) that the trust involved in allowing me to record exerts power over me. I write this not to bully those who don’t wish me to, but rather, to explain how, over time, I feel myself drift away from women.
I allow my id to guide me here. I work out with, I stretch with, the women who make my cock hard, whose interactions with me make me feel hungry for more. And while I’m a sucker for a good ass, it turns out, what I’m really a sucker for is indulgence, compliance, connection. This is(n’t) news.
Recently, I met Jude. Emma, to whom Melanie had introduced me, introduced me to Jude. Jude, Melanie, and Emma all know one another. Jude and Emma are close; Emma and Melanie are close. All three have these spectacular asses that could launch a thousand ships and whatnot. Jude didn’t flinch when I told her I wanted to record her so I could jerk off to her ass. We promptly scheduled a second session and a third, so as to start to stock my hard drive. 😉
I’ll write more about Jude in the coming days, for sure. I can feel it. But for now, what you need to know is this: though Emma had promised brown hair, on Zoom, Jude’s hair is blonde. Or it looks blonde on my screen. She didn’t want me to see it, and wore a hat emblazoned with “Daddy.” She explained it’s the hat of the “Call her Daddy” podcast. I’ve listened to a couple of episodes; it’s not so much for me, but I totally get the appeal. And I think there’s definitely a big overlap between our audiences. Or rather, I think that there should be a bigger overlap. Because they have over 3 million YouTube subscribers. Eighty percent of whom I suspect would definitely come hard to my blog. Jude is 5’4″ tall. Her breasts are perky b-cups, small, delicious. My mouth could nearly fit over an entire one. My hand certainly could.
Stay tuned for Jude. She told me she’s a bit of a switch, that she’s stubborn, even a little sassy. She seemed to hope she could muster a little bratty resistance to my requests, but … nada. Just delicious, copious compliance.
And – Jude’s hyper-sexual. She comes 2, 3 times a day. Once, so far, to a tale of V and me. She hooks up consistently with her ex, because – sex. I need much, much more of Jude. I need her orgasms. Her ass. Her face.
Just you wait. There will be more.
I envy your ability to communicate.