Memory fails

Today I can remember pretty well - jerking off in the small hours, a gloryhole around eight this morning, and a visit to a whore this afternoon. Yesterday was Friday, and nothing to say about that. Thursday I had a couple of hours with A, which was spectacular as usual. But that was on my way home from the airport after eight days away in the company of my wife. And those eight days began with a lot of fucking, and more going down on her than I ever have managed to persuade her to allow before. But as the days progressed the pace slackened, and then she got a yeast infection, and at the end I felt like the prospects for quickening the intra-marital pace in order to have good reason to slacken off on the extra-marital activities were dim. So tomorrow I have D for a Sunday morning drive by and A again at noon. C returns in the evening.

Memory fails, though. I missed a few days back in June or early July, and the activities of those days are now gone for ever. Blogging ought to help concentrate the mind, but I don't think it does. Perhaps that is because no-one is reading, though. What I should do, when I have a little time, is to paste in various e-mails from J, A, D, and K, where they contribute to the task of recording my sexual adventures.

I realize that I have not fucked anyone new for a while now. But it seems as though I will have a visit later this week in my office from S, who wants to be eaten out on my desk. We will see if that actually happens. She is a CL recruit, and really CL has been the most productive of the sites for me.

I will try to report on tomorrow's activities promptly, for if I don't I may forget them. It seems, on occasion, that is these sexual episodes can slip so easily from memory, that they cannot really be worthwhile. Certainly they are not memorable - trivially. But that is to mistake the point of sex for a depressed, jaded, bored individual like me. It is the present that sex is about, and of course the present cannot extend into the future, as it inevitably becomes the past. When I am fucking I am in the here and now, more than at any other time. And when I am fucking I am also connected immediately with another person, in a way that is not otherwise true. But there are distinctions to be made, of course - the gloryholes are a different matter, as may be the whores too.

Sex is interesting to think about, and write about, if it is one's own sexual activities that are at issue. Why the hell should anyone else read about it, though? No reason, of course, and that is why they don't.