Some failures, and the memories they bring back.

Yesterday's orgasm count: five. Once again, all self-inflicted.

I spent some time online today, poking at an adult personals site which I have been visiting on and off over the last few years... it's always a matter of fishing the gems out of the rubbish, I have found. Eventually, you get sick of the rubbish, and stay away for a while, but eventually, the desire for the gems (or should I be saying, "family jewels"?) sends you back.

I did come across a reasonably interesting fellow, with whom I hope to meet up sometime. There was also another, who was more pretty than intelligent, and I suspect my actions were driven by my pussy. We ended up chatting for a bit, and making a tentative time to meet up later on tonight, after I was finished with a prior engagement I had. I was having one of those moments when I just wanted to fuck something, and really didn't care about the specifics.

As it was, I met up with a few friends for some drinks, as I had already promised to do, and we spent some time sitting around, having the philosophical conversations people holding glasses of beer tend to have. It was pleasant enough. I also got to meet the Fijian boyfriend of a friend of mine, whom I hit it off with quite nicely. While my friend was off socialising elsewhere, I ended up going for a short walk with him. He was a nice enough fellow, and very pretty in the face, but he was also a smoker, which would have been a deal-breaker for me, even if he weren't in a presumably monogamous relationship. This made me wonder all the more why he seemed to be encouraging a mild sexual tension between us. When he asked to hold my hand on the pretext of stopping me from stumbling, I politely declined. He may have meant it to be quite harmless, but I'm not a stranger to one thing leading to another. In addition to that, I do have a history of breaking up couples simply by being platonic friends with the guy.

I have come to the conclusion that if you ever wanted to break up a couple, the key is to not try to do it. Your continued presence, if there's a spark between you and one member of the couple, is enough to slowly drive a wedge between them, and because you honestly don't want them to break up, they don't blame you, and treat you as a friend, and so you continue to be around, until it all comes tumbling down. You don't have to have done anything remotely sexual for that to happen. All it takes is a little paranoia from the other member of the couple (usually the female), and you get into a catch-22 of the couple fighting, the male confiding in you, and so on. It is for that reason that now, when I see that kind of pattern start to repeat itself, I run like hell. I'd rather sacrifice a new friendship than destroy another relationship. But at the same time, it saddens me how many women seem to feel threatened by my mere presence, on the basis of me being physically attractive.

Back to tonight: eventually, a few of us went on a wild goose chase around town, by the end of it my libido had decided to call it a day, so I gave my prospective shag a call, and we decided to maybe meet some other time. Besides, it's probably not the greatest idea to make such decisions when my pussy is throbbing, and when I've only orgasmed once on that day. I was quite glad to get home. Though the wild goose chase we went on brought us to a place that reminded me of an incident a little over two years ago: I had been on a date with a prospective shag who happened to live in that area. We'd had dinner together at a seafood place, and then sat in the grass together, looking up at the stars. Eventually, we started kissing, but it was getting late, and I had to catch a tram home. Before I left, he remarked that I had such gorgeous kissing lips, he could imagine they would be talented elsewhere. Well, quite.

We met up again some time later, at my place. The sex was unremarkable, and throughout the procedure, he had started to irritate me. I was twenty, he was twenty-six, and thus seemed to have delusions of grandeur over me. This disgusted me, as my regular lover was five years his senior, so this arrogant little cockrag had absolutely no reason to think himself so high and mighty. Every time he called me "sweetie", my hackles went up a little. At the end of it, when he left, I found that I was glad to be rid of him. I also came to the conclusion that he really didn't deserve me, so I deleted his phone number and hoped that he would get a urinary tract infection from our encounter. Not nice, I know, but I'm not always above being a little spiteful. As it was, he messaged me again a few days later, which surprised me: from the way I had read his signals, I had thought he wasn't particularly interested in repeating the experience, either. As it was, I simply ignored him, and he never called me again. The end.