Imagination Unrestricted by Reality

I have this recurring fantasy that takes over every time I lie down.  Well, not every time, just when I lie down on my stomach, in the nude, which is my preferred way to sleep.  I lie down, naked, with my arms slid under the only pillow.  I have one leg stretched out straight, and the other pull up so that my weight is shifted slightly to one side and my ass checks are spread slightly.  Every time I do this, the same fantasy takes hold.

First, I feel pressure on my shoulders as two oiled up hands begin to massage my muscles.  My arms are raised above my head, so my shoulder muscles are flexed.  The two hands begin to knead those muscles, and I begin to realize how tense I was.  Then I feel weight on my ass and lower back as the owner of the two hands lays his body on top of mine.  As he does so, he straightens out the one leg that I had pulled up.  So now I laying even on my chest and stomach, with his full weight pressing on top of me.  I don't care, I am enjoying the immense pleasure his hands are giving my shoulders and back.  I realize, slowly, that there is something trapped between my ass cheeks.  He'd managed to rest his hard cock along my crack before pushing my leg down.  Now his cock is resting snugly there, like a hot dog in a bun.  My own cock begins to come to life, pressed firmly between my pelvis and the bed sheets.  Without thought, I begin to grind my cock slowly into the bed, at the same time tightening the grip my "buns" have on his "meat".

Still, I don't care.  I haven't even given a thought as to who the man is, or what my wife who is almost always lying next to me might be thinking right about now.  I don't care, the bliss I am feeling from his tender but firm massage is like a drug.  His hands have slowly explored my shoulders, my neck, all of my back.  It is as if I have never known the touch of another human being before.  All I care about is his hands, all I could wish for would be another pair.

Even the best drugs eventually wear off.  Fortunately, when some semblance of consciousness returned during the massage, it was met with the equally pleasurable feeling of his hips slowly grinding against my ass.  His motion forced my own hips to grind harder into the firm bed.  His cock was rock hard, sliding up and down inside my crack.  I still don't know who this is, nor do I care.  I can tell that was more endowed than the average man.  I can tell that his cock is as oiled up as his hands were when we began.  My own cock is pulsing, sending shivers up to my skulls and down to my toes with the rhythm of our hips.

His hands take a stationary position on my shoulder blades as he leans in close.  I can feel his breath on my neck and just behind my ear.  He leans in closer and I can feel the stubble of his chin rub against my skin.  He whispered into my ear something soft, something that I could not quite make out.  I asked what he said as I felt his hips raise up slightly.  He repeated himself, still softly, into my ear, "Hang on to something, I am going to FUCK you now!"

With that, his cock found my hole and slid inside with one masterful stroke.  I quickly grabbed the sheets with my hands, and bit the pillow to stifle the scream.  I didn't care if my wife was really lying next to me, but something in me didn't want to cry out.  I felt something between a loss of consciousness, sharp pain, and immense pleasure all at the same time.  I was both ready, and completely unprepared at the same time.  He slid is cock into my ass, to the hilt.  Paused for a brief moment as he and I both caught our breath, then began his assault.  One hand he slid under me and grabbed by pec.  The other he moved to support himself on the bed.  He picked up his pace, increasing speed with each insertion.  I'm still biting the pillow, and I've pulled the fitted sheet away from the corner of the bed.  The pain subside, and a wave of ecstasy overwhelms me as he finds his pace and rhythm.

I couldn't say how long this lasts.  I always snap out of it before he finishes.  I come back to reality, realize that my wife is lying there next to me as if nothing happened.  Although I am sure that she has noticed my grinding my hips on more than one occasion.  Sometimes, I get up and "nonchalantly" excuse myself to the bathroom to relieve some pressure.  Other times, more often than not, I re-enact the scene.  Only this time for real, and this time I am the man on top.

BLM: Yeah, I crossed the line

This is a repost of something I wrote for BLM, originally posted on January 11th, 2013.  I decided to repost it here, well, because I can.  Enjoy!
_____________________________________________________________________________

Something strange and wonderful happened about a year and a half ago, I decided to grow a pair.  I made a decision that I was not going to live life without experiencing the one thing that I most desperately wanted to experience.  It was around that time that I started blogging.  I was so pumped up with determination, the only thing that brought me down was knowing that I had to keep it a secret form everyone I knew.

You see, while I finally mustered up the courage to correct something fundamentally wrong in my life, it was not a decision I could be publicly proud of.  It was not even something for which many of you, the readers that I love, would commend me.  I had decided to step out on my marriage, to cheat, with another man. I had decided to get me some of that cock I dreamt about.  As messed up as it sounds, I was excited about it.  I would even go so far as to say that I was proud of my new found guts.  So proud that I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, "No longer will I be afraid of putting myself out there! No longer will I be afraid of taking risks to get what I want!"  Never mind how stupid and dangerous the risks, or the trust I will violate in the process.

So, yeah, I crossed a line.  I wrote about it in my blog, Bi Crossing The Line. I am not here to advocate that any other man do the same.  I have no excuses or justifications. I began writing about it, publicly but anonymously, in June of 2011.  I wrote about it because writing clears my mind and provides catharsis.  I wrote about it because, though I felt I finally had the balls to see it through, I needed encouragement.  I didn't realize it then, but now I see that I made a commitment to some imaginary readers in my very first post.  That was the added little push to ensure that I didn't back out at the last moment.

I learned something valuable about myself through this experience.  First, that I am capable of so much more than I even imagined.  Second, that the best way for me to accomplish something is to say it out loud.  Or, in this case, write about is publicly.  It is not enough to make a promise to myself because I learned how to let myself down gently a long time ago.  No, I need external pressure, I need someone else to hold me to my commitment and to call me out on my bullshit.

When this opportunity to write for BLM came along, I couldn't let it pass.  For too long I have told myself that I should write more on my blog.  My recent lack of posts has had a much more profound effect on me than any effect I imagined it having on my readers.  I have a chance at reaching a much larger audience, and I have a commitment to write on a regular basis.  Thank you, BLM.  And thanks to this community of bloggers and readers that I have come to enjoy.

I've Been Busy

No, I know, I haven't posted a whole hell of a lot this year.  I didn't post a lot last year either.  The excuse I tell myself is that I've been busy.  It has been a crazy 20 months, a lot has been going on.  I've gone from hating my job and being bored, to unemployed and being stressed, to a new job I'm not exactly qualified for and being stressed for completely different reasons.  Meanwhile, my family grew, we lost our home, and we've moved to a different city.  Yeah, a lot has been going on.  So that's why I haven't blogged a whole lot. Okay?  Well, maybe that's not exactly right.

The new job is stressful.  I have taken on responsibilities that not only are new and different than what I am used to, but are not exactly a match for my personality and behavior.  You see, I am not an aggressive person.  I am not a dominant person.  On a DISC analysis, I would rank as a "High S".  S is for steadiness. High S's are known for being patient, predictable, consistent, deliberate, steady and stable.  My second descriptor would be I, I is for Influencing.  Main characteristics for my "I" are trusting and sociable.  Basically, I like to serve, I like to be helpful, and I am trusting.  I actually like these things about me.  But, my new job is in sales.  Worse than that, my new job is in managing sales reps.  Characteristics that are helpful for people in my line of work are demanding, driving, ambitious, determined, aggressive, competitive and venturesome.  These are characteristics of a High D, D is for Dominance.  Characteristics that describe my dominance are conservative, calculating, hesitant and low-keyed.  Can you see where I might have a problem?

I am an intelligent person.  Perhaps, without sounding condescending, I possess slightly higher than average levels of intelligence.  With such, I am convinced that I can be successful in any role that I decide to take on. If that requires adopting characteristics that were outside my comfort zone, so be it.  I am still as convinced of this today as I was 8 months ago when I took this job.  What I did not account for, and this is what is really starting to bother me, is the effect taking this job would have on my mental state.  Everyday, as I slowly realize that success in this job are going to take longer and more work than I anticipated, I get slightly more depressed.  Everyday I start to consider a little bit more the idea of throwing in the towel and doing something else.  I know that I can be successful.  But given all the other challenges that I am currently enduring, do I still really want to be?  Failure, even the idea of failure, is contributing to my depression.

I thought things would be different at this point in my life, in my marriage.  Given more than 10 years of marriage, and almost another decade of courtship prior to that, my wife and I should be able to endure anything that comes our way with ease.  Right?  Why, then, is it so difficult to have a simple conversation about budgeting our money?  Why, then, can't I tell her that I do not agree with her reactions to things that our dog does, or to the things that our son does?  Why is communication so fraking difficult?  I want so much for my family.  I do not want to live where we are living longer than we need to.  I do not want to continue living from check to check, worrying about how we are going to pay the rent.  I want to provide everything the world has to offer for my son.  I want my family to be comfortable, where our only worry is how we can best help our neighbors, friends and family.  Why can't I express any this with any eloquence to my wife?

A midst all of this, there is still my secret.  My bisexuality is not a secret from my wife, but my willingness to act on it is, my history of acting on it is as well.  All of our struggles have pushed this part of me to the back burner, but it hasn't turned off the flame.  The reality is that I am too busy and too stressed and too depressed to do anything about it. I went down this road, crossed this line, with the idea that one day I would be able to live this part of my life, too, out in the open.  Maybe not to the general public, but to those I care about the most.  To my wife.  We were supposed to be on a path to a healthier relationship.  We're not, and I am not sure what I can do about it.  Certainly, I must bridge this communication gap.  How exactly do I do that?  The realization that my ideal state is that much further away, perhaps completely out of my grasp, is contributing to my depression.

I write this post today not to explain my lack of blogging.  In the end, I write for me.  One thing that I have learned in life is that writing gives me clarity.  Sometimes, it even gives me therapy.  I am not asking for answers, although I have found many in this community and for that I will always be grateful.  I am not asking for anything.  I am only using this space to bare a piece of me that needed to be bared.

A Little Crush

I think I might have a problem.  I think I might have a crush, at least a small one, on a guy I work with.  I've been thinking about him more and more.  Technically, I am his boss.  In my capacity as his boss, I have spent some days over the last few weeks riding with him from appointment to appointment.  He works in the field, all my colleagues work in the field.

So, this colleague has not been doing particularly well lately.  His job performance has been sub-par, which has drawn a lot of scrutiny because he used to be one of the top performers.  He also has a who host of personal issues going on at the same time.  In my ride-alongs, I have taken the time to coach and to really get at the heart of what is wrong.  I've had to be more aggressive, more forceful, when explaining what I need from him.  I've learned that this guy and I share a lot of the same personality characteristics.  We are both more subservient than we are dominant.  (I know, I'm the manager and I am subservient.  It makes for interesting challenges for me)  I don't particularly like the use of "sub" before servient, but my spell check insists.  But I digress.  An interesting aspect of my personality type is that when I am around someone who is more dominant, I become more subservient.  And I've learned that this guy is definitely the same way; the more dominant I am, the more subservient he becomes.  (Yes, I have learned how to be dominant when I need to.)

Lately, in my conversations with him, I have been overcome with the urge to grab his neck and draw him into a kiss.  Or, I would fantasize about grabbing his package.  A couple of the conversations have taken place outside next to his car or mine, since that is where he likes to go to smoke.  And I admit, I have smoked with him, even though I quit a very long time ago.  Fantasizing about a guy standing right in front of me is somewhat unnerving, it is not something that I am used to.  I guess, I just haven't been lucky to work with overly-attractive guys.  Oh yeah, this guy is pretty good looking.  He is tall, dark hair and blue eyes.  Well built, he obviously takes good care of his body.  He is a little bit older than me by a few years.  Oh, and I should also mention that he is gay.  He is gay and has been married to his husband for more than a decade.

I think I wrote about the first time I almost "lost control" in a blog post for BLM.  (Maybe I should copy those posts here?  Since BLM is no longer blogging.)  Like I mentioned then, the feeling of almost losing control in that way is not something that I have experienced a lot of.  On at least three separate occasions, I have fantasized about doing something completely inappropriate with this guy while I was deep in conversation with him.  The fantasies are so really, I actually see myself reaching out to him.  I can feel his lips pressing onto mine, his hands on my back.  The experience is scary, one slip up and I risk not only exposing myself to him, but to everyone at my company.  One slip up, and I risk exposing everything to everyone.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the fantasy, and the thrill.  When I realized that I was thinking about him when he wasn't standing right in front of me is when I started to worry about a bigger problem.  I cannot act on any sort of crush on him.  I am his boss, he knows my wife, everyone knows that he is gay.  Everything I do must be completely above board.

Maybe I am only feeling this way because it has been awhile since I have had any kind of contact with a guy.  But, work crushes aside, I really have not given much though to it.  I
haven't written any blog posts, had any contact with M, signed into Grindr or Craigslist.  I have even struggled keeping up with the other blogs that I follow.  If it weren't for this guy, I'd tell you the pendulum is swinging the other way for now.

Tolerance of Hate

I learned something rather disturbing the other day.  Sometimes I wish I would never take my head out of the sand.

I'm a fan of science fiction, among other things.  Last year, I read Ender's Game for the first time. I loved it, I can't tell you how much I loved it.  I hear that there is a movie in the works.  I'm usually disappointed by movies based on the books that I love, but I don't care.  I wanted to see it anyways.

That's not what was disturbing.

Last week I came across an article about the writer of Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card.  DC Comics has asked Card to write for their newest Superman series, Adventures of Superman. Great! Right? No, actually it's not, and a lot of people are pretty upset.

You see, the disturbing thing is that Orson Scott Card is a raging homophobic.  Look, opinions are like assholes, everyone has one.  I have my opinions, I don't expect everyone else to agree with me.  I know I'm right, but that's not the point.  Despite my attempts at tolerance, I know that I am incapable of not thinking about this little tidbit of information anytime I think about this great book.  The book is now tainted.  I probably won't want to go see the movie, I probably won't pick up the book again, I probably won't recommend it to anyone. (Fortunately I didn't actually pay for the book, so I haven't yet supported him financially.)

The dark secret of homosexual society—the one that dares not speak its name—is how many homosexuals first entered into that world through a disturbing seduction or rape or molestation or abuse. (“Homosexual ‘Marriage’ and Civilization”, 2004)

Card's views on homosexuality are egregiously distorted. 

The argument by the hypocrites of homosexuality that homosexual tendencies are genetically ingrained in some individuals is almost laughably irrelevant. We are all genetically predisposed toward some sin or another; we are all expected to control those genetic predispositions when it is possible. ("The Hypocrites of Homosexuality", 1990)

His idea that homosexuality is caused by some early trauma is idiotic. His idea that acting on homosexual impulses is akin to an immature child's need for instant gratification is offensive.  There is no room in Card's world view for the idea that a man could form a happy, loving, healthy relationship with another man, or the same for a woman.  In his article, "Homosexual 'Marriage' and Civilization", he explains how allowing homosexuals to marry actually destroys real marriage for real couples, because, allowing homosexuals to marry changes the very definition of the word "marriage".  He hangs a lantern on his writing as hate speech in an attempt to defend it.  But, in fact, it is just that, hate speech.

I am not in the habit of posting about my political or social views, that's not what this blog was intended to be about.  Almost everything that I have posted about I have had to keep secret from those in my "real" life.  What is ironic is that my life, my inability to "control [my] genetic predispositions" gives credit to Card's views.  So, in addition to the cheating and the lying, I also get to enjoy the guilt of epitomizing the man that Card is speaking out against.

In my public life, I am a straight man (bisexual man to a precious few) that fully and whole-heartedly supports such novel ideas of equal rights for everyone, the right for people to marry whomever they want to marry, the right for all boys to gain the benefits of being a Boy Scout, the right of children to grow up in a safe environment free from bullying.

I realize that I am beginning to ramble on, so I will stop now.  I just, I guess I want to say that I try to be as open-minded as possible, even to those whose beliefs directly contradict my own.  Perhaps I am not as tolerant as I thought.