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First things first. Today is the last day to donate to RAINN (Rape Abuse and Incest National Network) for the GBBMC. I’m all sexed out, believe it or not, so I won’t be writing a sex post today. But if you haven’t yet donated, I’d sure appreciate you taking the time and putting a little more into their coffers.
BONUS: I just got an e-mail from RAINN. Any donations you make during the month of April will be MATCHED up to $25,000! An even better reason to help out.
DONATE TO RAINN HERE. When you donate (and I really hope you will), please make sure you reference “GBBMC2008,” and include my name (Karl Erikson) and blog name (SecondHand Tryptophan).
I also wanted to thank Vahid for being with me on SecondHand Radio on Sunday. Great guy and a great show. We talked about blogging and TequilaCon and movies and books…all sorts of things. You can always go to the BTR site and listen to the show there, download it, whatever you’d like. Oh, and you can subscribe to the show via RSS, too.
I’m getting really jazzed about TequilaCon coming up in the next few days. Spent a good hour and a half talking with Hilly about it (and other things). Can’t wait.
Saturday I went to Sea World and had a great time. This was not the day when a dolphin died by crashing into another dolphin in mid-air. I’m sure there will be lawsuits now, with parents suing Sea World for traumatizing their children, but for me it was a day without dolphin deaths.
Click on any of the pictures for a bigger look.
Now that’s got to be a rush. These people probably never come down from all that adrenaline.
Surfing U.S.A.
This is for Dave. Saw this shirt on a guy sitting in front of us during the Shamu show.
I love that you can trade in your children for better models.
I have GOT to get me some of these bouncy shoes.
Ladies and gentlmen, the future Mrs. Eriksons. Yes, plural. If I have to move to Texas and live in a compound to make this happen, I will.
Me and mom and a Budweiser Clydesdale. Those are some huge honkin’ horses. And beautiful. When the hell is Guinness going to get a big-ass mascot?
The Shark Encounter is awesome. A huge tunnel that goes right through the middle of this enormous shark pool. Unfortunately, you’re riding on a moving sidewalk so you can’t just hang out in there forever. Unless you want to wait in line again.
So thanks, American Red Cross. Because of you I bid on these tickets to Sea World and got them at a $60 savings. All in the name of good causes. It was a fantastic day. I’ll eventually get all of my photos uploaded to Flickr.
Filed under 2HT Mentions, 2HT Radio, Local Goings On, TequilaCon | Comments (29)
This is a post meant for the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN). You can visit the GBBMC page for all the information you need about RAINN and the campaign. More links available at the end of the post. Please donate!
So here I was having sex for the first time and loving every minute of it. Literally. I may have lasted 90 seconds, tops. It was the best feeling I’d ever had, being inside Betty, and I didn’t want it to end.
Before I “finished,” however, Betty started crying. Yes, crying. Now, you might think that something like that would put a guy off, maybe make him wonder what the hell was going on. I did ask if she was okay; I’m not that big an asshole. She said she was and I was feeling so good that that was enough for me to keep on going.
Then she said, “Karl, you’re not going to leave me?”
In and out and in and out and in and out oh my God I’m having sex and in and out
“No, I’m not.”
“Promise me you’ll never leave me.”
In and out and holy shit I’m gonna cum and in and out and in and out
“I can’t promise you that.”
“Please! Just promise me!”
oh my god oh my god oh my god this is so fucking good and in and out and in
“I can’t do that, baby.” Even in my state of ecstasy I knew that the words “promise” and “never” were very dangerous when located within the same sentence.
And she’s crying but oh my god I’m cumming and - “Unhhhhh!”
I continued making love to her for a good 25 seconds or so before I stopped and then I was kissing her, but she was still crying. She indicated that I could withdraw and lay down next to her. I was breathing hard and heavy, as was she, and I knew it’d take me at least five more minutes before I’d be ready to try that again. And I DID want to try it again. And again.
We cuddled for a few minutes and then she got up to use the bathroom. When I heard the shower start, I knew she wasn’t coming back for another round. Dammit. I remember the smell of our sex, even to this day. And I remember touching my dick and our juices and bringing my fingers up to my nose to smell her more deeply. Awesome.
Then Betty was standing before me wrapped in a towel and said it was my turn. Huh? You want me to wash this OFF? But apparently that’s what you did after sex - you took a shower. So that’s what I did.
While I showered I ran through those magical 90 seconds over and over again. I had SEX! Yes! No more would I have to wonder what it felt like. It felt fantastic. How could I not have done this before?
I was in a heightened state of bliss, that’s for sure. But I also kept going back to Betty’s request in the heat of passion: Promise me you’ll never leave me. It annoyed me. It seemed in a way like some sort of trick. Trying to get me to promise something like that while I’m near orgasm, when I’ll likely agree to anything?
We kissed more after I got dressed again, told each other “I love you,” and I was out of there because her mother was due home from work. I went back to my trailer, where I was living with my buddy, Fred, and told him all about it. He was happy for me, but shared my concern over her demands for promises. The timing was very suspicious. I don’t think he was a big fan of Betty’s, anyway.
And the truth is, things went downhill really fast from there. Betty became increasingly jealous and insecure, despite my assurances that I loved her. She became incredibly scrutinizing over my friendship with Wendy and I was not about to end that friendship. Nothing had happened with Wendy and I, and nothing was GOING to happen. But that wasn’t satisfactory to Betty. She kept drilling me over and over, sure that something was going on there.
Within a week of our making love, the relationship was over. She hung up on me. TWICE. And I’d specifically told her long before that, that if she ever wanted to piss me off, all she had to do was hang up on me. I HATE that. And because she did it deliberately twice in a row, that was it. I was done.
I was tired of all the questions, of all the ridicule, of all the demands to end my friendship with Wendy. Nothing was worth that bullshit. I refused to answer all of her phone calls, even at the radio station.
We didn’t talk for quite a while after that. She waited several months and then caught me off guard at work, when she called me during a really bad day. We only talked for a few minutes. The NEXT time she called me, she’d somehow gotten my new phone number at my new apartment. And at that point, Wendy and I HAD kissed, but nothing ever came of it.
Years later, I went “home” to Alamogordo for my 10-year high school reunion. I saw Betty in church. I’d heard she was married and had children. She about fainted when she saw me in one of the pews. We hugged and talked after the service and she introduced me to her husband, who said, “So you’re Karl.”
I didn’t know what to make of that. Clearly, she’d talked about me. I was entirely over our breakup 10 years prior, not mad in any way. In fact, I was greatly at peace with it all and I chalked it up to being young and stupid.
When Betty and I met for lunch later that week, she told me she’d never gotten over me. I was the best she’d ever had. Never had a man brought her such pleasure. All of this was very surprising to me, and very flattering. Then she began describing how bad her marriage was, and I knew I needed to get out of there.
I saw her again 10 years later at the NEXT reunion and we hooked up for breakfast. Same story. It made me sad that she was in a loveless marriage. She made it clear that she wanted to go back to my hotel room, but I wasn’t having any of that. If she’d caught me right after my divorce 14 years earlier, it would have been a totally different deal. But I’d since picked up morals and scruples and all those other things that have kept my dick more dry than wet over the years.
Still, I’ll always have a special place in my heart for her. She was my first real love. My first time. I’ll never forget that.
DONATE TO RAINN HERE. When you donate (and I really hope you will), please make sure you reference “GBBMC2008,” and include my name (Karl Erikson) and blog name (SecondHand Tryptophan).
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Quick call-out: Shiny needs a roommate for TequilaCon. This is Shiny the guy, just to clarify, because I now know two Shinys. If you’re going to TequilaCon and would like a roommate, please jet over to his blog and let him know. I know it’s really late in the game, but you never know. Thanks.
This is a post meant for the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN). You can visit the GBBMC page for all the information you need about RAINN and the campaign. More links available at the end of the post. Please donate!
I spent the next hours with a multitude of confusing feelings. It felt surreal, getting kissed by Betty. I was excited. I was baffled. I was kind of freaked out. We were friends, right? When the hell had it become more than that? Had I done something?
I was far too inexperienced to think about it logically. Looking back now, with 23 years of experience under my belt, I know that women love a man who listens to them. Hell, people in general like to feel that they’re truly being listened to. I just didn’t see that as such a big deal when I was 17, going on 18.
I still didn’t see myself as all that attractive, either. I’d recently broken my glasses and couldn’t afford a new pair, so that was a big switch. And yes, I could see fine…it’s really my left eye that’s the weak one. Add to that the new hair style and I looked like a completely different person. On the inside, though, I still pretty much felt ugly and unkissable…even after getting dumped by my girlfriend not long before.
That night, Betty and I talked on the phone. I can’t remember our conversation. I’m sure it involved the kiss and what it meant, how baffled I was, and what all of this meant for us. Plus, she was three months pregnant with someone else’s baby. I mean, how the hell was I supposed to be romantic under those conditions?
That shit didn’t matter to me, truth be told. I’ve always thought more with my heart than my head. And I liked Betty…a lot. We were talking on the phone every night, many times more than once a day.
And I quickly came to fall head over heels for her. Everything else melted away. I introduced her to my dad at one point, not long before he left New Mexico to go back to New York. My plan was still to head back north at the end of the college semester, but I refused to think that far in advance.
Betty sometimes would drive me home after I finished my shift at the radio station. We’d sit in my dirt driveway, out in the middle of Boles Acres (a dump of a trailer park), making out and heavily petting. My dick would get so hard I thought it’d burst through my closed zipper. And I spent many a night nursing my poor swollen azure balls.
A couple of times, she undid my zipper and handle my guggenheimer and I’d think, “This it it! This is it!” Once she even put me in her mouth and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. But no, she’d stop right after that and I’d zip back up, saying it was okay but not really being okay with it. Every time I’d wander back into my trailer, delicately walking because even the fabric of my pants was amazingly painful. Yeah, I’d masturbate like my life depended on it - what else was new? - and used up half a roll of toilet paper wiping up.
A few times we ended up at her place, where she lived with her mother and younger brother. Same thing would happen. Eventually, after maybe a month of this cockteasing, I started getting resentful. I mean, what the hell was it going to take? I loved her, I really did…we said it all the time. Wasn’t I good enough?
Back then I really equated sex with love. Yeah, part of my screwed up programming. I know now that many abuse victims feel that way. But I wasn’t even acknowledging that status in my brain. I’d locked all that away deep in the dark recesses of my brain.
So Betty not having sex with me was not only sexually frustrating, but also a means of rejection that hit me pretty hard.
Now I look back and think that was kind of immature and assholish. After all, Betty had been raped by her own boyfriend not all that far back. I really did try hard to be understanding, and I think I was to a large degree. But I certainly had limits to that patience and I was hitting them like a concrete wall.
Finally, one night when Betty’s mom was away at work, she led me by the hand and took me to her bedroom. Finally, she wasn’t teasing me. She meant business. I was going to get laid! Better yet, with someone I loved.
She peeled off my shirt, and I hers. Off came our pants. Then the underwear. And I was standing there completely naked with a woman, who was also amazingly completely naked. We embraced and kissed some more and she took my hand once again and brought me onto her bed.
Her mouth engulfed my dick and I groaned with pleasure. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Not very long after my 18th birthday, it was actually happening! I didn’t want to cum yet, I wanted to save that for the actual sex. So I gently pushed her off of me and then did something I’d been wanting to do for a long time. All of my experience with porn magazines was coming to fruition and I decided I was going to go down on her.
I moved down and kissed and fondled her breasts. I flicked my tongue over her nipples and did the things I thought I was supposed to do. And when I got down to her pussy I inhaled that musky scent and tentatively raked my tongue up and down her slit. She groaned, so I guess I was doing something right. That turned me on even more.
Encouraged by her signals, I buried my face in her, and hungrily lapped away. After maybe 30 seconds of this, however, she said, “What are you doing?” and she pushed me away. Hell, I didn’t know what I was doing. I was just trying to reciprocate, do what I’d seen all these men and women in magazines doing.
“Come up here,” she urged me.
I didn’t want to stop, but she said it again, so up I went. And in I went. And. It. Felt. Fucking. Amazing.
Part Three tomorrow.
DONATE TO RAINN HERE. When you donate, please make sure you reference “GBBMC2008,” and include my name (Karl Erikson) and blog name (SecondHand Tryptophan).
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