A recovery landmark

(This is highly personal, very directly about the male body (mine) and sexual acts (mine), sometimes in street language, so not for kids or the sexually modest.)

The topic makes this very much a Mary, Queen of Scots, Not Dead Yet posting.

The background is that ever since puberty hit me early, at the age of 10, 72 years ago, I’ve had a very high sex drive, which since 2006 (when I last engaged sexually with another person) I have been satisfying myself entirely on my own, by jacking off. Mostly in brief sex breaks (comparable to coffee breaks or snack breaks), occasionally in longer, drawn-out enjoyments with the spur of favorite gay porn on DVD.  In recent years, one to three times a day. Uncomplicated and satisfying, and not at all time-consuming.

Now: it turns out that my sex drive is a powerful indicator of the state of my body. If I am sick in any way, it just shuts down. (My ordinary afflictions have no effect, though when my wrist and hand joints are inflamed and aching, jacking off can be painful — but within tolerable limits, and the rush of hormones from coming briefly wipes away the pain.) When I stop wanting to get off, it’s a big warning sign.

I have been seriously sick for some months now, so no sex.

Day before yesterday, I woke in an all-stops-out sex dream, consumed by desire. But I was in bed, and my dick and balls were confined in an adult diaper, and there was no route to satisfaction. Then up and into all the routines of the day, and soon helpers arrived, so I was never on my own.

This morning I blocked out a time after breakfast and snack and before my helper would arrive. Pulled down my diapers and shorts, spit-lubed my dick, and enjoyed the fantasy of some porn, while talking dirty to myself. Smooth route to a satisfying climax. It was wonderful.

Then some cleanup, rearranging my clothes, and I looked like a clean old man again. Who’s back on the recovery train.

Practiced singing from the Sacred Harp along with videos of the Ireland conventions — great stuff, beautifully produced — for half an hour this morning. (It’s pure pleasure and lung therapy, actually prescribed by my doctors.) With an amazing powerful voice that just astonished my helper León, who couldn’t believe this voice was coming from me, like I’d suddenly turned into a different person. Then did two hours of shapenote singing with the Palo Alto Sacred Harp singers, 1 to 3, on Zoom (I hear them, but I’m muted from them) Didn’t do all the songs, mostly because I couldn’t keep up with sight-reading unfamiliar songs, but I did most of them, without flagging, chose four of the songs, and then the two hours flew past.

So I’m getting back in the world again, bit by bit.

One Response to “A recovery landmark”

  1. Robert Southwick Richmond Says:

    Since I can’t get to singings much any more, I should follow your example, and sing along with Sacred Harp recordings. You’ve inspired me. Those Irish shape note singers are absolutely astonishing.

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