Letter to an Old Friend

You know, I find myself writing to you quite often. I never save any of it, sometimes I don't even finish what I start,but time after time I find that I have something to say to you, and that I need to express myself somehow more materially than just thinking the words in my head.

I'm thinking specifically about something that happened the other night. I was jerking off as usual, "edging" to be more precise. If you've never run into that term before, it describes the practice of jacking yourself off until you're just at the point of orgasm but then you stop, starting again only after you calm down enough to be able to last a little bit longer. You do this over and over, keeping yourself just short of cumming for as long as you can stand it, or as long as you have the energy.

I've taken to doing this sometimes for hours, until I'm so desperate that I'm practically whimpering. My cock is throbbing and painful and it's like a drug, It's as if I am losing control of some higher thought processes, and I just feel like an animal. I only want to shove my cock as far as it will go into something, anything, and shoot gallons of cum until I'm utterly drained.

Since I started doing this, I've discovered a little game that I play with myself. I get myself into this sort of frenetic state and then I go through pictures, any and every picture I can find, until eventually, one will stand out in some special way, and I'll just explode right then and there. It's like searching to find that particular trigger that I can't consciously describe. I can't even anticipate what it might be, I only know that once I find it, something will connect inside, and a powerful orgasm is always the result.

You are always there when I masturbate. I fantasize that you can see me and that you know what I'm thinking about the pictures I'm looking at. Your watching me is what makes these moments so powerfully erotic for me because every part of me lays bare. That's an important part of my masturbation you know, having you there, sharing it with me in some way. Not just in a physical sense like we used to do, where we'd lay on opposite end s of that huge couch together and watch one another, but mentally as well. I really want you to know what I'm thinking, and what turns me on. If I could connect you directly to my mind somehow, I would. It's that important to me.

On the particular occasion that prompted this note, I was wandering through a variety of Internet sites, looking at whatever struck my fancy. I'd rub my cock for a bit until it was good and hard and then stop, clicking from photo to photo and shoving my hard cock up against the side of the desk or wiggling my hips, making it swing back and forth. Occasionally I'd reach down and smack it, making it bounce obscenely up and down in an imitation of the throbbing dance it does when I shoot cum.

I always videotape myself as I do this. Did you know that? I have hours and hours of 'footage' of myself masturbating and I often get off watching myself get off.

Anyway, on this occasion, I was thinking about a picture you posted awhile back, the one where you are opening the top of your shirt to expose your cleavage and sticking your tongue out. I wanted to shoot all over the screen on that one, take a picture of the spattered screen with my cum dripping down the glass and then send it to you anonymously. I wondered what you would think of that. Would it excite you to imagine some anonymous admirer, or would it just be creepy?

We'll never know I guess, because I didn't even take it, although I do have a picture that I took of myself that I enjoy looking at sometimes, it's of me, after I've cum on the screen, your picture is still up there and I am sitting there smirking at the camera with some cum still dripping from my cock. I look really proud of myself - 'hey, look at me, I'm a real stud and I shoot so hard that I can splatter a computer monitor without getting out of my chair!'

Wouldn't you be impressed? *laughs*

Anyway, on this occasion I was thinking of the things we'd talked about in the past, particularly about the masturbation video that you'd described to me that turned you on so much. The one where the black man had jerked off forever, getting harder and harder and then suddenly he leaned forward and shot cum into his mouth. You'd said it was such a surprise the first time you saw it that you came right as he did, and then every time you watched it afterwards at the same point.

I loved that image of you, startled by his action and your reaction. I pictured the look on your face, eyes wide, your cheeks flushed, and you shudder slightly, maybe laughing for a moment and then rewinding the tape, greedy to feel it all again.

That thought made me very much want to suck myself off, but I didn't want to break away from what I was doing to get into the awkward position required to do that, so I would just occasionally pull myself down forward and lick the very tip of my cock, smearing the pre-cum over my lips.

I kept going through picture after picture, not seeing anything that inspired me particularly, and my cock was just painfully swollen and erect. I wanted to cum very badly and every touch was sending that pre-cum tingle to the head of my dick. Then, when I was getting tired and frustrated, I finally opened a picture that I couldn't quite figure out from the little sample image. When it came fully onto the screen, I knew instantly that I'd found my shot.

It was a picture of a woman, maybe in her fifties, nude, leaning over on her hands and knees looking down into the camera. Her flat, droopy breasts dangled, long and low, nearly touching the bed, looking empty and drained. I could instantly picture them swinging and slapping against her ribs if I were fucking her from behind, or using her mouth like a cunt.

But it was her face that really fascinated me. She looked tired and defeated and ready to submit. She had perhaps been proud and willful once, you could see traces of that still in her eyes, but now she just looked worn down and submissive. She would accommodate me, this sad woman, she wouldn't resist or question, and I could push myself into her ass, or her cunt or her mouth, and she'd just take it quietly and accept it. That's what sex was for her, submitting. Allowing. Accepting.

And masturbation? Masturbation is pleasing me, making me feel good. Giving me what I want...you worry about yourself, I'm going to take care of me.

So this was a woman that you could masturbate with. You could jerk yourself off with her body in any way you pleased, her needs being as inconsequential to you as the thought that your hand might want something in return for it's services to you.

As I pounded myself with the last couple of strokes necessary, I forgot all about this empty woman on the screen who'd so selflessly given me this moment. She'd served here purpose, as I imagine she'd done countless times in the past for many other selfish men. Right now I just thought of us. I imagined myself laying on my back with your head next to mine, our lips wide open and my cock was throbbing into our open, drooling mouths. I pictured myself pumping hot cum into our mouths and we slurped it up, left some to drool out of the corners of our mouths and down our cheeks.

As I came in real life, I leaned forward and got the first shot right in my mouth. The rest sadly spilled over my fingers and ran down my balls and I sat there drained. Feeling as empty and used up as the sad but dignified woman who's long dangling breasts had inspired me just moments before.