Sex Toys and Solitary Joys

Finally, I was alone. After leaving on an early morning flight, my wife was now halfway across the country, visiting relatives for two weeks. Typically she makes such trips here and there at least three times a year, in some years four.

Having so much time alone brings with it an opportunity to cut loose and enjoy my naughty side. It becomes a sort of masturbation holiday/cumfest. To maximize its benefits, I do my best to prepare in such a way as to make any trips outside the house unnecessary. For example, after I dropped her off at the airport, I stopped at a supermarket and picked up a few food items. I'll have meals delivered when desired. I effectively lock myself away. Retired for several years, I am then free to indulge in my private world twenty-four hours a day.

Except for perhaps a pair of slippers, I generally do not burden my body with clothing. However I sometimes dabble in what I call 'Crossdressing Lite' involving carefully selected articles of my wife's undergarments. I love their loose, slinky feel. I'll slip into them for a few hours, then remove and oh so carefully return them to their original location. I'll put on one of her many pairs of strappy low heel shoes and prance around the house in a somewhat prissy fashion so as to emphasize the tap-tap sound they make on the hard surface floors and the thump-thump sound they make on the carpet.

I'll binge watch porn videos of all kinds. I have a particular fondness for HQ lesbian vids and those of men masturbating. I have assembled collections of nude photos of all types, and am able to view them on one of our large flat panel HDTVs, something I can never do when my wife is around. The 'stimulation' the vids and photos provide usually result in the need to masturbate at least three times a day. Sometimes more.

I have a small video camera capable of producing 4K quality output, and use it to make vids of my masturbation sessions. The camera is small and light enough that double stick foam can be used to attach it anywhere desired. One of my favorite vids was made when I stuck the camera to the ceiling directly above my bed looking straight down. I then proceeded to do my thing, moaning and really acting it up, and afterward allowed myself to drift off to sleep with camera still recording away. Later on I will discreetly edit such clips and store the finished product in a password protected zip file in a hidden folder.

I cannot recall when, how, or why it began, but many years ago I began to develop a sexual attraction to cocks. At first I tried to fight it off thinking I must be sick. But 'cock curiosity' is a powerful thing and it kept working its way into my being. It just wouldn't leave me alone. Then I happened to read an article on the subject. In it I was enlightened to the fact that I am not alone among MOST men in this, and it was not a sign of homosexuality or being gay. It is very common for straight men to develop such an attraction and have no interest in intimacy with other men. Being gay is essentially a lifestyle the author of the article stated, but for the cock curious it is all about what is behind a man's zipper. A curiosity that can grow into a desire and then into a craving. It is the type of thing that can drive even straight, married men into seeking a 'suck buddy' who is of the same mindset.

Reading this article was a breakthrough. I tossed aside the guilt I was feeling as well as any other doubts about myself that these desires generated. I instead decided to explore and develop them, and actually enjoy the journey. It has grown into this secret little corner of my life to which I can retreat whenever I feel the need to. That I absolutely must keep it a secret has only served to make it more rewarding. More special.

Over time I have come to believe that a fully erect cock with a pair of load swollen balls screaming for relief is the most bold, eloquent, and exciting manifestation of human sexuality to be found. More so than the most smoothly shaven, bulging cameltoe pussy. Or the most perfectly formed woman's breasts with nipples that beg to be sucked. It is like an exclamation point executed in human flesh, with the balls in the role of the dot at its base.

One of my photo collections consists of close-ups of cocks. Hundreds of beautiful, mouth watering examples of the male member. It was this collection that inspired/motivated/provoked a desire to take my cock fixation to another level. For years I had secretly yearned to own a pair of realistic seven inch male dildos, the kind with balls and a suction cup. One for 'top' uses and one to explore my bottom. But I had always balked due to the lack of a good hiding place for them.

Since my last 'home alone' solo sex fest, I had found a website that could deliver these cherished items OVERNIGHT, and that pushed me over the edge and got me to push the 'Buy' button. I figured that even if I could only enjoy them for two weeks and then dispose of them, it would be more than well worth their modest cost.

Around mid afternoon the next day a little shipping bag came to rest on my porch. I put on my robe, went outside to scoop up the bag then raced back inside.

I all but tore the bag open. The toys were each in their own box, both of which I also tore open. The last barrier between them and my bare, yearning hands was the plastic bag each was in. I held the first one, its head by the fingertips of my left hand and the suction cup by the fingertips of my right. 'What a beautiful work of art!' I thought. I kissed the shaft gently, then set about giving both of them a good washing. Stroking them with my soapy hands seemed to drive my erection to a new level of rigidity.

Once they were both clean and dry I took a permanent marker pen and put a 'T' on the suction cup of one and a 'B' on the other. The meaning of these labels and the reason for them should be obvious.

I then took the one labeled 'T' and with hungry hands began to fondle, stroke and squeeze it. I ran my tongue up and down its underside and flicked it against its 'frenulum'. I sealed my lips over its head and swirled my tongue all over it like it was an ice cream cone. I suctioned it to a counter top and began to push it in one direction and release it, all but giggling as I watched it rocked back and forth.

Then I made my first attempts at 'deep throating' it. I grasped the shaft at a point close to the bottom, opened my mouth as wide as I could, took a deep breath and went down on it. After several rounds of this I determined the best I could do without choking was about three and a half inches before I began to gag.

During showers I stuck it on the wall and sucked it hungrily. Years of pent-up desires were explored for the first time. I was like a helpless drug addict getting a fix.

I'd suction it to a spot on the left side of my laptop just under the keyboard and stroke and fondle it for hours on end as I looked at porn of all kinds. No matter how I gripped its vein ribbed shaft it was balm for my palm.

One day, just to see how I felt about it and me, I stuck the dildo to the bathroom vanity top and made a short video of me sucking on it. When it came time to view the results, I thought it might make me feel uneasy but frankly it didn't. I just sort of smiled in solitary self satisfaction.

For years I had been trying to summon the nerve to taste my own cum, but each time I had backed off once I had gotten off. I had read accounts by other men who had experienced the same self frustration. They would resolve to finally do it, and the instant they finished ejaculating the desire evaporated. But an exercise in frotting with the toy changed that forever.

I got up on the kitchen counter top, dangled my legs over the edge and suctioned it to the counter top between them. After lubricating it and myself, I went for it. It didn't take long for me to explode in cumshot after cumshot, drenching both the toy and my cock.

Though I really hadn't intended to venture any 'taste test', the sight of my load on that toy pushed me over the edge. Detaching it from the countertop, I slowly raised it to my mouth, closed my eyes, and brought its cum drenched head to rest on my tongue. After a few moments I closed my mouth over it. By the time it was over I had used my fingertips to scoop up every bit of my load up that I could, and licked it off my fingers.

It was like the first time I ate my wife's pussy. We were both very young and inexperienced sexually, so much so I wasn't even sure it was something a man and a woman ventured into. I wondered if the taste and aroma might be a total turn off. I wondered if she would think I was strange for trying it. After obsessing over thoughts of it for weeks, one night I finally took the plunge. Instead of pushing me away, she put one hand behind my head and pushed my face more firmly against her. In a matter of moments she was yelping in orgasm, her body quivering in relief. If anything I wondered why it took me so long to attempt it. Now when I masturbate the post cumshot cleanup is part of the enjoyment of the experience. And I have to give recognition to that simple plastic toy for getting me over the hump.

I had indulged in anal penetration 'experiments' before, but they involved the use of stiff items like round hair brush handles. Some of these felt pretty good but some of them, once partly in, had a feeling that made me concerned. Now I was going to explore with a soft, flexible, anatomically correct toy made for the purpose. Time to bring toy 'B' into action.

Once I had it sufficiently lubricated, I laid on my back in bed and spread my legs and with a slight bend at the knees. I placed my feet against the wall behind my bed. Then I slowly began the insertion. Experiments with those other objects had trained me in the art of relaxing to let the visitor in. With its soft, flexible construction, this was much easier and much more comfortable. It was about halfway in when it almost seemed to draw itself the rest of the way inside me until it bottomed out on its balls.

It is just about impossible to find the words to describe how wonderful it felt, both physically and psychologically. There I lay, a seven inch by one and a half inch diameter dildo buried fully inside me. It had arrived there almost effortlessly. It filled me in a way that none of those previous objects ever had. Snugly, as if it was meant to be there. It was amazing.

For a few moments I lay there relishing the experience. I felt so daring, so sexually rebellious. There is a term that is more often than not applied to women. Women who are in indulging in sexual activities that are just about of control. That term is wanton, and in that moment it was how I felt. Wanton. Wonderfully out of control. It felt so comfortable, so right. It left me so relaxed that I literally drifted off to sleep for seven or eight minutes, my feet still up and resting against the wall!

When I snapped out of this brief slumber, I reached down and grabbed the suction cup. I then pulled the toy out about halfway and then pushed it back in. Four maybe five times I did this, marveling at how easily my bottom had accepted the visitor. How easy it might have been for it to have welcomed something even more filling in depth and diameter. When it finally became time to remove it so as to give my bottom a rest, I felt empty physically without it. Later when it was time to go to bed, I considered putting it back in and sleeping with it in me all night, but I decided to wait until the morning for the fun I really sought.

I was now confident that I could handle my new bottom buddy and was eager for the next step. I stuck it on the toilet seat lid, and after liberally lubing it, the moment of truth had arrived. It took a bit of guiding to get it started, but finally it was inside of me, and the ride of a life began. I began gyrating up and down, then round and round in circles. I was abusing myself and loving every sensation it produced. How could I have lived this long and done without an experience like this? For fifteen or twenty minutes I pounded away. I was hoping to erupt in a prostate orgasm, having read the accounts of men who had experienced them. But it was not to be, at least not this time. That aside, I felt triumphant when it was over. That 'wanton' feeling filled me again.

I rode it again later in the day, and twice the following day. I had to force myself not to overdo it, so as to not become sore or dull the sensational sensations it produced.

I tried a few different positions for this particular form of self pleasuring and intentional self abuse. Before the unblinking eye of the camera I tried things like a form of reverse cowboy commonly used in videos showing women getting poled. Each time I sought a prostate orgasm but it eluded me. Eluded me until...

One of the positions involved suctioning the toy to the footboard of the bed, then getting down on all fours and backing up until my feet and calves were under the bed in the gap between the footboard and the carpet. With a little maneuvering pretty soon I was fucking myself doggie style! Somehow doing so produced just the right angle to trigger an event so unexpected and mindblowing that at first I wasn't sure what had happened. Face it, describing a typical externally triggered male orgasm is difficult enough, but when it comes by prostate stimulation it defies description. The sensation was so powerful I felt a bit dazed and dizzy afterward. I kept saying 'Holy fucking shit!' and 'WOO!' again and again. Limp from a combination of exhaustion and exhilaration, I 'disconnected' from the toy and rolled over onto my back. For a long time I just laid there on the semen moistened carpet, looking up at the ceiling. This event too was captured by the camera.

For two glorious weeks I frolicked with my two 'cumpanions'. I felt like I was having an extramarital affair knowing there was no way I'd get caught. And there wasn't. That word... wanton... would come to me time and time again over those days. With my full cooperation and enthusiastic encouragement, the toys had temporarily seized complete control of my life physically, emotionally and psychologically. In their company I had no powers of restraint, no limits or boundaries defined by logic and reason. If someone had been a fly on the wall watching me during those days they would have branded my liaison with these two plastic objects a sick one. I didn't care. I would have informed the fly I had no intention of seeking a cure.

During the last three days or so reality began to sink in. I knew I was going to have to say goodbye to my new and very intimate friends. The sad truth was that I was going to have to discard them as if they were just another piece of garbage to be thrown in a bag, put in the can and set out for the sanitation department to scoop up and eventually incinerate. That was more sickening than any acts I had used them to engage in.

In the end, the reason I could not keep my friends was that I could not find or figure out a suitable hiding place for them. What I wanted was something that I call 'death proof'. A place where they could be stashed that was so clever that even if I suddenly died before having the opportunity to dispose of them, short of tearing the house down they would not be found. I would 'die again' if they were found and have that discovery raise questions that could stain the memory of me held by those who loved me. I am particularly concerned about the effect it would have on my wife. We both truly love and adore each other, and I would not want anything related to my solitary pleasuring to totally destroy her perceptions about me.

The day she was to return also happened to be the day the garbage was collected. So that morning, I held the toys one last time, literally kissing the top one before dropping it in the bag. Later when I heard the obnoxious noise of the garbage truck, I stood in the window and watched as its mechanized arm picked up the garbage can, lifted it up to the top and tipped it over. 'Farewell my friends' I said softly, and stayed at the window until the truck drove out of sight.

If there is one consolation, it is the knowledge that the next time the opportunity presents itself a new pair in another plastic shipping bag could be on my porch in less than a day. Until then I will have to be content with memories that will only grow ever more special with the passage of time. And best of all, I have those 'home movies' that captured it all.