Do I love Eddy? He seems to truly love me. I envy his ability to throw himself so quickly and completely into something without worrying about what might go wrong. I love that about him. He's such a positive person.
Positive people used to make me sick. I would look at them with contempt and hope misfortune would crush their happy attitudes. Why did I feel this way? I was jealous, perhaps. Or maybe I hated myself so much that I wanted everyone else to be as miserable as I was. In either case, I am now living with and loved by one of these people, and I am thankful for it.
Often I find myself picking fights with him for no apparent reason. Other times, I rain negative comments on his sunshiney ideas. What is my problem? It's as if I am programmed to produce negativity at the first clear sign of optimism.
Why do I do this? Why does my mind automatically reject the positive? I may be able to explain by drawing a comparison to an experience we can all relate to: being a sore loser.
A few years ago I started playing an online version of a popular strategy game. At first, I rarely played against human opponents, preferring the game's computer drones instead. Why? Simple. Losing is terrbly upsetting. Watching the other players gain points as my score stayed put made me angry. In fact, it infuriated me. I would curse and type hateful messages and feel angry and rotten after losing. Many times, I would start another game immediately to try my chances again. Winning, on the other hand, produced the opposite effect. I would dance and celebrate and taunt the losing players with lines such as "Hahahahahahaaa!!!!", sometimes venturing into a full-on sermon of how I was able to triumph even while faced with my opponents' malicious tactics and inferior strategies.
Winning feels good; it boosts my ego and makes me feel that I am better, if only for a moment, than the people whom I have defeated. Losing, however, makes me feel inferior to them, and bursts the little bubble I live in where I am so great. This forces me to change my view of myself and accept that I am not so great, after all. This type of self-image restructuring can be avoided, however, if I avoid playing against people. Losing to the computer is much, much easier to swallow for some reason. Perhaps the old "I wasn't really trying" excuse it more viable here. In any case, the point is that I avoided playing people because I wanted to avoid losing.
Bringing this back to pessimism, the same basic principle appears to be at work here. Being negative, similar to avoiding human opponents, is actually easier than being positive, because you aren't risking that possible defeat that may be lurking around the corner. No, on the contrary, barring your path with negativity and excuses will keep your right where you are, out of harm's way. A positive approach, on the other hand, carries with it a sense of responsibility. If you are going to put something into motion, you are somewhat responsible for where it goes and what it becomes. It could be a failure, like losing the game, or it could be a success, as is winning the game.
This tendancy to always lean towards the negative is, then, seemingly no more than a refusal to accept responsibility and a fear or taking risks. But that still doesn't answer my question of why I think this way. Why my mind is on pessimistic auto-pilot. Is this normal? Are there more pessimists than optimists? Was I taught as a child to think this way? Or maybe my imagination is just better at visualizing negative outcomes instead of positive ones? Could that mean that, with a little practice, I could get better at thinking optimistically?
I don't know the answer to these questions, but I do know this: In the past year, I've been playing human opponents more and more often and have been steadily improving my game. A little success, it seems, could possibly be the key to turning myself onto the brighter side of life.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Monday, August 20, 2012
A New Toy
first things first, im blogging from a damned ipad and i am disgusted with the limitations of this thing! i have to type in html mode because it wont let me do anything otherwise.
today i did what i do most days these days. i woke up around 11 and went to the bathroom to start working on my mustache. ive been growing it for almost two months and it is getting pretty long. i spend way too much time combing hair wax into it trying to get it to go to the sides and curl at the ends to little avail. finally i gave up and went to the kitchen and saw there was no oatmeal, so i had a bowl of honey-almond nestle cereal we just bought yesterday. it was pretty good—it got soft enough to eat pretty quickly, and it really did taste like almonds and honey, so, score.
while i was eating my cereal i put on my leather, including my new shirt and boots i bought in berlin. then i decided to try out my new toy. i had wanted a thick latex cock-and-ball sheath for awhile but didn't ever get around to ordering one online, so when i saw one at RoB berlin hanging from the shelf in a sealed plastic bag for 13€, i decided it was time.
Having seen the instructions for putting it on long ago on one of those fetish gear web shops, I thought i knew what i had to do. i got my dick hard and slicked up with silicone lube and slid it into the shaft part. then i tried to get my balls in. ha. i pushed and crammed scrotum skin here and there, mashing my poor balls time and again against the rubber pouch without success. They simply would not go in. after several minutes of torturing my boy parts with this thing, i reluctantly gave up. i slid on my new oxballs cocksling, also the result of my Berlin fetish splurge, and not much later i was cumming a nice thick sticky mess onto the laminate floor.
after a couple of hours i decided to try again. this time, I was going to try it *my* way: nuts first. Getting both balls into the pouch was still not easy, but i managed it after a few tries. Now came the tricky task of basically forcing my flaccid, unsuspecting member between the rubber pouch and my already tightly-packed balls and into the air-filled shaft. I was able to get my dick through to the shaft all right, but then I realized that the air had to be squeezed out or my dick would not be going any further. However, squeezing the air out also forced my dick back out of the tube and, if I wasn't careful, my balls would be popped out of the pouch. So after pumping and squeezing and working my genitals bit by bit into this wonderful piece of sexual creativity, I finally succeeded in getting it on. I was now proudly and excitedly fondling a big, black, shiny dildo where my dick had once been, and I could feel my rock-hard cock being squeezed tightly by the thick, tough latex.
I made a quick video to document the first few minutes of my playing with myself. unfortunately, as my concentration shifted to maintaining the subject in focus and in frame, the subject lost a fair amount of interest in the ordeal. This is a persistent problem with making sexual videos: if my dick isn't benefiting directly from what my brain is thinking, it tends to fall asleep. This means while handling the camera, I rarely maintain a full, raging erection. Thankfully, having a tripod eliminates that problem, but I didn't feel like pulling it out (pardon the pun) just for a short video showing off my new toy. Regardless, i stayed hard enough to make a decently horny vid.
After filming, I went back to playing with myself until i couldnt stand the absence of feeling anymore, at which point I pulled off the sheath—quite easily I might add—and masturbated happily until my second spunk of the day hit the floor.
For lunch i made a quick omelette with red peppers and then headed out to the alliance française in order to see about taking french classes. The building is more like a complex, with a theatre and cafe, and the courses are expensive, but reputable. As I arrived, the students of the intensive course were walking down the stairs, and i quickly deduced that they were all at least 10 years younger than i am. this is good in that the boys are young and cute, but bad because making friends in this bunch is going to be somewhat pointless, from a practical point of view. But i dont want to be negative. the point of taking the course is to learn french.
today i did what i do most days these days. i woke up around 11 and went to the bathroom to start working on my mustache. ive been growing it for almost two months and it is getting pretty long. i spend way too much time combing hair wax into it trying to get it to go to the sides and curl at the ends to little avail. finally i gave up and went to the kitchen and saw there was no oatmeal, so i had a bowl of honey-almond nestle cereal we just bought yesterday. it was pretty good—it got soft enough to eat pretty quickly, and it really did taste like almonds and honey, so, score.
while i was eating my cereal i put on my leather, including my new shirt and boots i bought in berlin. then i decided to try out my new toy. i had wanted a thick latex cock-and-ball sheath for awhile but didn't ever get around to ordering one online, so when i saw one at RoB berlin hanging from the shelf in a sealed plastic bag for 13€, i decided it was time.
Having seen the instructions for putting it on long ago on one of those fetish gear web shops, I thought i knew what i had to do. i got my dick hard and slicked up with silicone lube and slid it into the shaft part. then i tried to get my balls in. ha. i pushed and crammed scrotum skin here and there, mashing my poor balls time and again against the rubber pouch without success. They simply would not go in. after several minutes of torturing my boy parts with this thing, i reluctantly gave up. i slid on my new oxballs cocksling, also the result of my Berlin fetish splurge, and not much later i was cumming a nice thick sticky mess onto the laminate floor.
after a couple of hours i decided to try again. this time, I was going to try it *my* way: nuts first. Getting both balls into the pouch was still not easy, but i managed it after a few tries. Now came the tricky task of basically forcing my flaccid, unsuspecting member between the rubber pouch and my already tightly-packed balls and into the air-filled shaft. I was able to get my dick through to the shaft all right, but then I realized that the air had to be squeezed out or my dick would not be going any further. However, squeezing the air out also forced my dick back out of the tube and, if I wasn't careful, my balls would be popped out of the pouch. So after pumping and squeezing and working my genitals bit by bit into this wonderful piece of sexual creativity, I finally succeeded in getting it on. I was now proudly and excitedly fondling a big, black, shiny dildo where my dick had once been, and I could feel my rock-hard cock being squeezed tightly by the thick, tough latex.
I made a quick video to document the first few minutes of my playing with myself. unfortunately, as my concentration shifted to maintaining the subject in focus and in frame, the subject lost a fair amount of interest in the ordeal. This is a persistent problem with making sexual videos: if my dick isn't benefiting directly from what my brain is thinking, it tends to fall asleep. This means while handling the camera, I rarely maintain a full, raging erection. Thankfully, having a tripod eliminates that problem, but I didn't feel like pulling it out (pardon the pun) just for a short video showing off my new toy. Regardless, i stayed hard enough to make a decently horny vid.
After filming, I went back to playing with myself until i couldnt stand the absence of feeling anymore, at which point I pulled off the sheath—quite easily I might add—and masturbated happily until my second spunk of the day hit the floor.
For lunch i made a quick omelette with red peppers and then headed out to the alliance française in order to see about taking french classes. The building is more like a complex, with a theatre and cafe, and the courses are expensive, but reputable. As I arrived, the students of the intensive course were walking down the stairs, and i quickly deduced that they were all at least 10 years younger than i am. this is good in that the boys are young and cute, but bad because making friends in this bunch is going to be somewhat pointless, from a practical point of view. But i dont want to be negative. the point of taking the course is to learn french.
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