Tag Archives: sex

The Inconclusive Dissection: Mind Half-Full or Half-Empty?

If we go on the premise that procrastinators think too much, then perhaps it’s reasonable to assume that my mind is really full. Well, better than empty, I guess? I guess! And, yes, I guess it could be a possible explanation as to why nothing tangible and concrete is coming out of my head. That’s because everything is so crammed inside, I guess!

Yes, my ideas are packed to the point of having no room to breathe or move, so they just stay within my mind and discuss among themselves. That is where all my stories are, I promise! And when they spend so long there, telling and retelling many variations over, they are already exhausted and left wanting in energy to escape. Furthermore, it feels as though the story has been told, we know the twists and turns, and feel as though the world should look inside to find out what we’ve done, instead of us always having to come out and show what we do. Understand? Understand!

I understand that I am probably deluding myself, but these thoughts are still true. If I think hard enough, I can save myself the step of publication. Save paper? But how do I convince people to take the plunge, to take that leap of faith, and just look inside my mind? To trust me? Trust me!

These were my thoughts during a dinner date in a restaurant with candles. Sitting across from me was an articulate, more good-looking that I deserve, attractive doctor, with experience. I sensed that that my luck may be changing and that it won’t be long before my mind starts opening up.

After a few sips of wine, and samplings of appetizer, I started getting a tingly sensation emanating from the inner portion of both stockingless legs underneath the table. I guess I just had a feeling when choosing what not to wear for the night. Just as he was proposing a toast to ‘I don’t know what’, I clanged his glass while debating within myself whether or not my partner is a surgeon or not. Admittedly, my relationship with him has not gotten deep enough yet for me to acquire this knowledge.

But, oh my, what if he were a surgeon? A surgeon! My imagination went wild in considering the possibilities. And I downed my glass of wine with sumptuous enthusiasm and determination. Would he have the tools and the requisite skills to dissect me? I couldn’t giggle outwardly at such a delicious thought so, instead, I crossed my legs so my skirt wouldn’t be as much of an intrusive censor, and I flexed and extended my ankle continuously, as if to communicate that my heart was jumping up and down with joy? Unequivocal joy!

If there was any way that he could do a professional dissection of me, but preferably with a particular emphasis on the artistic, then finally, at long last, he could really, literally, open up my mind and the world can see the unadulterated stories I have completed!  They’ll know I haven’t been lying all this time. They’ll trust me that I’ve been hard at work!

I suddenly felt incredibly sexy at that moment, more sexy that I’ve felt in my entire life. I didn’t know how much was left of my legs under the table at that point. With all the gyrations going on, I wouldn’t be surprised if I had exercised away all the skin and left them see-through. Oh, poor doctor, I could see it in his eyes, and his focus on his steak, that he had no clue what was going on under there!

I watched intently how he cut up the steak, savoring enough time to allow the juices to bubble over, so he could observe the satisfaction before making it disappear within his mouth, thereby intensifying the the senses at least twofold. That’s a good sign. Maybe he is a surgeon? A surgeon! The thought of him opening me up with such care and focus, like he did that steak, made me lose a button somewhere in my skirt.

I was so ready, I was so much in the mood for desire and intimacy. So, I quickly apologized to him for having to leave early and cut short our dinner together. I declined his offer for a ride, left him alone to finish the rest of his steak (as a surgeon should definitely not leave an operation half completed), and ran all the way home in such a mad rush that there was barely a trace of clothing on me when I arrived.

I have to work harder now. Think harder, deeper, even more intensely than ever before. Patience, my thoughts, patience, as I will bring more characters into an already tight space. But, patience, because now I know that you will soon all get to see the light of day. We must think together on this and get as much inside as possible before the surgeon arrives? Promise me that when that time comes for me to have an operation, you kids will not be hiding somewhere inside. All this work and to have him open me up to find nothing? Nothing!

-Dawn

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Switching Gears by Using Paper to Cover Fire

I am scared. I like quiet. I’m easily bothered by noise. I spend much of my days in libraries. I get startled and jump out of my seat quite easily. So, because of all these points and characteristics, I think I’ve generated enough reasons to support why I’m a slow driver. What in the world is the link?

I drive a standard. Most of the people I know say I am a waste of a standard and do it disgrace. They say it’s painful to sit in the passenger side of my car while watching me drive as if I’m on eggshells. In a nutshell, I drive slow, or more accurately, I am slow to accelerate and reach peak speed. The exact reason for this is because I shift too quickly. People are right, I do.

And here is when the connection to noise and disturbances come back full circle. When trying to hold down the gas longer before shifting gears, the car gets noisy as you rev. I often find it noisy even at 3000 rpms and shift at or just under this number. The passengers shake their heads in disgust. And I guess if there are cars behind me stopped at a traffic light, they shake their fists (and the odd finger) in disgust when the light turns green because it’s obvious that I lose speed and momentum when shifting. I am sorry.

Whenever the rpms go up, and I hear that noise, am I intuitively thinking I’m doing damage to the car? Or, am I suddenly thrust into the role of a sadist when I’m obviously more stable and at home at the other end, according to every single psychological test that I have ever done. Of course other drivers are not going to have the patience to allow me to get out of my car and explain this at the next set of lights. So, another solution is needed.

How can I resist my natural tendency to shift gears in search of quiet and to avoid the noise of high rpms? Well, this past week, I test drove an idea with music. I increased the volume of my tunes and purposely selected music that was not gentle. In this way, the music slightly covered up, softened, or insulated a bit of the sound from the engine. And I also decided to not look at my rpm gauge, since I tend to automatically switch when the dial hits 3.

Admittedly, it worked. I felt something, a little bit, just a small bit of that adrenalin that they always advertise to full throttle in those car commercials. I have never taken Viagra, but is this what they mean when they say what they mean…you know what I mean?

Anyways, just like what they mean, you can’t keep it up forever, especially if it’s just not in your personality. Soon after, I was getting bothered by the loud music and trying to think of ways to cover up and drown out that noise. Eventually, quite naturally, I didn’t have to look hard to hear another sound that clearly smothered everything else to minimalistic background. My beating heart!

These days, beside my insurance, license, and registration info, I keep copies containing results of my psychological tests and medical records. In case other drivers, passengers, or even police, are curious why I switch gears so early.

-Patrick Law

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Filed under Detours: Psychology of Driving

Reasons Behind Avoiding Foreplay

Hello. This is Pierce. After reading Mr Manly’s post and advice for relationships, it got me thinking. It got me asking. It got me fretting about how I haven’t been involved in an intimate relationship for an uncountable number of days. It’s no fault of the other party, that’s for sure. I can’t expect them to patiently wait until perhaps death for me to still not have made a decision.

That post got me thinking, especially after reading how so many readers were open and honest about their thoughts. So I will be as well. Because I want you to understand from my perspective, and perhaps some men out there also share these views. Women? I love you, I really do, but there’s a reason why I come across as I do, with all that hesitancy and reluctance.

The last many times, I have avoided having sex. This was due to remembrance of an anxiety-filled experience. I just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t make the commitment. Just stood there. And then the moment passed and was no more.

You see, way back when, when procrastination only encompassed most of my life, I actually played the part, all the way to the point of turning off the lights and getting under the covers. You know, the part when the teenagers watching television make sounds of disappointment as the screen goes dark leaving them only to wonder and imagine the rest of the love scene. Little did they know, when the lights went off, I pretty well shut if off as well.

My partner wanted more foreplay, extensive foreplay. Lots of women like that, right? Some even prefer it more than the direct act itself, and a few are even okay with just doing the foreplay. I refused. It may seem cold, heartless, uncreative, and selfish, but I hope women around the world will hear me out and understand my reasons. I love foreplay, but just couldn’t and, to this day, can’t. I love foreplay so much that, in fact, the intensity is unbearably enough to cause the ultimate release before part two. Am I weak? No stamina?

I’m afraid of foreplay because of premature you know. But I didn’t tell women. And it didn’t come across well physically and emotionally when the lights were turned off. This kind of worry has resulted in me totally putting off anything that even comes close to resembling intimate relations. I know I avoided eye contact on the train many times over this morning.

But I do wonder, and would like to put this question out for consideration and learning. May there be some women out there who feel flattered when small foreplay is enough to make me finish? Are there women out there who feel greater satisfaction with men who prefer to stop after foreplay and not do the sequel?
Instead of being a sign of weakness, I think it shows great potency to be able to achieve the ultimate sensual pleasure while both are fully clothed.

Anyways, now you can understand how all these thoughts have precluded me from being able to consider the sex as we know and love it. Again, I don’t mean any harm or hurt to women; it is just fear on my part. I hope you understand.

I guess the state I’m in now I wouldn’t have much problem converting to a monk, except for my thoughts. Monks, procrastination, sex – all would be okay, except for my thoughts.

(Another thought for another day: is procrastination a form of overextended foreplay that exhausts oneself into inability to perform the more important next act?)

-Pierce

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Filed under Procrastinator Diaries (Pierce)