Date: Wed, 3 Dec 2008 08:39:33 -0800 (PST) From: D One Subject: The Purpose of Sex I use sex for many things. No seriously, here's what I use sex for. First when I get on a plane and hear about "light rain" or "high level storms" or just feel the plane bump around. I close my eyes and think of sex - naked men and boys frolicking together, group showers, 2am orgies, or just one on one kissing, petting, stripping, licking, sucking and fucking. It works. Then there are those long boring lectures reiterating what I read in the prescribed reading. As a precaution I record it on my little recorder too. So I can let my eyes wander and my brain strip down the other bored students in the hall. There's the red headed farm boy who would look better wearing nothing but bib overalls with side buttons open so my hands can examine him whenever I want. The very butch tattooed shouldered buzz cut blonde guy who would call me baby, honey and other mushy things as I knelt over him in bed licking his ball sac, sucking his fatty cock and lifting his thick thighs so I could use my tongue across his butt hole melting him into a willing bottom boy. Even the scholastic glasses adorned Professor assistant sitting on his appointed stool, his eyes moving from his mentor to the bored students. His open collar shirt revealing a smooth chest and a mysterious leather necklace with an ivory tooth dangling pointing towards where he'd rather have me looking. Nothing is more boring then the bus ride to and from classes of course. I take a book out and bend over as far as I can to read it, envisioning the ability to bend even further to lick my expanded cock head while the other bus riders ignore my self induced pleasure. Frankly I could get rides with friends, but these bus rides provide me some self time I don't have in the student shared apartment where beer, girls, pot and politics abound. And I look forward to the visits home too...not because I miss my folks or siblings. But those solo me times standing naked in the bathtub undisturbed by everyone and everything. There I can slide my hands all over my body, pull on my nipples, finger my hole, see how far I can stretch my heated testicles and stroke my erection to see how many times I can cum in the time allowed. The memories of times in that same tub without parents calling for me, or siblings pounding on the door while I indulged on all the potential pleasures that nature has provided, are enjoyed again. As I lay in my bed staring into the darkness, and cannot sleep, I let my mind walk to the bed of my roommate where I pull down the sheet that covers his naked body. I lick him head to toe, encouraging his body to erect so I can straddle and let it invades me. And midway through my hip thrusting, he gets so excited he pushes me back grabbing my ankles and fucks me like no real or imagined girl friend or perhaps his secret boy friend of his past. I beg him to stop but he just fucks harder and deeper into me. I crawl across the bed with him still inside me thrusting and ignoring my pleas. Even as his erect cock expands to pump out sperm I am whimpering knowing he will not stop but continue to move his softening cock to make it hard again and fuck me even longer so the sunrise illuminates his final eruption and freeing of my body for his pleasure. I'm not alone is telling you that church too gives me an opportunity for sex. It did when I discovered puberty and it continues to do so. Back then at the tender age of sub teens, I'd tear a hole in my pocket so my hand could wonder at the few hairs that grew "down there" or even stroke the meaty cock head that blood had allowed to grow inside my suit pants. I even came once or twice doing that. But as time progressed I had to rely solely on my brain for carnal pleasures while some pompous robe clad man stood high looming over us all. My wandering eyes sometimes met those of other bored kids. Once I remember locking eyes on one dark haired youth and we just watched both of us meeting in some unknown place as we unbuttoned each others white shirts moving our ties to explore each others torsos and taking turns to bow reverently to satisfy our need to nurse for man milk. Now, much older, my eyes wander at they do always, finding the clean shaven or facially haired male older, younger or otherwise, Caucasian, Asian or African American who could share their need with mine for mental escape and physical indulgences. Even the minister isn't beyond my need for sexual deviance. That is both fantasy and reality as I recall being touched and explored by a youth minister years ago. It wasn't abuse as I gladly felt his sensitive and manly finger as he explained why my penis always got hard during choir practice and why my butt hole tingled when he fingered it. The youth that stand behind the Minister wearing robes of choral declaration may encounter what I did, I only hope it is pleasant not abusive. The tall thin black guy, whose body seems to have become part of the pipe organ he is playing, becomes part of my mental escape, me sitting in front of him while he plays, my mouth encouraging his creativity and playing him as my own pipe organ until he covers me with his sperm. It splashes and flows, dripping off my nose and chin down onto my hot naked skin. He continues to move his hands and feet across the keys while his fleshy pipe continues to pulsate more and more of his milk gagging me, drowning me, coating me with a liquid cloth that encloses me totally. I work a part time job. It isn't exciting but gives me both compensation and opportunity to smile, meet and fantasize about other students, teachers and visitors at the campus book store. They may think of me as a studious, dedicated, study oriented MA candidate who will probably stay on campus to accumulate PhDs until I'm too old to be a student and finally will become staff. But in my own mind I am there to pleasure them and be pleasured, searching for those that will look a bit longer into my eyes then others, smile a different type of greeting and offer an encouraging pleasantry that will lead me to meeting them in the stock room, the basement loading dock, the bathroom, the bushes after we close, their own bedroom or some dark cavernous place where we dispense with the bodily decorative clothing that disguise who we truly are and what we need. I would join the younger lads, those visiting their older brothers and sisters. They have unexpected erections in public places that need satisfaction as much as those of us whose maturity have enabled us to manage our arousals. The older men, fathers, teachers, mentors who need a studious youth to sit at their feet learning, wearing little, willing much to please them. The fellow students who, I know have as much mental sex as I, and might be willing to experiment beyond the limitations of what their teachers, church and friends have established. My underwear or pants when I don't wear under garments often get wet with the pre-cum my mental encounters create. I still have one or two trousers or shorts without pockets so I can scoop the tasty pearls now and then. I lay on the grassy hills on sunny weekends letting my body do what my sun warmed bare skin desires to do, not worrying if anyone sees the tented cloth..and hoping that some will. And to be honest, my mind imagines when I'm not bored either. When I play lacrosse on the field wearing only shoes, shorts and helmet. Or when I drink beer and eat pizza with my equally horny three roommates. And when I circulate at formal or informal gatherings shaking hands, smiling, listening, eyeing and sharing I am aching for the faces that become more then memories. And I admit that at 2 or 3 am, sometimes my mentally journeys demand I leave my bed and wander into the darkness, looking for those silhouettes or others who need anonymous revelations and eruptions. So I have found that the purpose of sex is to escape anything, everything, anyone, everyone and all that is not part of the anticipation, imagination and execution of sexual arousal and exploration. The purpose of sex, is for me, sex.