Two Nights Away From Home

It has never been my intention that this blog be an online journal detailing the minutia of daily life, numbing the reader with blathering accounts like, "This is what I did today. Man, it was so-o-o-o hot." Rather, its mission has been to present a series of essays on specific topics. This post represents an isolated departure from that structure.

I have often said my computer is a sex machine. Indeed, I upgraded my machine a few years back specifically because the old computer became inadequate to handle the multiple chat and cam windows that Yahoo Messenger required. I attribute first learning how to edge to the interruptions and rhythm imposed by online chat, clicking windows and buttons, typing in my text. It distracted me from the imminence of ejaculation. And so the computer became a central part of my sexual practice. God forbid the power go out.

On Messenger, I engage in cam-to-cam with other men and have a lengthy Buddy List I chat with. Over the years dozens of men have added me to their contacts and pull up my cam just to watch. I watch videos on Xtube. Still-photo porn may be old-school, but remains a favorite nonetheless. I participate in online groups and correspond by email. In short, I seldom masturbate away from the computer.

And so it came to pass that I recently spent two nights away from home in a hotel. I don't have a laptop, so this meant no access to my usual outlets. Just me and the cock. I was initially concerned that I might have difficulty controlling the edge, since the urge to ejaculate would be the only thing front and center in my consciousness.

The first evening went pretty well, although I only did about forty-five minutes. Spike TV happened to be showing Mixed Martial Arts fighting. Not to digress way off-topic, but MMA fights have a powerful sexual undertone that even straight observers might tap into. The testosterone is palpable. Two nearly-naked men engage in intense male-to-male interaction. Male-to-male intimacy. The interplay of dominance and submission is at the core of every match, which is also at the core of the "cock as a separate being" concept I have discussed here previously.

The second night in the hotel was when things really ratcheted up. No MMA on TV. The room was mostly dark, except for a bathroom light around the corner that allowed me to vaguely see what I was doing. I lay on the bed with no distractions. Just me and the cock, indeed.

An occasional erotic fantasy crossed my mind, but mostly I closely followed my own reactions, nuance, detail. I was acutely aware of my prostate and could feel my semen rising. Under this scrutiny and concentration, I could bring myself closer to the edge than if I'd had a computer or TV distracting me. I could bring myself right up to that point where I knew orgasm was imminent and I could literally feel the semen welling inside me. Even in the dark, I could tell I was heavily leaking precum, because its texture is different than the lube I was using.

A vivid image formed in my mind that I want to communicate to you. You know how you can fill a glass right up to the rim with water, then if you are very careful you can keep adding more water and the surface tension with allow the water to literally mound up slightly before eventually hitting a point of no return. That is what it felt like, the prostate filled to overflowing without overflowing.

To make this work required that I exercise what I consider to be one of the cardinal tenets of edging: deciding in advance that I do not intend to cum. Without that decision in the back of my head, I'd have succumbed to what 99.99% of men do.

I put in a good hour and a half, although not necessarily all of it was at the intense brink just described. I finally made myself stop and get some sleep for an early appointment, having already masturbated past my bedtime. (Ah yeah, guys, you know how that goes. You DO know how that goes.)

Well, you know what it's like trying to stay asleep in a strange hotel room. Before long I woke up, cock semi erect, the memory of my session calling for more.

Again, the decision at the outset that I did not intend to ejaculate. I was almost immediately at the edge, at the very verge of orgasm, and under any other circumstance would have had to stop. But the glass was full, and now I wanted to add even more water to the already-full glass.

I kept fantasy to a minimum, directing my focus instead on the events transpiring in my cock, prostate and sex muscles. I typically do not overstimulate what I call the "sweet spot," that trigger point on the underside just below the cockhead, often a hair trigger. But I eased alongside it, toying with the trigger, using an insanely slow touch, glacially slow, closer and closer to the trigger, closer and closer to orgasm. I knew I was dangerously close, just THAT close.

The glass welled up, I held myself in suspension, then another touch to the trigger, another suspension. The stickiness on my hand indicated I was leaking actual semen without the muscular contractions of orgasm, and without the lost passion of orgasm.

This was an extreme example of the "open" edging I have written about, a constant inaction to keep the sex muscles relaxed, a constant and conscious reversal of the sex muscles' reflex to tighten. I occasionally interspersed this with my normal technique of stroking across my cockhead and clenching down as the sex muscles reacted to my urging, the "closed" edging I have discussed before. But then I would return to the suspended open edging, holding myself in slow motion at that brink.

I continued this for fifteen minutes before deciding it was time to try and get some sleep. For one thing, the process was risky - I did not want to lose my load - not to mention exhausting. I lay there thinking this had possibly been the most intense fifteen minutes of my life.

The experience proved to be game changing (to use that now-cliched term). I could never have done this at the computer. There is simply no way I could have exercised that level of detailed control while fielding the distractions of keyboard and mouse and photos and chat windows and email reply buttons.

This strikes me as significant in respect to men who assume they can't edge, who tell me they have no will power, who can't conceive of not cumming, who can't imagine why someone would ever want to purposely prevent ejaculation. How often after your fifteen second orgasm do you ever say it was the most intense experience of your life?

But wait! There's more! (Call in the next ten minutes, blah, blah.) Horniness is power and I love carrying that energy with me throughout the day. But in this case, the next day I not only possessed the energy of horniness, but also a crystalline self-awareness of my prostate and internal sexual musculature.

Naw, I'm not about to give up my computer. I just don't have to be dependent on it. I have tried this routine again at home a couple of times. Nice sessions, but they proved not to be as intense as the one in the hotel room. (Sometimes the stars align, some sessions are simply better than others.) I see this technique as another tool in the toolbox, something to alternate with the more kicked-back sessions at the computer.