First Fantasy - the Prelude

It's a long journey from identifying oneself as a binary identity to opening up to the possibility of something more. For me it was pain, deep emotional distressing pain. After my princess left me, and long after we divorced, I cried and cried and cried. I cried so much, that my romantic soulmate was gone. When I thought I had run out of rivers, then I cried some oceans for good measure more, just to somehow guiltlessly prove to myself that the well would never run dry. In many ways it destroyed me, as can only happen to a man.

Somewhere in there, amongst the days and weeks and months that turned into years, something inside me began to split. Of course, being a man, the need for some form of sexual gratification was eventually going to come back. But not in the way I expected.

I have to explain that my romantic and sexual identities had been so intertwined, that I had never entertained anything other than the act being a full expression of love. That's where the bifurcation began, I guess. As the need to self-satisfy came back, when the pain had long since numbed, so it was that now it was pure lust itself which became the only stamp impressed on my feelings about sex.

But it was larger than that. For a true separation, for a gratification that would not painfully remind of romance, even the whisper of a woman had to disappear from the meanderings of my erotic consciousness. So it was that this all first began in the bath; a nice hot bath at home, after yet another drunken night alone at the bar.

Everyone knows a man loves his own dick, very much. And I had my fair share of personal explorations over the years. Once I had discovered it, and what it could do, I was obsessed with it. Even more so, I was preoccupied with the sensuality and the erotic settings of sex. All of those things that would work up to that cock of mine blasting an explosion out of my mind.

So over time I did things, and I taught myself things, on that journey of discovery. A big thing was that 'naked dream' which everybody has, brought to reality. There were a number of times I explored this, but one of the most memorable was when we had moved into a new area and I had just turned eighteen. Our new house was just a quick walk up the short slope to the long double line of pines that bordered the back of a fence separating the subdivision from virgin farmland. People used to jog along that area in the daytime for recreation. But in the dead of night I would slip up there, and strip off and hide all my clothes under the ground-brushing branches of a tree at one end of the line. Then I would run naked and totally alone between and under the snug avenue of pines, just wishing to be discovered, till I was hundreds and hundreds of yards away from the security of my clothing. There I would sneak out to almost the outer edge of the branches, sit cross-legged on the carpet of needles, and wack myself off silly in the moonlight.

My youthful fantasies only multiplied past maturity, as my private explorations continued all through adulthood. I wanted to be miles up the isolated beach - yet out by the seashore, on the salvinia-softened bank of a creek secluded in the remote bush, or under a heavily forested tree set starkly alone alongside the darkness of a park trail. All of these things actually occurred.

I was in a rotunda on a central mound one time, with the open grasses of rolling public space all around, all of this heightening that intensity of risk which brings enhanced excitement. Another time I was on the side of a hill, in full moonlight, but in a rather large open park, where one would need binoculars to see what that figure was doing so far, far away. And wondering if someone might want to come find out? But in most of these escapades it was usually the inky darkness that was my only protection. There, the bright stars in a moonless sky were a prelude to the pinpoints of ecstasy my mind would later be projecting out into that same canvas.

Through it all, the core was the cock, but the way to get there became a discovery of self-fulfillment. I marvelled in my achievements of what I referred to as a 'whole body' master - able to suggest and caress and lead and tease myself into an extension of duration. How long could I work myself up, and how far could I hold myself off. The more titillated; the harder my dick; the deeper, the broader, the more mind-thrashing, and the more body-encompassing my orgasm. Ok, I'm a guy, in the end it's only going to be one. But I congratulated myself on how well, as the girls luckily can do for themselves, I could manifest that same fun for me. And I rewarded myself for acknowledging that there was a female 'self' deep inside me, that could truly develop the knowedge to perfectly pleasure me. Have you ever, as an ordinary guy, blown both balls out so hard at the same time, that your thoughts were one with the cosmos - and your mind felt like someone had wrung it completely out like a dishrag? Have you ever had several multi mini-orgasms along the way, without ejaculating, on the journey to that final cum. It's awesome.

Back to the bath; because I had to digress to get you to here: Only a little tipsy by now, but still at a time in my life where distraught was only now permitted to change into something different. Thing one - I've said I began to feel a split. And thing two - it's all about the cock. So while beginning to masturate in that dark, watery warmth - what could I think about to work myself up. "I want to taste my precum. I love my cock. I wish I could suck my own cock, blow my own cock!" (When I was younger I had bent my legs under the bedframe and up backwards over my head and almost, but not quite, put my mouth to my dick. I had licked my open head. "Mmm". And even jacked off that strange-tasting cum into my mouth. "Ughh!"). Still wondering, and caressing myself playfully, "If I had a clone of myself, I would totally do me, I would blow me, and I (we) would '69' us so damn good!" Wow, that's a way to get off! And it happened a lot in that bath.

And here, really is the thing. No pain.

Just pure, raw lustful sex. I didn't feel guilty. I was getting off. I wasn't confused about any kind of identity, because in my mind I was just 'doing me' - and getting to that lovely cock of mine. From time to time, I would figure ways to get, and sample, some of my cum into my mouth. Taste also. And try to swallow. But after I did those things it was always like, 'Nope.' What is it about the heterosexual male response, after the fact, that makes everything about these particular thoughts disappear into disinterest?

Suffice to say, over time - a lot of time - as the novelties of fantasy needed to vary, so my fantasies evolved ... and eventually it felt ok that the scenarios I conjured up for my masturbation frenzies had crossed the line just a little.

It's been a long time now, that I've been alone - and stayed alone. I think it's because of the modern maturity of understanding what that double-edged sword of 'romance' really means. I'm unsure if I could do it again. I've been content to be single, and survive. I'm older, but I'm still very much a sensual being, and I remain a solo soul. Yet, as I have pleasured myself over and over, the number and variety of my private wishes has come to multiply. None of them have come to pass. They just stay as secret wonderings of things I'm unsure of if I would really even like in reality. But I might. I might even love it? One of several favorites I have, I shall call my 'First Fantasy'. If you would like, but only if you really want (?), I'll tell you in my next story . . .