- Sitting at the counter of a local greasy spoon - well known for their choice burgers - K and i recently caught up, him having just come from a satisfying session of flexible rope bondage involving one of the few girls he plays with. Before we were to meet up, i contemplated the venue for our 'reconnaitre', and the (incredibly rare) appetite for a rare, bloody burger popped into my head. When we met on the street corner, i suggested several locations, but for some reason, i avoided what my body was telling me. Needing to replenish his constitution, K spoke up:
"I'd really like a hamburger."
I, of course, seconded. As we watched the grill jockeys flip and fabricate their way through order after order of the reputed menu item, K and i discussed many topics. We didn't shade the volume of our voice in order to avoid offending the prudish sensibilities of those around us. As what happens whenever we gather, we riffed off of eachother. He's someone with whom i can truly examine my sadistic proclivities without any abashed zeal, or any antagonistic need to shock or show off.
As the evening grew a longer beard, we sat on our stools, feasting on barely cooked meat, and giddily expressing ways in which we had been insatiablly maniacal bastards to our respective partners.
"She actually thought to ask me to lower the blinds, which she soon regretted as our performance suddenly took place at the window's edge."
"Right as i was asking her if she was ready for me to remove the zipper, i prematurely pulled a few clothespins off her flesh. 'Whoops! Sorry about that'."
Towards the end of the evening, the conversation - which had moved to a local dive bar - turned to an exploration about why 'corruption' remains such an addicting elixir for me. This online journal is something that represents decades-worth of the enticing notion that i can corrupt the minds of innocent females. There is no mistake that the mass majority of my readers are female (as well as those few who choose to comment). I told K how i scan the daily statistics of those who visit "The Lustful Quality", looking not for deep purse strings to finance my larger literary dreams, but some indication that the person attached to the IP address holds all the feminine qualities i seek to torment.
Honestly, one cannot glean such information. But, one can dream.
- Recently, i've had to travel alone a great deal for work. These days (aka. in a committed relationship), that means eating a lot of meals alone. I do not enjoy eating alone. Let me rephrase that. I LOATHE eating alone, and do whatever i can to avoid it. However, my physionomy will do all in its power to make the time away from home all the more taxing. Translation: for whatever reason, when i travel alone for business, my libido is exacerbatingly high.
To remedy this, i will go to whatever local eatery i can stomach, in the hopes that it will have a large number of female clientele and/or waitstaff (i assume the food will be paltry). There have been many times when i've turned around and left the establishment if i saw there would be no feminine sundry on which i could gander. When i do stay, i usually request a table off in the corner, where i can look out across the entire floor, and, almost as if they were part of my appetizer, visually devour whatever dainty creature crosses my view. This only gets me through the meal, however.
Once i return all by myself to my unnecessarily large hotel room, i'm faced with an excess of leisure time to myself (seeing as i do not watch TV, i must entertain myself in other ways). In the past, i would've arranged to have some delicate flower's services for the duration of my stay. But, those days are, without any regret, in the past. Instead, i've loaded up a flash drive with several gigabytes-worth of assorted SM kink that, when not completing work, i'm spending long periods of time in my hotel room perusing. I'm not sure what it is about travelling by myself that increases my general arousal, but its elevation is unmistakable.