Sunday, September 18, 2011
"No Where To Go From Here But Up"
The other day I had a talk with my Techno-nerd Eric, and that's what he said to me. I called him up and said I was seriously thinking of giving up the blog. When he asked "Why?" I said "don't you read this thing?" He said "not recently" so I told him to "Go fuck yourself."
Eventually things settled down and he admitted that he was getting worried about me. He asked what I really meant by "rock bottom" and that's when I clammed up. I realized I was in some sort of pit of depression that I couldn't climb out of. Eric suggested that to get out of this pit that I had dug for myself I should just start at the bottom and work my way up. So for the next couple of hours, I basically told him in gory detail everything that I've done (or had done to me) for the last couple of months.
He said the less I wanted to admit something, the more healing it would be. So I didn't hold anything back. And you know what? He was right. I actually felt a lot better about everything when we were done. Eric didn't pass judgement. He didn't comment. And he didn't really agree or disagree with anything I said. He just listened, and would encourage me when he thought I was leaving something out, or not being totally honest. And yes - I did try to avoid a LOT of things.
When we were done he said it looks like I have quite a bit of things to write about now. "But where to start?" I asked. He said to start at the bottom. It could only get easier from there.
So there I was. Naked on my knees in front of "Roger." We were in his bedroom. His wife was gone for the morning, so we didn't have much time. Roger had been a pain in the ass ever since I arrived at his place. Kept saying things like "So what'll I get for any extra $100?"
I said "My undying gratitude." But after the 5th time it was starting to get on my nerves. The massage was quick, which didn't matter because he was itching to get to the happy ending before his wife came home. That extra $100 kept weighing on my mind all during the session. But the shit he wanted me to do just wasn't worth it. By the time we reached the end of our hour, I figured there wasn't much else he could bug me about.
Then he said it. "How about a facial?"
Now don't get me wrong - I'm not a total prude. With boyfriends I've done my share of cum play. I'll even lick that shit slowly off my fingers, if the mood strikes me. Under the right circumstances a facial can be erotic, arousing, and if done properly, even a tiny bit humiliating. But at work, it's usually just that - work. A facial means I'll need extra time to wash my hair, and in some cases a stinging red eye.
I was meeting my mother for lunch right after this session, and I knew that the last thing Roger was interested in was letting me shower off at his place when we were done. But he kept pressuring me and I really needed the money.
Of course I needed the money. I always need the money. It's the story of my life and the root of all my problems.
Anyway, we started arguing over the details. I usually control the facial by performing the handjob myself. That way I can direct the cum where I want it, and thus preventing collateral damage to my hair and eyes. But Roger wouldn't budge and insisted on doing it himself. After a while I just got sick of arguing and that's when I uttered my famous line "Go ahead, just don't get it in my eyes."
I knelt in front of him while Roger started jerking his cock. Now have you every really watched a guy jerking off from really up close? It's not a pretty sight. The motion itself is just sort of violent and nasty at the same time. And on top of that he's sweaty from our session, and not in great shape, AND he smells. The look on his face as he's trying to cum is almost scary, so I focus my attention elsewhere.
Behind him on the walls are pictures of his wife and kids. I can see her dresser with a pile of folded shirts on top of it, waiting to be put away. There's a fancy looking clock which I guess is a gift of some kind. A small flat panel TV is perched on a stand facing the bed. They probably watch the Late Show on it before they go to bed. I wonder if the kids have TV's in their rooms too. Personally I don't think kids should have TV's in their own rooms since it'll only distract them from their homework.
I feel the semen hitting me on the cheeks, nose, forehead, lips. I squeeze my eyes shut just in time to prevent me from reassuring my mother that I really don't have pink eye. I don't have to look in a mirror to see if there's any in my hair. I just know there is.
Roger grunts a few compliments like "You're so hot" while I'm feeling around for something to wipe my face with. It doesn't matter what he says at this point. I just want my money and to get the fuck outta there. I'm going to be late for mom's now.
So there I was, kneeling naked in front of a married man, in his wife's bedroom with pictures of his family staring at me while cum drips down my face that I starting thinking that if I just fucked him, there would be no mess to clean up and I'd be on time for lunch. That's when I realized I had hit rock bottom.