Saturday, 5 November 2016

Enough

Yesterday morning I woke up, shivering and chesty, emitting a hideous, rasping cough every time I tried to speak. With some (minimal, but necessary) prompting, I called my workplace and wheezily explained that, since I'd worked from 9:30 to 8:30 the previous day with a bad cold, I had exhausted myself and couldn't...

[at this point my BlackBerry ran out of battery and I had to get up, trudge across the room and plug it in to charge; then I called back]

...bring myself to walk, never mind work, and could I please take the day off, yes, thank you very much.

And I got back into bed and continued to quietly suffer, alleviated somewhat by the fact that I didn't have to make the bus journey across town and speak for several hours before making the journey homewards.

I was horny.

The previous few days, I'd been too sick, too busy, too distracted, to be horny. Aroused, yes, occasional periods of being switched on - the occasional stiffening sensation, balls tingling every now and again, the adoration of touch and appreciation of the aesthetic beauty of cock - but never horny horny. Not bring-myself-off horny. Not the kind of horny where you want to have sex. Just the kind of horny when your body is trying to remind you that, should the opportunity arrive, you could.

Lying on my back, taking deep, gasping breaths, I had started to sink back towards sleep. Whether I could have slept with my lungs turning themselves inside out is, so far, conjecture - I didn't end up really asleep - but my body was doing a very good impression thereof.

Just below my waistline, exposed to the elements but warmed by a duvet, lay my penis. My solid, warm, throbbing penis. For whatever reason, I had the biggest erection I'd had in a good few days. I wasn't even particularly aroused (in the traditional sense) - there was no specific stimulus. I wasn't craving sex and, besides, I may have died if I had tried at all (if my girlfriend didn't kill me first - she has my cold too). But I was certainly hard. Very much so.

As if my libido had gotten tired of not being functional and decided to try for an erection in case I wanted to use one.

Around my engorged shaft were my fingers. I wasn't pleasuring myself, but I had - by this point - noticed that I was hard and, after an experimental feel, had decided to keep my hand there, the steady throb against my palm and the gentle tickle of my pubic hair brushing against my knuckles a gentle, welcoming distraction from all the pain I was experiencing in my top half. Huddling into the soft, conserving as best I could all the warm, a the gentle caress of my erection was all I needed at that moment.

Because sometimes I don't need to orgasm. Sometimes I don't need to touch. Sometimes I don't need to stimulate.

Sometimes it's simply being horny that is enough.

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