A couple of months ago, I realized that the years of engaging in promiscuity have already worn me out. It doesn’t thrill me anymore. I have to try something new. I need to do something exciting.
I have to be monogamous.
Funny, isn’t? While other people are getting into all sorts of wild sexual encounters because they are bored with their sex lives, here I am restricting myself to fucking just one person because I’m bored with being promiscuous. Never thought I’d see the day.
It came as a regal shocker of the highest level to those who have known me for the longest time. These people have seen me collect and dispose lovers on a regular basis. Of course, those who really know me are aware that I’m the most faithful partner one can have in an honest-to-goodness relationship. They would not be surprised at all if I played the monogamy game in this situation. What made their eyebrows shoot all the way north is the fact that I’m trying to become monogamous when I’m not in a relationship at all, in a setup where romance is not even an active factor.
“Damn, he must be that good,” a friend said unbelievingly while we were downing several bottles of Red Horse in Malate. “I mean, so good that you willingly put a chastity belt to lock up that wonderfully active keps of yours. Wow. And to think he’s not your boyfriend or anything. Ayus. He must be hung like un taureau.”
We’ll leave it at that. But really, that’s not the point.
Let me explain. Promiscuity possesses an almost illegal thrill that one should experience at least once or twice in his lifetime. God knows I’ve had that definitely more than once or twice. Back then, it was too easy. Everytime I get hot and bothered, I can always call somebody who can screw me whenever, wherever. It was an erotic convenience that I have fully exploited. It probably didn’t help that these guys were hankering for my ass for the longest time and were pretty much willing to do anything I asked them to do. One of them was game enough to lie on the floor and have me step on his back, and I was wearing a deadly pair of black stilettos. You get the picture.
I’ve had so much desire on my hands, so much power. Not only was I indulging my dominatrix tendencies to the hilt, but I was gleefully acquiring body count as fast as I could say “Next!”
And then I got tired of it all. Just like that. Probably because whatever gratification I have felt was mostly mental, not physical. I was only satisfying my ego, not my body. Believe me, it does not go hand in hand. At the end of the day, it wasn’t so good after all. At first, I dismissed it as some kind of a prolonged boredom phase or some sort of an extended PMS episode. But it wasn’t. It got to a point that getting it on is as appealing as doing a thesis on quantum physics. I became utterly bored with sex, a concept that is downright laughable a year ago.
I know deep down that what my body craves for is that wonderful feeling of knowing where everything fits, which comes with familiarity. Knowing which buttons to push, which knobs to play with. Familiarity may equate to boredom for some people, but for me, it’s a huge turn-on. The more I’m accustomed to my partner’s body, the more intense I would be.
So I made some sort of vow that the next man who comes along, even if he is just a fuck buddy or an erotic friend, will have the luxury of having me all to himself. Whether this is right or wrong is something that I did not really dwell much on. Technically, if I’m single, I’m not obligated to be monogamous. It’s only fair. Exclusivity is for those who are in a relationship. But I decided to break that rule, knowing that I would break a lot more as I go on with my mission.
Of course, I considered the possible emotional implications of what I was about to do. I thought about it long and hard. There are risks, and the stakes are definitely high. I don’t have to spell out the complications. After mulling about it for several days, I made a decision.
Thus, I slammed my doors on promiscuity. In my case, the basic rule is “one at a time.”
As for that fortunate hombre who is probably enjoying the knowledge that I’m not screwing some other guy, well, let’s just say that his timing was impeccable. It helps that he’s got one of the most beautiful dicks I’ve ever seen, one that I could suck on hungrily all day. Staying monogamous is very easy because well, he’s really great in the sack. The man knows how to touch me. And since he’s the only one whom I’ve been sleeping with for quite some time, the pleasure is increased ten folds. Every touch is exquisite. His finger, tracing that erotic route from my neck down to the small of my back can already make me whimper helplessly. A light, teasing lick on my nipple can already make me gasp and grab at his hair. And everytime I mount him, I become so wet that my juices gush down continuously on him and soak his balls thoroughly. Yes, there are “valid” reasons for my “faithfulness.”
Needless to say, such overload of pleasure was quite impossible back when I was hopping from one bed to another. Yes, I am definitely reaping the rewards of putting on that “chastity belt” and giving him the key. Of course, no one can tell how long I’m gonna let him have it or for how long he’s willing to keep it. But it’s totally irrelevant. I’ve proven my point.
