SUCH A SIMPLE THING . . .

The interesting thing is, I never knew.

All those years wondering why I had such a low sex drive.  Even during my first marriage, we’d fuck and I’d lose interest for a week.  It wasn’t that I couldn’t attract women.  I’m reasonably attractive and not all that shy.  That wasn’t the problem.  I simply lost interest.

Nobody ever told me why . . . until I had a routine physical checkup three years ago.

“Anybody ever check your testosterone count?” asked the doc.

“No, should they?”

“Well, there’s no special reason, but some guys like to know.”

I told him to go ahead.  Why not?  What did I know?

A week later a routine lab report arrived at my apartment.  It said my testosterone count was way down on the low side for an adult male.  Of course, it didn’t really tell me what that meant, so I headed for the Internet.

Wow.

No wonder I’d lose interest.  Seemed I was creating so little testosterone it took a few days to build up a level of interest again after an orgasm.

That was a bummer, to be sure.

But, as it turned out, it was the beginning of a wonderful new sex life.

It started a couple months later.  I was feeling horny and spent a few hours drinking at a neighborhood bar.  Eventually I noticed a sexy young brunette at a corner table.  She seemed to be alone.  Nobody joined her for an hour.  A couple of guys tried, but she shooed them away.

I’m not sure what caused me to walk over and ask if I could buy her a drink, but I did.  And I was surprised when she looked me over for a moment and then said, “Sure.”

Two hours later we were back at my apartment.  I was a little drunk and before I knew it she was on top of me, riding herself to an orgasm.  I started to move with her, but she looked down and gasped “Wait!”  I did my best and managed to hold back until she finished, then rolled off me.  We lay there for a few moments and I started to stroke her side.  She turned toward me and looked me in the eyes.

“Can you do that again?” she asked.

“What?”

“Bring me off without cuming yourself?”

I was stunned at her question, but I could feel my cock getting even harder.  Unbelievable!  So I said, “Yeah, I can do that . . . ”

She told me to mount her, and I did, then started moving in and out of her, slowly at first, then with increasing speed.  I could feel the buildup starting deep inside my cock, but I resisted, even when she started to buck wildly beneath me.  She erupted with a scream and kept crying out for almost 30 seconds – and, somehow, I held myself back.

Once she collapsed she looked up at me and said, “Pull it out!”

“What?” I said.  “What about me?”

She just smiled and pushed upwards on my chest.  I pulled out and rolled over on my back.  Neither of us said anything for a couple of minutes.

Then, gently, I felt her hand moving across my thigh, finally grasping my erect (very erect!) member.  She began to stroke it, curling her fingers around the base of my cock-head, sliding her hand up and down the shaft.  I was delirious with pleasure and readied myself to explode.

Just as I reached the brink, she stopped.  I actually gasped out loud.  “What are you doing?” I moaned.

“Didn’t you like that?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I did,” I whispered as I tried to catch my breath.  “But . . .”

“Don’t try to figure it out,” she said.  “Just enjoy it.”

We spent the next six hours together.  I brought her off three more times and I never did cum, not even at the end.

She left, and I lay there, my cock like an iron bar and my body so aroused I couldn’t believe it.

The next few days were agonizing.  Not only did I not lose interest, I couldn’t think about anything else.  And I realized I’d had one of the sexiest nights I’d ever had – and wanted more.

I went back to the same bar every night that week, looking for her.  She hadn’t given me her name or her phone number, and she didn’t come back to the bar.  Not for a week.

Finally, I saw her walking in from my perch at the table where we’d first met.  She stood in the doorway awhile and I hungered after her.  She was about five-five, 120 pounds, with large breasts and a narrow waist.  Long dark hair and black boots up to her knees.  She was wearing jeans and a tight black t-shirt that accentuated her curves.

As she stood in the doorway, her eyes searched the room – and when they fell on me, she smiled and started over.

“Can I join you?” she asked.

I just smiled and waved a hand at the chair next to me.  She sat down and grinned, then put her hand on my thigh, rubbing it a bit.  My cock nearly burst through my jeans.

We didn’t say much for the next few minutes, just sensed each other . . . but an hour later we were back at my apartment.

She told me her name.  Jane.  She gave me her phone number.  And then she told me her rules.

“When I’m with you,” she said, “whether it’s at your place or mine, I want you entirely naked the entire time.  I want to see what’s happening with your cock.  And there’s one thing you must remember:  I own that cock.  You aren’t allowed to touch it, either when you’re with me or when we’re apart, unless I give you permission.  And your cock isn’t the only thing I own – I also own your orgasm.  You don’t have one unless I tell you it’s okay.”

By this time my cock was bouncing it was so hard.

“You like those rules, don’t you?” she grinned, and I just nodded.  I couldn’t believe what was happening to me.  But, somewhere in the back of my mind, I understood:  The testosterone would continue to build.  It wouldn’t be drained away.  I’d stay hard and I’d stay turned on.  And by this time I realized how exciting, how pleasurable, how frustrating and how tantalizing it could be to be right at the brink, all the time, and never tip over.

“One more thing,” she added, her grin even wider, “and this isn’t something I even have to say out loud.  But I will.  You’re going to discover that the longer you go without an orgasm, the more you’ll want to please me, the more you’ll want to touch me, the more you’ll want to fuck me, with your lips, your hands, and even with your cock.  That’s a rule, actually:  You have to do anything I tell you to do sexually, whenever I tell, without protesting.  It’s a rule – but, really, you won’t be able to help yourself once you’re completely frustrated.  You’ll do anything I say.”

Turns out she was right.  The more she teased me, the more times I fucked her, the more times she brought me to the brink and stopped – the more I wanted her and the more I was willing to do anything she asked.

Jane spends a couple of nights a week with me.  We’re thinking about getting married.  I’ve known her for almost three years and I’ve never had an orgasm with her in the room.  Sometimes, as she leaves she’ll give me permission to jack off, but she makes me promise I’ll do it as quickly as I can and without fantasizing – she wants it to give me as little pleasure as possible.  Actually, the only times she lets me cum are when she knows she’ll be away for at least five days (of course, she never tells me at the beginning of the evening that this will be one of those nights, so I never really think about it).  She wants me to masturbate as soon as she leaves, then start thinking about her again.  By the time she sees me a few days later, I’m fully primed.

I’m not sure how that will play out if we’re married and living in the same place.  But it might be okay:  We both travel a lot on business, so we’ll probably work my masturbation into our travel schedules.

For all I know, Jane has other lovers.  She never speaks of them and never tells me much about what she does when we’re apart.  If we wind up living together, I expect she’ll occupy her nights on the road however she wishes.  But she made it clear early in our relationship that if I wanted to be with her I had to be a one-woman man.  I asked her then if she’d be a one-man woman, but she never answered.  She just smiled.

END