As a sex-obsessed creep, nearly anything can make me think about sex. That doesn’t mean anything can make me horny, though. Often, thinking about sex is much more depressing than arousing. Let’s take a tour through some of what typically sends me into a sexual spiral.
Women’s underwear in department stores will do it to me. I try to avoid this section of stores, unless I plan to take a pair of underwear into a changing room with me. Sometimes I’ll wrap a pair around my cock and use it to massage my shaft right there in the changing room. I’ll either come all over the mirror and return the panties to the shelf from which I took them, or I’ll come all over them, wad them up, and leave them on the floor.
Seeing condoms in a pharmacy is bad news. I can avoid them in pharmacies I know, but I have more trouble if I’m in one I don’t often visit. I’ll turn a corner looking for paper towels and there they’ll be, waiting for someone who actually needs them. I hate thinking about that. I’ll turn another corner and face a shelf of tampons. They get me thinking about the contours of vaginas I won’t get to explore. I’ll think about how badly I want menstrual blood on my face or on my bare cock. They stir other disquieting thoughts. Something about tween tampons is really hot. Just the word tween is sexy. I know. I’m sick.
Grocery stores create additional problems. Every aisle has some pain waiting for me. Seeing honey on a shelf makes me a couple licking it off one another. Breakfast foods make me picture a new couple sharing their first breakfast together. I have a complex about buying bananas. Large one make me feel inadequate. Magazine covers in the checkout lane wear at me with their cover stories about “Mind Blowing Sex!” I turn from them only to see bubble gum and lollypops. I can’t wait to leave.
The most mundane experiences incite my thoughts. A snowstorm hits. I imagine people snowed in and fucking all day. A group of teenagers passes me. I think about them skipping school to fuck while their parents aren’t home. I sit on a bus seat. I dwell on the last pussy that sat there and how much time had passed since that pussy got licked. I can’t even go to a post office. Why? I know this is fucked up, but missing persons posters always excite me. Ugh.
More on this next week.