Autopilot

(Even if you think this post is shit, please skip to the end for an important announcement)

Last September I wrote about why I don’t like blowjobs. I stand by most of the points I made in that post (even if my overall position has shifted slightly…), but I could really have boiled the whole thing down to one key issue: when someone’s sucking my cock, it’s often very hard for me to get out of my own head.

I was trying to explain this to someone recently. When I’m having sex, and when the sex is good, for the most part I’m too busy – too horny – for conscious thought. Depending on the position, my hands, lips, tongue, legs, and arse are all likely to be involved in some way, and if we’re face-to-face there will also be eye contact to draw in all of my focus. Sex is kinetic: lots of moving parts. When a woman has my cock in her mouth, that’s often not the case. Everything can suddenly feel very still. Distant, detached and remote. The area around my head and torso can start to get very isolated, and as soon as that happens my brain gets twitchy. It wants to think.

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Like most people, I think about sex a lot. I think about it when I wake up in the morning, and I think about it when I go to bed at night. I think about it in the shower, on the toilet, and while I’m making a cup of tea. I think about it on trains, in cars, and every time I’m flying somewhere. I think about it when I go out running, and I think about it when I’m in the pub with a glass of wine. I think about it while I’m writing, Tweeting, chatting, texting, and on the phone to my Mum.

You get the idea.

However, when I’m actually having sex, the last thing I want to do is think about it. I don’t want to think about anything, in fact. I want to sweep every last little thought out of my brain, then wrap it carefully in cotton wool and tuck it away at the back of a cupboard.

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Bear with me on this, but sex falls into the same category as driving, falling asleep, exams, job interviews, golf, flying, and a bunch of other stuff. Rely on some combination of experience, instinct, natural ability, training and preparation, and you’ll be just fine. Get out of your own head for a bit, relax, make it kinetic, and the body is generally able to do the rest by itself. As soon as you start actively thinking about the mechanics of what you’re doing, things go wrong.

What happens when I fail to turn off my brain during sex? Hmm, let’s see…

Things I sometimes think during sex*

1. Uh oh
2. Get back in your cupboard, brain
3. I’m about to get cramp in my foot
4. Jesus, now I have cramp in my foot
5. I just know my face is a really unattractive shade of red right now
6. Is this deep/hard/gentle/fast/slow enough for her?
7. Why isn’t she making any noise?
8. Those loud noises she’s making sound really fake – shit, is she faking it?
9. She thinks my cock is too small
10. I bet the last guy she fucked was way bigger
11. What if I come too quickly?
12. What if I can’t come at all?
13. From that angle, she can see right up my nose
14. I’m about to burp/fart/hiccough – stupid body
15. Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP

And I promise you, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Why do I think those things? Because like 95% of people, I’m a complete basket case. I have a whole bunch of hang-ups and insecurities, and while I agree with Malin James that you increase your control over those as you get older, there are still moments when I have to fight hard to keep a lid on the crazy.

The silver lining is that the crazy is only ever directed inwards. For example…

Things I never think during sex

1. Woah, look at that cellulite
2. Her orgasm face is weird
3. I wish she had more clothes on
4. She’s too fat
5. She’s too thin
6. What is with that hair?
7. I’ve never seen nipples like those before
8. Why does her arse wobble each time I thrust inside her?
9. Etc etc

If we’ve made it as far as the bedroom, it’s safe to say that I find you hot, and will be largely blind to whatever you consider to be your physical flaws. I won’t notice that spot on your chin, or the hair you found on one of your breasts last night and have been obsessing about ever since. Even if my eyes see them, my brain won’t care. That’s not because I’m superficial (though I’m pretty sure I am): it’s because when we’re fucking, what I’ll notice is the stuff that made me want to get into your pants in the first place.

I’m not saying that the sex is never bad. Every now and then the sex is terrible, and because I’m not a saint I’ll sometimes blame the other person for that. They just lie there with their eyes shut, or they can’t kiss, or when they stroke my cock it’s like that time in Year 9 Woodwork, when Wayne O’Brien got his sleeve caught in the sanding machine and ripped half the skin off the back of his hand. But when those things happen, I say something. Not in a nasty way – I’m not that guy – but these days I will speak up if it’s not working for me, and I’ll try to find a way to fix the problem.

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I’ve got much better at telling my brain to shut up. First during sex, then, over the last 12 months, during oral. I’ll never have perfect control over it though. There will always be the odd night when I feel insecure, or when the right switch doesn’t get tripped and the lights in my head are just too bright. When that happens, I have to take a deep breath and step back for a minute. I have to breathe. Some people understand that. They understand, and they know: it’s really not you…it’s me.

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*There’s a difference here between thought and fantasy – between words and pictures. I have all sorts of hot/kinky/dirty/illicit images that I’ll occasionally scroll through in my head during sex, especially if I need something to push me over the edge. My friend. My sister’s friend. My mate’s wife. My mate’s husband. That office right next to the boardroom where everyone can hear us if we make any noise. The lift with the glass walls, and your tits squished against one of them as I fuck you in full view of the city below. Every now and then I’ll use those images to get me off, but it’s like loading a DVD, or a porn clip I bookmarked last week. It’s like engaging auto-pilot – not staring down over the nose of the plane at the ground below.

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P.S. This is my 97^th post. #98 will be about bucket lists, and #99 will be an image for Sinful Sunday. That means #100 will probably be up early next week.

This blog started off as a random collection of fairly boring dick pics. Since I moved to Poland, it’s been a mix of fiction, commentary, autobiography, and hopefully slightly better dick pics. For my 100^th post though, I’d like to do something a little different.

As a white, male, heterosexual(ish) sex blogger, two things are undeniably true:

1. I write from a position of privilege
2. I’m in the minority when it comes to what I write

I don’t think those are mutually exclusive, and I try to bear both in mind when I post stuff, even if I don’t always succeed.

For my 100^th post, I’m going to shamelessly rip off something Girl on the Net did a couple of months ago, and do a Q&A. Or a ‘Q & Exhibit A’, if you will. If the last few months on Twitter are anything to go by, lots of you have questions. There are a few that I won’t answer – my full name, for example – but for the most part I’m happy to satisfy that curiosity, whether it relates to me as a person, or to the male view in general.

Send me your questions by email, by DM, or in the comments section here, and if there are enough of them by next week, that will be my 100^th post. You people are the reason I continue to blog, so it only seems right that you should all be part of this particular milestone.