21 Days

I last had an orgasm at around 9pm on Saturday. If all goes to plan, I won’t have another one till some time in the late afternoon or early evening of Saturday 16^th March, a gap of almost exactly 21 days.

To understand why, you should first read this post from April 2017. You should also note that I am a) extremely competitive, and b) easily goaded into attempting ridiculous challenges. As a result, what began as an impulsive response to Liv’s semi-serious suggestion has become something of an annual project, with steadily escalating difficulty levels. Not least because the more people know about it, the more they seem intent on making things…hard for me.

So yes, anyway, 10 days in 2017 became 16 days in 2018, and now I’m three days into what will apparently become a three-week period of full-on orgasm denial. As I said in my original post, that doesn’t mean I won’t be having sex – far from it. If anything, I expect Liv to be more demanding in that sense, and not just because I’ll be walking around with pretty much a permanent hard-on; the opportunity to tease, torment, and generally mess with me is one she’s unlikely to pass up, so I’m prepared for the fact that I’ll be spending a lot of time gritting my teeth and counting slowly in my head.

None of which I object to in the slightest. Again I realise I’m repeating myself, but sex isn’t only about orgasms – and certainly the male orgasm could do with taking a back seat far more often than it typically does. Removing it as a possibility forces both of us to focus on different things for a while, which this time round feels particularly important; with a baby, our opportunities for unhurried sex have been a bit more sporadic lately, so we’ve not prioritised exploration and experimentation as much as either of us might have liked. We now have a three-week window in which everything we do has an inbuilt kink factor, and I think that will bleed through into the sex itself.

What I’m thinking about today though is not the period of denial itself, but its ultimate climax (yes, I went there). Two years ago, we made a Day 10 video, which I shared in the subsequent post, and that was hot enough in itself. However, this time round it’s possible that something altogether filthier and more squirm-inducing (for me, at least) will take place on Day 21. Something that taps into the rich vein of exhibitionism and borderline public humiliation/exposure that runs through a lot of my fantasies – typified by this excellent story that Malin James wrote for my birthday a couple of years ago.

It’s actually why I’ve moved this year’s challenge forward to February/March, and why I’m ending it on Saturday 16^th. That night Liv and I will be staying at a hotel in Camden, along with a whole load of our friends from the blogging community, who’ll be gathered there for this year’s Eroticon. At some point before the evening social, I’m hoping a few (or more than a few…) of them will join us in our room and make up an enthusiastic/curious/appreciative audience while I bring my three weeks of denial to a very messy conclusion…

Basically, I want a bunch of people to come and watch me masturbate.

Unf. Yeah, even just typing that makes me shiver a bit. I want to take my clothes off – a whole show in itself, I suspect – and sit there fully naked on a bed or chair in the middle of a hotel room, with friends, lovers, and maybe the odd stranger or two gathered round expectantly, waiting to see what happens next. I want to apply lube methodically to my cock and get myself hard, then close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of my slicked fingers gliding and squeezing from base to tip and back again, over and over as the pressure slowly builds.

I don’t know how I’ll feel when I look up and make eye contact with people in the audience, and that’s exciting in itself. Will I be consumed by shyness? Will the adrenaline kick in and give me the confidence I need to make it a real performance? Will the whole thing just be lovely and supportive and relaxed, leaving me buoyant with happiness long before I’ve got anywhere close to orgasm? I genuinely have no idea – but I want to find out.

I also want to know how the people watching me will respond. With some, I think I can guess, but not all of them have seen a live sex show before. I want them to take photos if they feel like doing so, or merely to relax and take it all in if they don’t. Maybe they’ll be shy, or maybe I’ll catch them wriggling in their seats, and know immediately that they’re as turned on by the whole thing as I am.

I think that what I want most of all is to enjoy those last few minutes before I finally allow myself to come. The bit where everyone knows what’s about to happen, and I can see people inching forward in anticipation, their eyes glued to the rhythm of hand on cock as it gets more desperate and staccato. I want to listen to their breathing, and maybe to the soft murmur of voices as they whisper thoughts and observations to each other.

In my hazier, flushed-chest moments, I fantasise about that murmur of voices growing louder and more assertive. About jokey commentary from some of the more outgoing audience members, and maybe the odd direction or command from the dominant ones. I contemplate bringing toys with me, and allowing someone to work a fat butt plug inside my ass mid-wank, so I’m suddenly even less able to control my physical response to the situation.

I wonder what will happen when it becomes clear to everyone that I’m about to pass the point of no-return. I imagine I’ll have little real sense of what I’m doing at that stage, and that I’ll come round to find people staring at the puddles of jizz coating my stomach and chest – but maybe not? There are other places to shoot it, after all.

When it’s over, I know I don’t want to feel embarrassed or overly vulnerable, which is why it will largely be people we know and love who are invited to attend. I won’t need aftercare or awkward, smothering attention, but I will need to feel like I can smile and laugh and make filthy jokes with everyone gathered there, as I clean up and put my clothes back on. Like it’s a shared experience that will bring us closer, and put colour in everyone’s cheeks before the evening’s even begun.

I don’t know how much of this will ultimately happen. Perhaps I’ll be consumed by shyness. Perhaps people will decide the prospect of watching me wank in that kind of environment is just too weird. And who knows, perhaps I’ll spunk in my sleep on night 20, bringing the whole thing to a premature end. But if it does happen…oh, if it does, I think I’ll enjoy it very much indeed – and hopefully I won’t be the only one.