Warning: this entry was written back in 2011 when I was a bit of a shitbag and had some fairly trash opinions. I stand by what I said about not having a massive wank in anticipation of a date, but some of the other stuff is way harsher than I’d write if I were doing this post today.
If you have problems getting hard I will always say “it doesn’t matter.” You can hold me and fuck me with your hand, eat me out, beat me up, tell me I’m the sexiest fucking thing you’ve ever seen and it’s all just nerves/drink/etc and give me orgasms so explosive I can’t stand up for a while.
But it does still matter. It really does.
There’s nothing more satisfying than shoving your hands down someone’s trousers and finding something nice and hard to grip – rock solid. Sometimes, with particularly keen boys, it’s dripping. Hawt.
If I reach down and you’re flaccid it’s … disappointing. I’ll smile and I’ll kiss you and I’ll suck you until you regain some semblance of a hardon, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.
It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, and usually it’s a hurdle I’m willing to leap for someone filthy and funny and fuckable. But sometimes your reasons give me cause to not invite you back. Here’s the breakdown:
I’ve drunk too much
Fair enough: good excuse. But if you’ve drunk so much that you can’t get hard, why did you come back to mine? I wouldn’t invite you back if I’d glued my pants on and was incapable of sex, so why do you think it’s OK to make promises you know you won’t be able to keep? If you can’t fuck, don’t accept my invitation to fuck – you’ll only disappoint.
If you are in this situation, it’s far far better to snog me at the bus stop, grab my tits and growl something predatory into my ear, then tell me you’ll see me tomorrow or next week. That gives you time to sober up a bit, and gives me time to frig myself blind thinking about you in the meantime. Everyone’s a winner.
I’m old
Men of a certain age often develop problems with erectile dysfunction. I am not stupid. I also love older guys (there’s something about a dirty old man that makes me blush and get hot). So this is obviously an acceptable excuse.
It’s also, brilliantly, a problem for which medical science has come up with a solution. If you can’t get hard without help; get some fucking help. In my experience those sweet sweet blue pills get you hard enough that you’d confidently expect to beat a hormonal teenager in a boner-duel.
Massive disclaimer: I am not medically qualified and Viagra may have certain side effects that are bad for you. Please check with your GP, don’t just buy some random shit off the internet, yeah?
I’m on anti-depressants
These cause problems for a lot of guys. Am I particularly drawn to guys who are on anti-depressants, or is it just the case that a lot of people take them? Who knows. But I’ve been informed that, for some people, these can cause occasional impotence and anorgasmia.
That sucks, and you can have every ounce of sympathy that I have to spare at the time of you telling me this. But it isn’t going to make me acquiesce to any other kind of play. I’m not going to agree to fuck you if you’ve told me you can’t fuck – if there’s nothing in me there’s nothing in it for me.
I had a massive wank in anticipation of our date
This is not an excuse. Ever. If you do this I will be livid, and you don’t deserve my gentle “it doesn’t matter”s and soft blow jobs to try and make things work again.
Why, in anticipation of something sexual, would you want to forcibly expel all the sexual power from your body? Men often complain about the sexual power that women hold over them, with our lovely tits and sashaying arses that hold you in so much thrall. Well, you have that power over women too, and your power is generally manifest in a rock-solid dick that we’d like to sit on. So don’t get rid of it.
If you’re worried that you might get an erection under the table, get over that worry and think about what it means. If you were on for a shag anyway, your under-the-table erection is not a tragic, teenage thing; it’s an excuse for me to touch you under the fucking table.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a good wank as much as the next sex-crazed harpy, but if your onanism interferes with the sex you’ve promised me, I’m going to kick off. Understand that there’s a time and a place for it. Before you come out to see me is definitely not the right time. But kneeling on my stomach with your cock poised over my tits is probably a pretty good place.
Postscript: I know this isn’t the done thing for girls to say – we’re supposed to be totally fine with impotence and accept that there’s more to sex than just penetration. And there is, for most people. But for me, that stuff is all just nice window-dressing for the bit that actually gets me off – the bit where your rock-solid cock is in me.
Call me whatever you like, and tell me I’m a bastard, but if you could only get off if I pissed on your face and I was unwilling or unable to piss on your face, I wouldn’t expect you to have sex with me anyway – I’d expect you to find someone who could fulfil your specific sexual needs. My specific sexual need is that you’re hard. Hard and in me.
13 Comments
I completely agree. The touching and foreplay is always fun and what not, but at the end of the day, that’s all it is. Foreplay. Most of the time a nice hard dick is what I’m really looking for. Just stick it in me, and stick it in me now.
I have no problem with anything you’ve said. Maybe that’s because I’ve never had this problem. Even when I’ve taken loads of drugs. (i don’t drink much) And I have also been on anti-depressants. The best, or worst, depending on which way you’re looking at it, is coming down off opiates. Feels like you’ve suddenly had your sensitivity magnified 1000 times. Only trouble is stopping yourself from coming too quickly. But even if you do, you can be ready to go again before you’ve lost any rigidity.
It’s happened to me a couple of times, and I’ve always said “it isn’t you, it’s “.
Actually, it *is* you. I was up for it when we clicked. I wanted to fuck you. But then we got to your place and… well, you wanted to do it with Emmerdale Farm still blaring out of the TV. Or your phone rang and you put your hands over my ears so I wouldn’t hear your boyfriend leaving a message. Or you have a body that is worse than mine under your nice clothes. Or you stink and need to shower first.
As a gay guy, I’m not representative of straight men, but I’m still a man. And if my high sex drive (honestly, you could bring me off with your foot in a crowded railway carriage – it really doesn’t take much beyond being interested – I’m a man) can fail for nothing-in-particular, then I’m not unique.
Apologies for the honesty.
Christ, don’t apologise for *honesty*. If people couldn’t be honest then we’d all end up having boring sex with people we were just being polite to – shuffling around the bedroom saying ‘after you’ before shagging stoically in the manner of Victorian pensioners.
You make a good point, which someone else has made to me anonymously since I posted this – sometimes you just realise you’re not into it. And that’s a fair point. I’d say in this situation, were it to happen to me, I’d appreciate the honesty of someone saying ‘look, love, it’s just not working. How about you fuck off home for a wank, eh?’ One of the most precious things we have is time, so let’s not waste it on fucking people we don’t want to fuck.
And yeah. Emmerdale Farm? It’s a very niche fetish.
Nah. All seems pretty reasonable, to be honest. Most of it being *common sense* ffs.
Ask me again in 15-20 years and I might say different, but by then I’d likely to be ascribing to the medical science perspective anyhow. Everyone’s a winner.
Wait? Ascribing? Really?
Clearly subscribing.
I’ve never had a problem with such issues before but being an insulin dependent diabetic and recently fixed with the future that is a diabetic pump, I found myself in a pretty embarrassing situation last year. Quite drunk, a girl I was with pretty much leapt on me back at hers. After making her cum a couple of times I then found my blood sugars had dropped really low due to the exercise involved and alcohol taken and lets just say I became much less than useful. I tried to explain it was a medical thing but she got really arsey with me, as though it was her fault I wasn’t hard anymore and she even refused to help me find sugar, saying I was lying and nearly causing me to go into a coma. I ended up scouring a flat I didn’t know, finding some out of date orange juice & then lying as far away from her on a small bed as possible before skulking away in the morning feeling all a bit shit about myself and hugely frustrated.
Just sayin’, sometimes there are other reasons too.
Excellent example – this hadn’t occurred to me at all. For what it’s worth this woman sounds like a gold-plated bag of dicks. I think in that situation I’d have given you a Mars bar at the very least. Thanks for sharing, not least because this now gives me an excuse to stock up on chocolate lest I ever meet a dude like you. It’s definitely not just an excuse to buy shitloads of relaunched Wispa Golds.
Thankfully I haven’t experienced this from a guy so I’m not sure how worthwhile my comment would be – I just wanted to say you look really gorgeous in this pic, love the corset. x
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you said. As a guy, I’ve been in this situation several times – as a teenager I got nerves the first couple of times and well, lost it. It’s frustrating and using tongue and hands and toys just isn’t the same. It really does matter.
That being said, the situation certainly cuts both ways – I once took a girl home after much fondling and making out, only to be informed as we tumbled onto my bed that it was that time of the month, to paraphrase you:
“It’s far far better to snog me at the bus stop, grab my package and moan something filthy into my ear, then tell me you’ll see me tomorrow or next week. That gives your lady-parts time to cycle onwards, and gives me time to pump myself blind thinking about you in the meantime. Everyone’s a winner.”
Then again – maybe she was just polite and stopped feeling it just like another commenter above!
(p.s. I heard about you through the Pod Delusion, nice interview)
Only happened to me when the chick was a cold fish, wouldn’t take me in her mouth, wouldn’t touch me. Basically lay there like she was in a coma.
She probably bitched to her mates about what a dud root I was.
Normally I’m hard enough it still touches my belly button – and I’m over 40 now.
Diabetic myself. If you haven’t got your meds-vs-blood-sugar ducks all in a row, you can be knackered. Ladies, its *not* personal.
Here you are with a hot woman (she’s had the stones and the smartness to see past my age, ungodlike physique and cut cock) who’s sexy as all hell, wet from attentive foreplay (learn the pleasure of prolonged anticipation) and, dammit, suddenly your cock curls up and *hides*.
If you feel cheated, ladies, then dammit, so do I.
I want to curl up and die of shame, or scream the walls down, because Im not having fun either. That’s before you say anything, because the look of dismay on your face feels like a kick in the guts.
So, be “a gent” and at least try to comprehend that I feel shit about it too, and at that point I’m so utterly vulnerable to you (because I’m in your bed/car/on your sofa with you to please you, not just myself) that a bit of consideration will turn you into a goddess from my perspective.
And tenderness right then may do the trick and rescue our fun ;)
Oh and yes, great photo GOTN. Sorry for the rant, this scenario really hit a raw nerve. =)