Inflated … Ego?

I don’t know if there is a right or wrong time to talk about this. I don’t even know if I want to talk about it at all. But my fingers are tapping so I’m going with the flow, and right now I want to talk about a little problem called erectile dysfunction.

“So … um … I had a little problem before. Well, um, I guess you could call it a big problem. But, yeah, I couldn’t … um … get it, well, you know … up. But I definitely don’t have that problem with you. In fact, quite the opposite. Very much the opposite. That’s why I don’t want you to go anywhere!” 

It was day two of three. He’d stayed for one night already, and I don’t know how the conversation came up, but stood face to face in my bedroom, that’s what he said to me. Bear, I mean.

“Oh. Um. Okay, give me just a minute.” 

I needed a minute to compose myself. You can’t just blurt that kind of thing out to me in the middle of the afternoon. We weren’t even doing anything related to sex. I don’t even know if we were talking about it. Although, to be fair, we probably were. When I say we can’t get enough, we literally can’t. get. enough. It’s ridiculous. If I could walk around with that man’s fingers permanently inserted inside of me, I would.

I had my suspicions about this before. The penis problem. I wrote about it – I wondered why he kept directing all of his attention and focus onto me, and being an older man, a smoker, and a recovering alcoholic (I should probably talk about this), I wondered if a penis problem might be the case. He had no qualms waiting quite a while before we slept together, and it seemed to me that he’d put off going to the clinic when I asked too. And then he was late getting to mine on the one night where sex was DEFINITELY on the table with neon lights leading the way …

That didn’t feel like a man who was super excited to be gettin’ laid, that’s all I’m saying.

It all makes sense now though. He was worried. He was worried the first time I took his dick in my mouth, and he was worried the first time I rode him. Both times were a total disaster by the way. No, that’s a lie, not a total disaster. It just could have gone better. Luckily, as you can probably tell from my last Bear-post, we got there in the end, but it took a little bit of figuring-out. I’m glad he had the balls to just come out and say what he needed to say … even if I wasn’t ready for it. AT ALL.

“Look, it’s no big deal. Big boner, no boner, it’s all good. Your hands and mouth work magic on me, we’ll get there. Just don’t worry about it. Worrying about it only makes it worse you know. Plus, there are alternatives. I’ll just sit on your face!”

Obviously I accessorised my cheeky line with an equally cheeky little wink. I was testing the waters, you see – seeing what he’d be game for and not game for, working out what pushes his buttons. It turns out that sitting on his face pushes a lot of his buttons, all the good ones. Who’d have guessed … 😉

The previous night we’d done the afore mentioned blowjob / sex business, and it wasn’t great. Everything else was great – the build up, him playing with me, us fooling around and dry-humping in that way you do when you first start seeing someone and everything is extended foreplay. It’s when we got to the nitty gritty that things started to go awry, and within a couple of minutes of having his dick in my mouth, it had gone soft. I’ll be honest, that’s not something I’ve ever had to deal with before, and I was not prepared to deal with it. I should have been. I’d suspected it after all.

When it became apparent that the wind would not be returning to the sails, I worked my way up his body until I was sat astride him, lightly bouncing my butt cheeks with a mischievous little look on my face. It wasn’t long before the wind returned, and I seized my opportunity, pulling my silky black pants to one side and sliding down the length of him. Rocking back and forth in that way I like, it was just as I found that sweet spot that the wind died again. This time I could sense his frustration, especially as he knew I was getting close, so he flipped me over and went to town on me with his mouth, lapping me to an incredible orgasm. It really was incredible … it just wasn’t what I wanted. You know when you just want to ride him until that wave hits? Well, I wanted to ride him until that wave hit. And I couldn’t.

The rest of the night played out pretty much the same, although he wouldn’t allow me to pay too much attention to him. The damage had been done in his mind, and I knew he would be paranoid. So I let him play with me because that’s what he really wanted to do, and in the end, I collapsed into his arms, staying exactly there until we awoke in the morning.

We’d avoided morning sex on day two. I didn’t want to make too much of a move in case I scared his morning boner and it ran off again, and I think he felt the same. He finished me off with his expert skills but wouldn’t let me tend to him, and sex wasn’t really mentioned again. Well, until he said that thing to me about not being able to get it up a few hours later.

I could tell he was embarrassed but honestly, it wasn’t really that big of a deal. Yes, I got a little frustrated when I couldn’t make him cum in my mouth. I was even more frustrated when he lost his erection as I was riding him. But it didn’t affect our sex life. We hadn’t even had sex up until that point and I certainly had no complaints. I left the subject alone as we left to go and get coffee and brunch, and it wasn’t until much later when we were just relaxing on my bed that I decided to bring it up. Funnily enough, right before he started painting my face.

“You know, what you said earlier?” 

“What did I say earlier babe?”

“The … penis problem?” 

I couldn’t look at him as I said it. I didn’t know what to call it for a start. I didn’t want to call it erectile dysfunction because that’s clinical and horrible. I didn’t want to call it limp-dick because … well, that’s not sexy either. I had to say something though, so I took a deep breath and just said it to him.

“Listen, I’m just gonna say it. The whole penis problem thing … well, it’s really not important to me. The way you make me feel? You do that without your penis. You’ve been doing it without your penis up until this point, and you’ve basically got me eating out of the palm of your hand. When you worry about it, your penis gets scared and your boner will run off. Just don’t worry. I’m not taking offence. I’m not going to get upset about it. It’s not as if there aren’t a hundred and one other things we can do while we wait for it to come back, and if it doesn’t come back, I’ll just sit on your face. I wasn’t kidding when I said that.” 

He gave me the biggest hug. A bear hug. One of us needed to finish the conversation. It just felt as if it – the penis problem – was still hanging in the air. And honestly, it’s really not that big a deal. It really isn’t.

Once we’d stopped worrying about the problem the face-painting incident happened, and there was no loss of wind in his sails at any point, let me just tell you that. So I guess, for right now at least, we don’t even have a problem at all. Which brings me to another point, and perhaps my final point …

I’m either really hot, really good in bed, or I just made him feel super comfortable and good about himself. Because before me he hasn’t been able to get it up for a while, and on day two, and even day three, we had ZERO problems.

I bet you can guess how big my ego is right now.