Green-eyed Beastly Desires


Now, darling. Onto news. I see a little video camera thingy next to Milky. Something tells me you've been watching the boys. Or at least trying to watch the boys. Or dreaming about watching the boys.

First of all, can I just say that I love it when he calls me darling?  I ******* LOVE IT.  And it's not just in writing.  He can pull it off on the phone as well.  I can't recall if he said it when we were together in Manhattan, because I was on sensory overload, having to hold back from mauling him like some crazed lioness in heat trying to mate with him to relieve the pent-up desire inside me.  The desire first borne from a beautiful piece he wrote, culminating in the realization that he was absurdly good looking and he tasted great when I kissed him.  He may have called me darling, but my brain was in so much hormonal overdrive that I simply can't recall.

There's something so breezy, so retro, so old school, so fabulous about the word darling coming from a man.  It's the sort of wry endearment that came from Bill Powell's Nick Charles when he addressed his beloved Nora.  Insouciant.  Yet loving. 

Anyway.  If I analyze every word he's written to me, we are going to be here all day, and I'm aware that you don't have all day, so I'll try to get to the point.  But can I just say that the next sentence makes me smile?  Who says **** like that?  "Onto news."  Man, you have to love a guy who talks like that.  Who writes like that.  It's marvelous, really.

This whole video thing is because of him, you know.  He likes to cam, and I wanted to see him.  I wanted to touch and taste and smell and hear him as well, but the technology is limited to sight and sound, so the touching, tasting and smelling will have to wait until some day in the future when the fates allow us to be together for some stolen moments.  Stolen from our mates, I mean.  In order for there to be time for us, we've got to take away some time that he'd spend with his wife and I with my husband.  I'm willing enough to do the reallocation of hours on my end, given the history of my marriage, but I do worry sometimes about the karma that might bite me in the butt if some hours are shifted from my buddy's wife to me.  Also, there is the simple fact that I do not wish to hurt anyone.  But sometimes the selfish beast inside of me refuses to worry about such things.  We shall see if that beast is successful as time goes on.

The camera icon was beside my name on gmail because I'd downloaded the google video and voice in hopes of seeing my buddy ***.  I could say it was because I wanted to see his smiling face (which I did) or hear his lovely voice (ditto) or catch a glimpse of his office nook (ditto) or see his manhood peeking out from his jeans where he'd released it. (heck yes).  But the truth is the main attraction was an action shot.  After all, the rest of those things can be accomplished via a still photo and a phone call.  This was a call to action.  The action of performing stroking designed to get oneself off.  Live action, to be clear.  I've a video clip of him doing the deed long before he met me.  Delightful, really.  But the idea of watching as he wanked was wickedly exciting. 

The thing is, once you've done it - watched, I mean - the world knows it.  Nat Hawthorne's crimson A isn't plastered on one's chest, but that green video camera silhouette announced that my green eyes were enabled to watch gentlemen who aspired to perform.  What fascinated me was that, unlike many men who have expressed a certain degree of jealousy over my attentions to others, my buddy seemed amused at the prospect.  "Watching the boys" indeed!  As if.

I felt the slightest bit miffed, thinking of his nonchalance regarding my possible exploits.  Didn't he care that I might be looking at other men jacking their junk, spurting their seed?  Did I matter so little to him that he'd make a joke like that instead of declaring some sort of desire that I cam exclusively with him?  And by "cam" I mean watch someone on cam.  Because I'd not shown as much as my little finger on the cam the other day with him.  I was simply the watcher.   A different thought crossed my mind.  Was he like one of those wife sharing guys?  Excited when his woman played around with other men?  Except, of course, I wasn't really his woman, even though I fancy myself in love with him enough to want to spend the rest of eternity together.  Other than a few highly specialized topics like the allure of pegging and blow jobs, we've not gotten to know each other nearly well enough to share a refrigerator and oven.  It takes more than a few months of correspondence to make a couple for all seasons. 

Then I relaxed, realizing that this was a good thing, this teasing about "watching the boys."  God knows I wished I'd received that sort of  playful response when I was posting whiteboard stuff last September to friends and my randy lover freaked with jealousy.  Such silliness.  Jealousy is dumb.  If one has love, joking around and flirting does not threaten it.  Besides, I was not his to be jealous over.  Just as my buddy is not mine to be jealous over.  It does not, however, prevent me from feeling a pang now and then when I see that he has a new friend or has comments on someone's post, declaring the story "hot."

I want that adjective reserved for me.  For my stories.  I want to be the one who gives him a fever, who warms his heart, who turns him on.  But it is foolish to be jealous or insecure.  Either he likes me or he doesn't.  And I enjoy watching him interact with others because it helps me understand more what turns him on and makes him hot.  I cannot live my life worried about whether  the man I love is going to meet someone who steals his affections from me.  That happened once in my life, and I worried about whether there would be a repeat of it, either from the same thief or another.  Twelve years later, there's been no sign of it recurring. What a waste of spirit it is to worry.  I don't worry any more.  I am at peace.  The beast has closed its green eyes, no longer watching my marital relationship.

For the record, I've not watched any other boys.  But I might watch one or two just to expand my knowledge base of what it's like to watch different men. 

I look at the tumblr blog my buddy and I are building, and I find a lovely bit of reassurance that I matter to him, and he enjoys my company.  In captioning one photo of some particularly hot action, he'd typed "Even if I were the only guy on the planet wanting this, I’d still announce that I want this from you. -t"

Reading that, I sense the beast further diminishing.  In fact, as I read the caption again, my heart fills and the green-eyed beast lumbers off, while his brown-eyed cousin remains, lustful and predatory, ready to goad and cheer me on in taking this good man's *** with my *******. 

Not all beasts are bad.  Some are quite fun.
 
milkynips milkynips
46-50, F
1 Response May 10, 2012

Only one or two more might you watch? OMG, I can only imagine the line forming. This will be like winning the lottery. <br />
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Hot as ever, Dearest Milk!

Thank you, love. I don't suppose you have a cam, do you? :-)

I have on a very few occassions expressed myself in this medium. And across this medium. And on top of this medium. And shot clear over this medium.