The relationship I have had with my right hand is, without question, the longest sexual relationship I have had, stretching back (no pun intended) for over 35 years. During this time, my hand has given me more orgasms than I can remember, and a few women have enjoyed its attentions too. So, what am I thinking about when I take those stiff several inches of myself into my hands? The truth is, not a lot. I’ve never really been one for fantasising during my solo sessions; I’m much more of a sensualist , and so, most of the time I’m simply experiencing the sensations. It starts, of course, with arousal. I’m hard and, for whatever reason, I cannot ignore it and hope that it goes away. It needs direct attention. Now ask any of women who have shared my bed over the years and they will tell you that I am an extremely tactile and sensitive person. When aroused, touch me just about anywhere and I will flinch, squirm and moan. I love it when a woman drives me wild touching me, kissing me,
Just a man, sharing his thoughts and words; trying to make the worls a happier place, one naughty hashtag at a time.