OK guys..we’re in the natural habitat of the human man. You can see that it’s a very lush area, not too dangerous, but still want to be careful. Never know what’s lurking. Over here we got vidya games, a stack of gym socks wadded up into little half balls, and a pet lizard. Not too treacherous, but watch your step here.
Woah woah woah! I think we found one guys! Oh crikey, look at that man on the computer chair watching porn while he strokes his hard cock. We have to be careful here, you never know when that thing will spit at ya. It’s okay big fella, I’m not gonna hurt ya.
Take a look at that cock. See the striping along the center? He must have been a massive fight sometime in his life. And that coloring…just gorgeous! Let’s get a closer loo—woah there! Easy, boy..EASY! We made eye contact..a sign of dominance over his surroundings.
Oh ho ho! He’s a feisty fella, ain’t he? We caught him off guard. He’s gonna shell up and protect himself from us. This could get a bit dangerous. Let’s back away, guys..slowly, slowly. It’s alright big guy, we’re leaving. You’re alright, you’re alright..
Masturbation is normal for me and Ryan. So much so that when are alone together, watching a movie, laying around, or getting ready for bed, it’s common for us to put a hand down our own pants and just…relax. Not to orgasm, not to be perverted, but to simply relax. In fact, if he’s not spooning me, I lay in his arm and hold his balls or dick in my hand. It’s become second nature to me. Just last night, I was laying next to him watching a movie, and I guess he felt my wrist tendons moving against his leg and asked, “Are you touching yourself?” I was. Not to cum, but it just felt good to lay there and tickle my lips while I straddled his body watching a movie together. We have no shame, because I do this very openly and do not care if he feels, sees, or knows I am playing with myself, even when sex is the furthest things from our minds.
So, one day last week, I decided that I wanted to watch Ryan masturbate like he was alone in the room by himself. Although I have seen him masturbate a lot, it was always with me sitting on his face or laying on his stomach rubbing his balls. I had never really watched him masturbate like he was totally alone without me helping or being his visual stimulation. I pulled out his dick as he sat on his computer chair. He loaded xhamster on his computer as I sat next to him. He got comfortable and searched for “woman deepthroat,” which was perfect. I love to see a woman deepthroat. We both do.
Change of plans. I need to touch his dick and feel it in my hands. I can’t just sit there while porn is on, emotionless like it’s a science project. 🙁 Instead of watching him masturbate alone, I decided I would stroke his dick off for him, while he used his free hands to browse porn and do what he would normally do if I was not in the room. Except obviously he has the benefit of being totally hands free.
Continue Reading Watching Him In His Natural Habitat – My Husband’s Masturbation Habits
I’ve decided to write a blog about dirty talk and translate it with different perspectives, including my own. This was written lightheartedly and isn’t intended to be fact. I’m sure some men actually do have intelligible babble while they talk dirty in the bedroom.
During work at about 2 P.M. I got a text message from Venice saying she had a bad headache and she was headed to the store to buy some Ibuprofen. It’s allergy season so I figured it was no big deal. At about 5:30 P.M. I see her car pull up to my office and she gets out and switches seats. I call her on her cell and ask what is going on. She tells me she is tired and needs me to drive her home. She felt guilty because she knew I wasn’t off yet and offered to sleep in the car until I was off work. Of course I immediately close down and go outside to see what is wrong with her. She asked if I could leave my car at work and drive her home. She can’t seem to stay awake. I agree, but ask if I need to take her to the hospital. Something just wasn’t right.
Years ago, when Venice and I were still dating, we explored each other’s bodies daily. I had never really touched my body, my testicles, and as I already mentioned in a previous article, I 
The doctor, an Asian lady that resembled Lucy Liu, asked if she was interrupting something. Like two shamed school kids, we both looked down and shook our heads no. She then asked me what my reasons were for coming in that day. I explained to her that we found a lump in my testicles and wanted to know if I was dying. She asked me to stand up and remove my pants so she could have a look.
Not to be a pervert, but I can see why Seargent Tucker seemed to be having so many penis problems himself. This doctor was adorable. I started counting sheep in my head trying not to think about anything sexual. I was extremely embarrassed about exposing myself to a doctor, as the only person that had ever seen me nude was Venice, but I guess you can say I have this thing for Asian women. Doctor or no doctor, I said a small prayer asking the Lord to please help me control my penis so it does not make any sudden movements. I pulled my pants down and watched the doctor eyeball my penis and testicles. She fondled me for a few moments and couldn’t find the lump. I asked if I could show her where, and she nodded. I put my finger on the area of the lump and she placed her hand where I was pointing. She confirmed she also felt a lump and asked me to lay down. I still had my pants halfway down to my knees and wobbled my way to the patient table. I looked over to Venice, who was making her tongue poke out the side of her cheek inside her mouth, to suggest a blow job, and gave her a dirty look. As I laid there naked, exposed to the doctor who was fondling my balls, with my girlfriend watching, I wanted to disappear from earth. I hated every second of it. I really felt even more stupid when I found out there was nothing wrong with my testicles and it was merely a bent vein in my sac that hardens (when my testicles are not fully sagging) when I stand up.
The other day, Ryan (Mahal) and I were looking through his box of memories. It was filled pictures of me through various stages of my life, movie stubs, receipts from local movie rental stores, postage from care packages, candy wrappers, and letters I’d written to him while he was away at college. Sometimes on a roll of cash register paper that he’d have to unfurl to read, sometimes on cardboard packaging, and sometimes on college ruled paper. We spent most of that night looking at his memories. He cried a few times as he remembered how in love we were, and still are. It’s like we blinked and we went from being giddy teenagers without a care in the world to being married, raising our young, and spending our days together doing yard work and taking vacations and caring for each other.
