It’s very easy to focus on the painful realities we face. I’m an optimist. I look for possibilities, not barriers. Right now, I’m struggling. I’m trying to pivot. I was furloughed last April, and there is no indication I will ever return. My pivot is to try to become a professional writer. My first book was published this past weekend on Amazon. I don’t know what I expected, but so far, one person who gets kindle free books has read 15 pages. That isn’t exactly a runaway hit. It’s too soon to get concerned, but my fantasy was more activity than that.

The second, more worrying issue, at least to me, is my libido. Sex isn’t working all that well for me. On Sunday night Mrs. Lion gave me excellent oral attention. I couldn’t get very close to the edge no matter how long she tried. This has been happening a lot lately. Eventually, I will be able to get to the edge but not reliably. This is a fairly recent development. Mrs. Lion lost interest in sex for herself years ago. She can still have orgasms but doesn’t get pleasure from them. Despite that loss, up until recently, she has been able to get me off reliably. Not now.

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I have been trying to be brave and optimistic about this being a temporary issue. I’m very sad about it. Sex has always been essential to me. Arousal and eventual satisfaction are like breathing. It’s a natural part of me that I don’t want to lose. Yet here I am in this bind. I feel a disconnection between being intellectually turned on and feeling my penis react. I’ve never been especially turned on by porn. Beyond looking for images to use here, I avoid it. Yet, occasionally I see an image that stimulates my imagination. I can see myself in it. There’s one that appeared on Twitter from an English female blogger, TheOtherLibby. She posted an image from her blog that mentally stimulated me. My penis didn’t react. Sad.

Can I continue as a sex blogger if physical arousal is failing? I still know what I find mentally exciting. It’s a lot less fun this way. Should I mourn this loss, or should I pivot and find a way to overcome it or at least live with it? Maybe it’s too early for me to resign myself to mental erections. I don’t know. I can get hard. Mrs. Lion has no problem getting me up. But it’s not the same. I know Mrs. Lion will work to help me past this problem. I don’t want it to become like her unwelcome orgasms.

I admit it. “Begone 2020” was one of my passwords for a while. I’ve had some creative passwords over the years. None were as relevant as the passwords for this year: “2020Sucks,” “Stupid2020,” etc. To be fair, last year was a tough one for us too. Lion had several surgeries and I was happy to be done with 2019. Little did I know… For that reason, I’m not getting my hopes up for 2021. The virus will still be around. Nothing will be back to normal until much later in the year, if then. For now, I’ll just say I’m happy to be rid of 2020.

I was able to play with Lion a little bit last night. He got hard for a brief time. He didn’t want to come out from under the blankets because he figured he wouldn’t last long anyway. He didn’t. But I hadn’t put too much effort in either. Sometimes he thinks I’m rushing him so I started of with snuggling and some exploratory touching. I figured I could build up to more. Lion seemed to be enjoying himself even if he didn’t get all the way to edging. As long as he’s having fun, I’m happy.

After we were done, he said he thinks he’s gotten too old for sex. I don’t think so. This year has put a lot of stress on everyone. He’s been out of work for a long time. Who knows when he’ll be back. His unemployment benefits, like those of so many others, expired and the government took its damn time to extend them. Every time we go out the door, we’re in danger of catching the virus. That’s a lot to worry about. No wonder he’s not in the mood for sex. Most mornings, I’m not in the mood to get out of bed.

Obviously, I can’t pinpoint when he’ll be back to himself. I’m just pretty sure he’s not done with sex altogether. I think he’d have to be comatose for that to happen. And even then, he’d probably still be sporting a boner.

I have been in a reflective mood. Maybe holidays bring it on, or perhaps it’s just time catching up to me. It’s pretty obvious that I’m not a typical male, or anything else. Yes, I’m heterosexual without any weird pronouns to affix to my name. I’m also comfortable with people who have other ideas about sex and sexuality. After all, who am I to throw stones? Truth is, I’m busy enough being me to have any spare time to concern myself with how I think others should be.

Fate has been good to me. The Universe has granted almost all my wishes, even the truly stupid ones. I have few regrets. Most of mine are about things I like not lasting long enough. For example, my triad with a lesbian couple. It lasted a little less than two years. At first, it was about sex. I had the first penis they ever experienced. Well, you know what made it hot for me. After a while, we all grew used to the sexual part. We settled into a comfortable routine. It ended when one of the women asked the other if she would honor an agreement they made before meeting me for the first time. They agreed that if one of them wanted to end the triad, the other would go along. It was a stupid thing to ask, but she did. The answer she got was, “No. I love him.” That set off a nuclear bomb that destroyed our triad. I had read that relationships like this usually fail due to jealousy. Mine did.

I can’t feel too badly about that ending. Look what I have now! Before Mrs. Lion, I was heavily into being a top/dominant. I had an excellent reputation in the BDSM (real life!) community. I had wondered about being a full-time master. There was something appealing about having a beautiful woman at my beck and call. The Universe heard me. A friend in the community called and said that there was a lifestyle, service slave who was in a bad situation and needed a master. Did I rub a magic lamp, or what?

I said that I was interested. I met her at a party. She was a former model and very sweet and pretty. I agreed to take her. Obviously, she agreed to be taken, but she hated thinking that way. She preferred the idea that I acquired her. We were together for almost ten years. There was more than pure BDSM to the relationship. There had to be. Unfortunately, we eventually broke up. I realized that I didn’t want a slave. I wanted a partner. She wanted to live in her fantasy. She left with my blessing.

At about the same time my slave left, I asked the Universe for a comfortable, loving relationship. I was willing to forgo BDSM for love and peace. The Universe answered. I found a personal ad from Mrs. Lion on a dating site. I was instantly drawn to her picture. It was a closeup of her smiling face. At the time, I wanted sex without complications. I wasn’t looking for someone to marry. But, I also craved the simple warmth of peaceful love.

Against all odds, we liked one another. There weren’t sparks and violin music when we met. We fucked and sucked and had orgasmic fun. The Universe came through! I was comfortable and satisfied being with her. At some point, we realized that we wanted to be together all the time. Mrs. Lion moved in. Shortly after that, we admitted that we were in love. I’m very sure that we were in love long before we admitted it.

I asked Mrs. Lion to marry me a year or two later. It wasn’t a driving need for either of us. I just realized that life would be simpler if she had the legal rights a wife gets in the event I got ill or died. I also wanted to make it harder for her to run away. That was over fifteen years ago. The Universe is very wise. It knew I needed BDSM. Somewhere along the way, I asked Mrs. Lion to do things to me. I decided I didn’t want to top. She was willing and did all sorts of nasty things to me because I asked.

Over seven years ago I suggested male chastity. She figured it was just one more thing I wanted to try and I would quickly get bored with it. To her surprise, I didn’t. In fact, we expanded activities to include domestic discipline and a female-led relationship — our version of one. It works for us. This time, it’s permanent.

All of these experiences, and many others, started as wishes on my part. One way or another, they got granted. I can’t explain it. All I can do is be grateful for the amazing adventures, especially the last one that brought the love of my life to me. Yup, the Universe has been good to me.

This is the time of year that you usually find heart-warming stories of generosity and love. From Dickens “T’was The Night Before Christmas” to O’Henry’s “Gift of the Magi,” sentimental tears are shed. This year, love and goodwill aren’t on many minds. Between a global pandemic and a crazy person in the White House, it’s nearly impossible for even died-in-the-wool optimists to crank up “It’s a Wonderful Life” and shed a tear when a bell rings and another angel gets his wings.

I admit that I’m an optimist, a glass-half-full guy. Even I find it hard to understand how to get through until the end of January. I’ve never counted the days until the presidential inauguration before, but I am now. No matter where I turn, I see the destruction caused by the combination of a lunatic and a virus. It’s a horserace which of the two has done more damage.

In the face of all this, I’m expected to write about sex. Well, maybe that’s going too far. I expect to write about it. As of yesterday, It’s been 23 days since my last orgasm. That’s a new record for us. Only one other time did I wait longer. That was due to surgery and the wait was 28 days. It’s not like I’m in a frenzy begging Mrs. Lion to end my misery. I’m not all that concerned. I can’t explain it, but I’m not.

Mrs. Lion has been trying to help change that. I’m not cooperating. I have posited that my work on my book has used up my sexual energy. That makes zero sense. If anything, it should be revving my engine. I’m sure that in due course Mrs. Lion will get me as frustrated as she likes. If she follows through with her threats of anal penetration and relocking in a chastity device, she will probably jump-start my libido. If not, it’s OK, I’ll just read The New York Times and cry.