As I’ve recently discussed, I’m becoming increasingly upset with life here in Sydney. Since I’ve found the local scene all but worthless, Eileen and I aren’t finding ourselves with lots of opportunities to play or explore others or ourselves. Besides that, we’re both caught up in (equally increasingly upsetting) non-sexuality-related work such as our day jobs and other pursuits.

Catching up on some blogs tonight (during yet another bout of procrastination and insomnia), I see that I’m not the only one. The enviable Mischief has some plans but isn’t doing much about them at the moment, and Selina emailed me to say hi but due to an (equally enviable) overabundance of sex hasn’t blogged about it much. Tom’s even feeling a bit depressed and doesn’t have much in the way of new erotica on his blog these days. I’m finding myself feeling more severed from the only communities I’ve ever had major social roots in than ever, and it’s decidedly unpleasantly disconcerting. It’s even more upsetting that this happened mere months after the first optimistic signs that things could actually get better for me back in New York City.

A few weeks ago, in response to this, I remarked to Eileen in a conspicuously offhanded fashion that I’d like to play with our CB-3000 some more, and since we lost our shower’s water pressure in the move, I’d like to find a good squeeze bottle for hygienic purposes, too. I like starting down the orgasm control route again because it’s a (for lack of a better phrase) low-intensity thing we can do to mix a little bit of our former lives back into our daily interactions. I feel like letting my arousal build and release at her whim helps counter some of the less desirable things of all that “domesticity” that has been creeping into our lives of late.

It was an indescribable pleasure to feel the tenacity with which my sexual attention was affixed to her late last week and especially Saturday, when we had the time to spend the day at the beach and napping on the park’s grass lawn. I was reminded of the first summer we’d spent together and of the fact that I can count my orgasms during those three or four months on two hands, and of when we met. I bristled with pulses of arousal at her touch, and whenever I’d see a pretty girl walk past me I’d think of both Eileen and the pretty girl. Little did I know that meeting Eileen would be the catalyst for so much pleasant sexual frustration of exactly the sort I craved, and keep craving today.

Of course, orgasm denial brings with it its own challenges, both to me via the obvious and somewhat newly novel sexual frustration as well as to the relationship. Daily obligations don’t just go away, and Real Life hasn’t been exceedingly accommodating of our want to play. Eileen and I both still get tired, we’ve each gotten ill at different times this past week alone, and of course work incessantly mounts upon itself. I’ve tried to sneak away some time for personal projects (some of which are sexuality-related and which I hope to unveil shortly). I’ve also been doing my bit to improve Conversio Virium’s presence, of course. (Sidenote: CV has a Twitter stream now.) I sorely miss CV and a big part of me wishes I could be there in person to witness their ongoing success.

I do feel like I’ve grown here, and if nothing else in this circumstance absence is surely making my heart grow fonder of all that I left.