Autumn Memories

April 27, 2018

Kevin Dwyer was 42 years old, but his mind and memories were thinking about a different time. He sat by the window drinking his coffee.  The tree across the street rustled gently in the breeze, and the clouds floated slowly through the clear blue sky, over the mountains in the distance.
“How is your wife?” His friend asked.
“I don’t love her.” He said calmly watching the steam rise from his coffee mug. “It looks nice outside” he said staring off again longingly into the distance.
“You don’t love your wife?” His friend asked questioningly.
“Love is rare. I have only loved once.” He replied. “It was just after high school. Nothing ever came of it. She got married and moved on with her life. I did the same. But I’ve only ever felt that way for her.” He paused and his friend waited for him to continue. “Sometimes I think back and wonder what I could have done. How it could have been different. But sometimes you can love so strong and it’s just not returned. Sometimes I hope or pray that when we die we just get to live over again. Everyone else oblivious but you’re completely aware. You can fix your mistakes. Because when you’re young you don’t have that knowledge or experience, you don’t know what happened. How can you live right without the training for it. That’s what I want when I die.”
“I had a girl too” the friend said, causing him to look up. “We were high school sweethearts. Dating all the way through. We would always fight and argue. We made mistakes. We were young. I think that naivity made me want more experience. I’d sent photos to other girls and we’d break up, and get back together. She was a huge flirt. Always flirting with all our friend group. She was so pretty. Not like a model. But like the girl next door. But she had such sexual charisma that everyone wanted her. After school we broke up, she hooked up with my best friend. We weren’t together but we were each others rocks. We still hung out and still slept together. She met a guy and they started dating. Soon she cut everyone off. The entire friend group. She just disappeared. Here one day gone the next. Erased herself from our lives. I got pretty messed up after that. A string of bad relationships, drugs. It took me a long time to fix my life. She was such a big part of it to go missing. I still think back on her and those times. I don’t even know what she looks like now. It’s been 22 years. I still miss the conversations. I still miss her.” His voice broke a little as he finished his sentence.
Kevin looked at him. Sipped his coffee and said. “It’s hard. You think about them all the time and you wonder if you’re even important enough to cross their mind. The ghosts of our pasts haunt us, and yet, they’re not ghosts. Because they’re out there living their lives, and we’re the ghosts living in distance memories. Stuck in the past with lost love. I’m sorry for bringing this up. I always dwell on this in Autumn. The warm sun and cool gentle breeze take me to a different time.”
“That’s ok” his friend said “I guess it helps to talk. I haven’t told anyone. It’s hard. The group of friends I had then are all gone. It makes my heart heavy knowing these guys, who you grow up with, share adventures with, who you think will be there forever but are now gone. No one to remember the past with.”
“I don’t know how it all falls apart so fast.” Kevin said finishing off his coffee. “I guess it’s just a moment etched in time. A somber distant memory that blows in on an Autumn breeze to remind these two old men that they’re nothing but ghosts haunting a forgot dream.”
They sat in silence for a while, watching the clouds roll over the mountain, and thought of their pasts.

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I think everybody knows what it’s like to be sexually repressed. I mean, I’m not ugly, but I can’t seem to catch a break. Maybe it’s my cynical view of reality, maybe it’s my lack of job or car, maybe I’m just a bad fisherman, and even though the ocean is swimming with fish I can’t catch one.
And I’m not Japanese, so there is no way I intend to catch myself a whale…
And so, I am left with the internet. With goddess’ like Sasha Grey, Destiny Porter, Danielle FTV, Eva Berger, Nina Hartley, and an assortment of others to fantasise over.
4 times a day fulfilling the lust that burns inside me. But rather than whacking off over them, I longed to whack off onto them… into them…
But no. Instead a sock caught the glory I spilled. My cum sock, my soup catcher, after the five knuckle shuffle.
Of course, I’m not here to bitch and moan, I’m here to tell a story.
So my story starts 2 years ago. My girlfriend left me, for a guy, not better looking, not more intelligent, but richer, with a job, with a car, and with muscles that make him look like he’s covered in tumours. And that’s when my luck went downhill, when I couldn’t catch a break, when my cum sock started.
But alas, after 2 years that sock had become festy, rank, a crusty sock, stained yellow and smelt of rotting fish…
I probably should have washed it…. quite a few times, or just got rid of it for another sock. But my esteem was dead, and so were my cares…
Until one day, I managed to get a date. With a stunning gorgeous, angel of a girl. I rushed around, preparing for our date, I showered, I shaved, I plucked my eyebrow, I shampooed my hair, I masturbated fresh into the sock, to relieve anxiety on the date… I got dressed into good clothes… Now I needed socks..
All my socks were at the wash… NO.
I had no socks to wear… I suppose I could have just worn shoes, but the pants I wore showed off my shoes, I didn’t want her to think I was weird…
But I did have one pair of socks left…
No..
I couldn’t wear them…
Crusty yellow socks, smelling of rotting flesh…
I pulled them out of the draw…
OH GOD the smell! It reeked like death… DEODORANT.
That’s what I needed. So I sprayed… for 20 minutes I sprayed, until the can was near empty.
But the fresh splooge… I pulled them apart to the sound of ripping and tearing, like Velcro. They were stiff and as I tried to put my feet slowly in under the fear they would just snap… I could feel the sticky cum on my feet and tried my hardest not to vomit. Finally I had them on.. You could see yellow splotches and stains.
Oh god this is awful, I thought, it’s the worst luck in the world.. I should’ve just went bare footed. I could still smell them.
DING DONG!
The door bell. Fuck, she was here!
The entire date she had a bad look on her face, the kind of look you have when you smell shit.
I tried my hardest to be charming, but I felt like my feet were crawling. Like the billions upon billions of potential children were crawling along my feet.
When I had got home, and our date had finished, needless to say I wanted to cry. While pulling the socks of (which seemed to have attached to my flesh) they snapped into pieces.
I did not receive a call back from her… and am once again left to the glory of the screen goddesses.
But I’ve learned my lesson. I no longer jizz into a sock. Tissues will work fine…
And I am still hopeful.
One day, this fisherman will catch a fish.
One that doesn’t smell like the dead rotting corpse of a fish.
I’ll catch the beauty of the sea. A Mermaid. My own.
Until then, just know, ladies. I am DTF.