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Pre SEA trip preparations.
Well some of you know I work on my own doing fairly well. But don't come tell me beeing a mongerer does not require some hard work as well. I just add this pic having some documentation on how it can look. I don't use an advanced archive system only the old fashion pen and paper for working my datingsitecontacts. All this written with a humoristic twist I might add.
If You Could See the Aching in Me
My balls hurt.
It's not a stiletto-to-the-scrotum kind of pain, or a hematocele or anything serious like that, it's more like a deep, sorrowful groan. It's been there for a couple of months now, and this angst in my balls is not alleviated in the normal fashion: porn-induced heavy-duty masturbation. Someone a week or two ago here said that BKK is like a porn-substitute. Perhaps a better way to say it is that porn is a BKK substitute. Whatever the case, I have not been in BKK for a couple of years, which means the substitute has seen its fair share of use over the last few years.
In fact, I am fucking sick of porn. I've been watching so much porn that it just pisses me off at this point. Day in, day out, it just wears on you. It's actually oppressive. The more I think about it, the angrier and angrier I get. It just fucking pisses me off. I mean, if I have to watch Mike Adriano stick his goddam tongue into one more goddam prolapsed rectum, I swear I will just fucking___well, I'll probably pull out my dick and whack off good and proper, but [b]right after that[/b], goddamit, I will___Well, I'll probably be fatigued from the exertion, and so I'll need a little nap. But just as soon as I wake up goddamit___right after my tea and biscuits, and that re-run of Seinfeld, well THEN, yeah, I mean GODDAM, I'll___do something.
Anyway, back to my balls. I need to get my rocks off so bad, I can't think straight anymore. I look at dogs humping people's legs and I get an envious erection. The other day I dialed my doctor's number to make an appointment for a check-up just so he could cup my balls during the examination. Yah, It is THAT bad.
About two months ago my balls decided to file a labor grievance against me, something about intolerable work conditions. It began with the pain in the base of my ball-bag, which slowly grew to an intermittent buzzing, and then on to the current clanging of pots and pans. It was at that point that I decided something needs to be done, and I Kayaked flights to BKK. Thankfully, prices were not ridiculous, and I talked to my boss. I didn't tell her that I needed to get my balls sucked by a Tulip goddess, or have my asshole rubbed in a soapie by a slippery Thai teenage girl, or to give an anal-cranial to a gorgeous Baccara gogo girl. I told her that I had a great project that required travel to south east asia. The returns would be tremendous, and the time commitment would be minimal. She agreed, signed my authorization to travel papers, and I creamed my pants on the way out of her office.
Since then, I've been counting the days off on a calender, kind of like when I was in third grade and I would count the days off to the beginning of summer. Each time I tick one day off, my balls give me a little wink, kind of their way of saying 'attaboy. ' I've slowly gotten myself more and more into ISG (I couldn't bear to log on while I was on hiatus. That would be pure torture) , and I hope to contribute some reports in the near future.
Truth be told, the aching within me is not really physiological in nature. That is, it isn't really about physically ejaculating. As I alluded to earlier, I can do that anywhere, and indeed my pipes are pretty clear at this point. The allure of BKK is far more complex and interesting. The city, and the mongering experience it offers, is intoxicating for its variety and uniqueness. I enjoy hunting, I enjoy talking with the various girls (and almost-girls) , I enjoy finding the gem, hell, I even enjoy striking out once in a while. It's all part of the game, and I miss the escapist element in the whole thing. It allows me to escape the ho-hum of my regular life and to pretend I am someone else who has a far more care-free life.
The other thing mongering does for me is that it allows my creative side to flourish. My work back home is very technical and does not call for a lot of left-brain activity, so to speak. Instead, it is very mathematical, tight, coordinated, and precise. When I monger, everything falls loose. I fly by the seat of my pants, I wing everything, and if something fails, I improvise and try something new. That's exhilarating. Add to that my reports here on ISG, which are typically very wordy and creative, and you can see how unused parts of my brain get invigorated while I am in BKK. It feels like old leather being re-oiled, rubbed, brought back to life.
So I'm on my way back to the beautiful, bouncing bounty that is Bangkok. This trip will be much more abbreviated than my normal visits. This time I will be there only 8 days, as opposed to the regular 30 day jaunts. As such, every night will count more. However, I will also have a packed work schedule, like I will be working 8 out of 8 days from 8am until 5pm. I therefore expect my important (mongering) activities to get more and more strenuous as the days pass by, but you know what? I'll do my best to put new meaning into the words depravity and debauchery. After all, my balls deserve nothing less.
I don't have a particular point with this post, and so comments are not really necessary (although I'm sure I will get plenty of complaints and probably a good charring too). I have a couple more posts like this (preamble to my field reports, which should begin late in the week) , so please be warned. If you don't like the tenor of these initial posts, well, you're going to [u]hate [/u]my field reports too. Maybe now is a good time to put me on your ignore list. Here's how:
1. Log in to ISG.
2. Click on 'Settings' at the top of the page.
3. On the left side under 'My Settings', click on 'Edit my Ignore List. '
4. Enter Kumbu and hit 'OK'.