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Pooner Diaries: More and less, more or less

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To hear them tell it, this hobby is a simple exchange for services. Nothing more, and most certainly nothing less. It's a hard old world out there. The old timers tell me, there will be some who are just out to take your money. Try and bleed you dry at the slightest sign of weakness or vulnerability, and try and return as little as possible.

 

I listen to the locker room bravado, a slight smile on my face. I guess I can consider myself an old timer too, after all these years. I think, not so much of their words, but of what path in this life has gotten them to this place. I wonder if they have been hurt. I wonder why their words are so bitter. Because to believe that that's all that makes up this world is to deny the existence of the magic that surrounds us every single moment.

 

Yes, I believe that there are ladies who as the song says, will "steal your money and break your heart". But that's not the whole story, any more than saying that my little city is cold and snow covered perpetually and year-round, an overcast sky blocking the sun, heat and light from my little corner of the Canadian prairie.

 

You see, I've often been the grateful recipient of unspeakable kindness and generosity. Ladies who have given their all to me, given much more than they had to. They gave their bodies to be sure, because that's the bargain. But they also cared more than they had to, shared a little more of their souls than was absolutely necessary. I can only wonder why when I get told that I'm so nice to them, because all I do is treat the ladies I see with respect. I just treat them like the human beings that they are.

 

I try and keep that sense of wonder in this world. I try not to get frustrated, I try not to get bitter. I must confess, I don't always succeed the odd dark day. But for the most part, I still do. I still see the magic, the little miracles that are easy to overlook.

 

Here is a case in point. I will soon meet a lady who is almost legendary. I've been following her for a long time, wondering what it would be like to meet her, what would happen once the doors closed behind us and we were all alone. I feel elated by the anticipation I feel, the excitement, the tingle every time I imagine her touch. I want to scream from the rooftops that we are meeting, I want to write and tell her how thrilled I am.

 

But I don't. I don't want to brag that I'm going to be seeing her, because there's no point. Anyone else who is reasonably civil can get to meet her, and I know that there's been a long, long line before me who already have. And I'm not going to contact her, for no good reason. It's mostly because I don't want to distract her from her busy life, and also because I don't want her to think that I'm needy before we even are face to face. But it's also because I want to sustain that wonder just a little longer, hold that sweet anticipation.

 

I close my eyes and imagine that first moment when we touch, of my lips brushing against hers. I can feel the delicate skin of the nape of her neck underneath my fingertips as the tip of my tongue touches hers. I dream of taking my time, my lips and fingers telegraphing their own wordless welcome as I slowly, deliberately undress her. I want to savor every moment, explore every little out of the way place on that exquisite body of hers. I want to make her gasp, as I stroke and kiss the parts that many others have overlooked in their haste to their own happy endings. I want to give. I long to see the delight in her eyes when she has her own release, because I know that there comes a point when my pleasure and her pleasure become indistinguishable. I know I'll see the gratitude in her eyes, and that makes me happy.

 

Why do I bother? It's because I know what she knows, that all guys aren't out to get as much as they can. To get off, get out, leave nothing behind but their envelopes and a deflated glove. To have shared nothing of themselves. To slip out silently, without so much as a goodbye.

 

I could do this, of course. But I won't. To deny that human contact, that gentle and caring touch, is to deny that there is anything more than those frantic moments before, during, and after that final release. It's to deny that there is any emotion in this odd little hobby of mine. It's to deny that there are other sensual pleasures that are out there, to be savored, other than that most obvious one. But ultimately, it's denying our humanity itself. And I don't want to do that.

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So well written, as always, Birdboy!

I'm looking forward to hearing more about this encounter. I'm intrigued to know who you're talking about.

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That was truly a work of art Birdboy. I feel that is the way all our ladies should be treated and respected. I truly hope when you finally meet this lady you speak of, the connection will be there for you to fulfill your wishes... and hers. I've been very lucky in that area so far but hey, who doesn't like Thumper? hehe

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Girls at the spa often ask me "Does CERB work? Is it worth the money?". They are of course inquiring about the marketing potential, but to me CERB is more valuable as a source of knowledge and a medium for interaction between various members of this relatively hidden and secretive community. It is because of posts like yours, Birdboy, that I continue to visit CERB. Many thanks to you!

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Girls at the spa often ask me "Does CERB work? Is it worth the money?". They are of course inquiring about the marketing potential, but to me CERB is more valuable as a source of knowledge and a medium for interaction between various members of this relatively hidden and secretive community. It is because of posts like yours, Birdboy, that I continue to visit CERB. Many thanks to you!
I'm appreciative of all the praise I receive, but your post especially delights and tickles me, Ksenia. This is high praise indeed, and posts like this makes all the effort worthwhile. Thank you, most humbly, most sincerely.

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