Note: This is kind of a two for one deal, A Cabin Excursion and A Home Excursion are included here. A Cabin Excursion is long steady buildup to sex and A Home Excursion is the stream of sex if you just want to read that part. Hope you want to read both parts though.
All characters are over the age of 18.
A Cabin Excursion
Why do I always have to think of her when I masturbate? Why? It doesn't do me any good, or it does for a bit, and then I go back to my own personal hell, a deeper circle down each time. I know I'm harming myself at this point, I'm just taking the best parts of our relationship, putting them in a blender and throwing the worst parts out. Then I use the fantasy of half-truths, lies, and all around white washing to fuel my masturbation. A fantasy born out of a failed relationship and one that hurts any future liaisons, as no real relationship could hope to match it, but it has me cumming in record speed.
It doesn't help that there are so many experiences of passionate sex to draw upon (or were to put our relationship in past tense). But boy could we fuck well together. I used to tend to avoid eye contact, but there was one time I lifted myself off her more than usual. I don't know why I did, maybe it's because I just knew instinctually that I should see the look on her face. What I saw was a look of pure unadulterated pleasure. Oftentimes, I feel like my sexual urges are a selfish thing on my end, like I would sacrifice connection in favor of getting my rocks off. This look showed me that I didn't have to worry so much about that, that my sexual desire could be a good thing as fucking her had elevated her state to a whole new level that wouldn't have been possible without me and my libido.
Yet it was that same look that taunted me. It reminded me of a time when I was using my carnality to service someone I cared about sexually, while servicing myself in the same way in the process. Now I was stuck masturbating myself to nostalgia. Just because me and her broke up didn't mean my libido stopped. I wish it had, because it meant I had to masturbate to something, and the something that came to mind soonest was the something that would hurt the most after.
I finish, but I can't sleep. I don't want that to be the last thing that I think about before I go to bed. I go downstairs, plant myself on the couch and turn the tv on. Any random channel will do. I know this won't make me tired, bright light in a dark room doesn't work that way, but I'm haunted. I'm haunted by my past relationship, I'm haunted by my self-loathing for making it worse by thinking about it and I'm haunted by the specter of future relationships or lack thereof, and I can tell you that specter looks mighty menacing.
I hear a rustling from upstairs, I assume it's my sister Sarah as we're the only ones in the house right now. I am correct in my assumptions as she's the one who comes down a little while later. She's only wearing a t-shirt and panties, a great night outfit but not a great brother sister chatting outfit. Well I'm just wearing t-shirt and boxers too so I guess we're equal in that regard.
She sits next to me. I don't acknowledge her. It's cause I don't know what to say to her, I'm stuck in my own solipsistic cycle of anguish, self-pleasuring and more anguish. Can't say there's any room for her in there. She'd probably have a freak out if I told her what thoughts I was having, those thoughts don't exactly jive in a brother and sister relationship. So I sit in silence, passing up another chance at contact, even one as little as this, because I can't go outside myself.
However she rises to the occasion and gets the conversation rolling herself. "Hey," she says.
"Hey," I answer back. Maybe could've gone into detail on that reply. Follow up questions are always good but you know the whole trapped in a private hell with no room for anyone but me thing doesn't really allow for those. No matter, once again she succeeds where I have failed.
"What are you watching?" she asks, even though she knows whatever I'm watching is just a crutch.
"I don't know," I answer truthfully.
"You just started watching something?"
"I guess I did."
"Why?"
"... I just wanted to."
"Why?"
I don't know how to reply to that. No one wants to hear about my pain, not even me. That's the reason I'm sitting here just numbing myself to the tube. What do people want to hear about? Probably how interested I am in them by asking them loads of questions about themselves. But once again, trauma is my god and she decrees no interest in others, only interest in my pain.
Yet I can't just leave the conversation blank, maybe I'll hint at the pain I'm in. That's kind of what I'd like to talk about. Hopefully she'll understand. I know people like the strong man, the man who won't let anything bring him down, but that's not who I am. I'm the sad man, but maybe she'll connect to that. It beats trying to blast my thoughts out. Heck, why don't I just reference it.
"I couldn't sleep," Is all I could muster. Not bad, but not that good either. "I hope I didn't wake you up," I add quickly after.
"I couldn't sleep either. Thoughts in my case, what about you?"
"I mean it always comes down to thoughts. That's why I'm here, so I won't have to deal with them for a sec."
"That's the benefit of TV. You think there are better ways though? What if you didn't have to escape your thoughts"
"My thoughts aren't good though," I sadly reply.
"That's just what you think. Why don't you tell me what's keeping you up and I'll be the judge of that."
An invitation to share, just exactly what I wanted. I mean no way in hell am I going to go on my masturbation rant to my sister, but the lovelorn loss of my girlfriend could be good. It's perfectly fine to talk about that with my sister and she invited me to vent so no way I'd be a burden there.
"I just... " God, do I miss her? Am I sad that we're over. "I just feel like..." Spinning my wheels here, though from Sarah's expression she's thankfully going to let me take my time. No interruptions from her. So more silence from me, and that's ok. I have all the time I want.
"I'm scared." Is what I land on.
"About what?"
"About me and her's break up."
"So you're still not at the saying her name stage?"
"No. Bad sign, huh?"
"I've seen worse."
"Well I just think about all the good times we had together." Good code phrase for "I jack myself silly thinking about my imagined sex life with her."
"There's your mistake right there," she replies.
"Yeah but there were some good times, and it's more enjoyable than thinking about what awaits my love life now."
"You're a cute guy, I'm sure there are other girls who will be more than willing to give you a chance."
First time she's ever called me cute before. "Yeah, but how do I find those girls? I got to wade through some people first, and I don't want to deal with the rejection either."
"I think you're overestimating how much rejection you're looking at."
"That's only something the pursued would say, never the pursuer."
"That may be true."
There's a pause now. Somehow I feel like the responsibility of responding is on my shoulders again. What to say to her? I feel like my thread has gone dry. I do feel a little better for talking, though there's still some way to go. Why not open the forum to her. There must be a reason why she's up and about instead of sleeping soundly.
"So what thoughts are keeping you up at night?"
"Believe it or not, and this might make me seem like the biggest hypocrite, but I was just thinking about Sam."
Ah yes, Sam, her boyfriend of two years. She has much more to eulogize there than I do with she who must not be named. I guess self-pitying is doing for me what self-pity does best, blinding me to the problems of those around me. Enough of that, I want to be here for my sister. She was here for me when she had a comparably larger loss. No more Mr. Selfish, it's time to make sure she leaves this conversation better than how she started.
"What about him?" I Don't want to start by saying that must be hard, cause I might make that a self-fulfilling prophecy. Better to zero in on the problem at hand rather than provide all the sympathy she can gouge herself on.
