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The Hydra is a multi-headed headed beast. Just like me.





Recently my better half told me we were getting a visit from our 22yo female hottie relative that lives Interstate. I admit I have mixed feelings on this matter. She is hot. She is way smart. She likes me.


We are related :(


Look but don't touch is the only practical approach. So I promise myself I will not be a pervert and that I will try my best to make her feel comfortable and welcome.


I'm a normal healthy adult male, she is a normal healthy adult female. She has an innie. I have an outie. Millions of years of Evolution have lead us to the point where her proximity has a physical and emotional impact on me. I get horny. I desire to sex her. Frequently. I like her so I would be happy to make her cum as well - see what a good guy I am ;)


Also I have had a lot of sex with people with the same youthful shape as hers. I can mentally undress her in a heartbeat, and I have a pretty good idea of exactly how she would feel in my arms, her weight, smell, softness. Arrrgggg. Not helping at all.


Anyhoo, I resign myself to a couple of days of slow tease, as we wine and dine and do touristy things. I lock myself into a “good boy” persona – the first head of the Hydra as it were.


The story develops. She is to bring several Uni friends of a similar vintage with her, and they will all crash in our lounge. I've seen some of her Model look-a-like friends on Facebook, and now I find myself thinking, thinking, thinking...waiting, waiting, waiting...


Ok. No possible way one of her Uni buddies could have a clandestine fuck with me when no one else is around. Probably. And I would never force myself on anyone. Still if someone was to find a mostly harmless little way to thank me for being such a good host well...


no, No, NO!!!!




Wrong thinking is punishable. Right thinking will be as quickly rewarded. You will find it an effective combination. - The Cage


Nope. The protection I extend to family *must* cover her friends as well, or I'm just not the better man I hope to be. Sigh. So this is the second head of the Hydra. I will now be doing something against my natural, red-blooded male desires. My lizard brain says yes, the Angel on my shoulder says no.


I'm really not looking forward to the weekend. There is a significant generation gap between us all, and every possible path with some coitus is shrouded in potential for pain and conflict.


“But what if”?


“No what if's”?


So I need to take some perfectly good potential sexual partners off my list, all because of some silly little things like courtesy, respect, decency blah blah blah fucking blah! That is so fucked-up!


The multitude of ladies arrive. This will be easier than I thought. They are all tired from the travel, pale, pimply and grumpy.


Yesssss - This will be an absolute Doddle. Yay!


Danger! Evening arrives and they are getting all Glammed up to go to a party.


Holy fucking crap! Some of them are young stunners. I don't usually go for Western women but for these ladies I would make and exception...Only if they beg mind, only if they beg!


My house smells of perfume and hairspray. They are jostling in front of every reflective surface as they try to get ready. The skirts are so tight they could fart and pop a button - in a totally ladylike way of course. Heels. Boots. Sheer stockings. Push-up bras.


I'm drowning in a sea of potential and the illusion of availability.


It all feels exactly like a brothel intro, but way more classy – and some are gorgeous.


I smile inwardly as I silently say


“Do you kiss”?


“Will you give me a natural suck”?


“How much for two girls”?


I actually say “Gee it's cold out, is it wise to wear so little clothing”? – with the Dad tone of voice.


“You will be inside all night. Do you need to wear so much (any) clothing”? the adult sexually active brothel creeper that I am wants to say.


I guess it's too late to get some fancy video equipment and suggest that they have some dance practice in the lounge before they go out. I could put on some Eighties music – It's coming back with the youth of today I'm told.


They leave in a flurry of girly giggles and laughter.


In the silent empty house my loneliness deepens. There is no possible way I could have gone with them and had a good time. You will always find me in the kitchen at parties. I don't perform for strangers etc.


I resolve to keep myself on the straight and narrow for the evening - in case I am needed to run a lift.


I never drink when I'm lonely. It never helps. I badly want to have sex though - but I know wherever I go on a Saturday night it will be a rushed job. This just won't help me with my current difficulty one bit.


No need to dwell, I call a friend and go over for some Pizza. We make jokes together all night along similar lines to this BLOG entry.


He suggests installing video in the lounge in case they have a naked pillow fight in the morning.


“Too pervy!” I say. “Better to just creep into their beds while they are drunkenly sleeping and put my hand on a boob” is my suggestions.


“Up the ante” he says “Rohypnol is definitely the best bet”.


“Perhaps I should dash down to Bunnings for supplies, expand the Basement and get some chains and locks” I say.


“Nah” is his response. “You don't have a basement! And you don't have time to dig one”


We laugh and laugh, and I return home ready willing and able to keep all my promises.


No real-life women were harmed in the making of this BLOG.


To any Militant Feminazis reading this for ammunition - There is a difference between talking or joking about something and ever actually doing it. The same way violent video games have been proven to *lower* the incidence of gun related violence.




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Great stuff Blakes esp the "I'm drowning in a sea of potential and the illusion of availability" bit. I get similar feelings most trips to the supermarket.

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That was difficult to read.


Sorry you had to go through that mate!!

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