Skin, I once read, is the heaviest organ in the human body. The thought disgusted me. I saw myself being peeled to the muscular redness of the grotesque cadavers you see in medical schools, my skin an amorphous pale mass plopping onto silver scales, all two and a half kilos of the stuff that holds me together. It disgusted me. My skin disgusts me. For my most of my life I have suffered from eczema. I hate my skin. My skin hates me back. It cracks and bleeds, lets infections in through the perfidious gaps it leaves.
There came the day when I lay in bed, ill, my skin blotched, red, and cracked, oozing blood. My hands were incapable of holding a pen. I lay helpless and repellent. I cried but there was no one to hear, no one to wipe away the tears, before they seeped through my cracks and raised my torment up a notch.
Then she came. I could not make out her face through my tears , just the whirl of clothes bring taken off before she pulled back the duvet and climbed into bed next to me. She leaned over me, tugging down my pyjama bottoms, pulling out my blotched, ugly cock. I felt it harden.
She said nothing, but took it in her mouth, closed her mouth round it. I felt the foreskin slide back and she began to work the exposed head with her tongue, a rhythm of flicks alternating with gentle sucking, increasing the tempo as I swelled in her mouth until I came with a shout and felt the urgent force of the flow into her mouth
Come was dripping from her chin as she set to work licking my torso, my neck, my face, her tongue pushing into the cracks, applying the balm.
“I’m not disgusted by your body, you know that don’t you?”
She flipped me over and I felt her tongue running down my spine, felt it gently explore my bum crack. I came again.
I did and she slid underneath me to take my cock into her mouth again, suck up soem more come for my legs, my feet.
I don’t remember her finishing, I don’t remember her leaving. It was after ten o’clock when I woke up. I had slept for, I don’t know, maybe 10 hours? My skin hurt, still bled, but by Monday I could see that it was starting to heal. The following Saturday I went swimming.
And that is the thing with eczema. It comes and goes without warning, without reason. One day my whole body is cracked and bleeding and I cry in despair. A few days later the eczema goes, but never completely. There is always a small rough spot just below my left thumb that never clears up. My eczema is always there, lurking, lying in wait for the times when my mystery lover stays away, when I have no one to bring me to sweet, creamy orgasms, when I am too down to wank. When I cannot be myself. .
This is a post for edition 292 of Masturbation Monday. Click the picture below to see what others have been getting up to.