I have been contemplating the nature of endurance. A stone endures by being rigid, resisting the flow of time until it cracks. A river endures by yielding, changing its course yet always moving forward. I have found that the human body is much like a river in this regard. It cannot hold a single moment of pleasure indefinitely; it must flow through it, release it, and continue. To force it to stop is to cause stagnation. This afternoon, I allowed a young scholar to join me in my study. He was so focused on the 'event' of it all, on the destination. I had to teach him that the true mastery lies in the journey. I restrained his wrists to the legs of my reading chair—oak, very sturdy—and instructed him to simply feel. Every stroke, every bite, every shudder. He wanted to rush to his release, but I denied him that luxury for hours. I rode his face until my knees trembled, then took his cock in my hand, guiding him through waves of sensation without letting him crest. When I finally allowed him to spill his seed onto my stomach, his entire body convulsed as if he’d witnessed a miracle. It is fascinating, this desperate, fleeting passion. (Mood: contemplative)