Warning: some content might be a bit explicit. Viewer discretion is advised.
It’s been 24 days since I last had sex.
24 long days [and nights]. This is not even the beginning of the insanity that comes with the dreaded “dry spell.”
People who know me in real life, and many who just know me through the blog-o-sphere, know that sex is not only one of my favorite pastimes, it’s also my absolute favorite subject to discuss. I enjoy reliving sexual encounters, both of my own or vicariously through someone else, through storytelling. I get a kick out of comparing and contrasting patterns in the bedroom with patterns in personalities. I’m constantly fantasizing in my head about what I would like to happen sexually. I can talk about it with men and women. I have engaged in it with both men and women. I speak from a place of experience and of endless curiosity. In short, I am a 16-year-old boy trapped in a 28-year-old-woman’s body. I constantly have sex on the brain.
Confession time: Some of you may know that I am very open and experimental in the “bedroom.” Role playing, toys, risky locations, new acts, dirty talk, and involving extra people don’t turn me off. In fact, I usually welcome it. All of it [with the right partner]. A little known, embarrassing fact about me is that when someone asks me to describe a fantasy, I clam up. I know exactly what they want to hear. Something like:
I’m out shopping by myself when my phone beeps with an SMS. It’s from you. You’ve secretly followed me to the mall and now you are instructing me to drop what I’m doing and find the dressing room in the men’s section. Suspiciously but excitedly I do as I am told. Just as I’m cautiously entering the dressing room area, you sneak attack come up behind me, covering my mouth with your hand so I can’t scream in fright. I hear your deep, sexy voice in my ear telling me to relax and not to scream or struggle while you’re slowly guiding me into one of the dressing stalls. Now that I know it’s you I can feel myself getting wetter and wetter in anticipation as my heart is racing as fast as my mind is. Once in the dressing room, you lock the door and say “now, baby, don’t scream and get us caught…” spoken as your devilish grin crosses your face. Bending me over, facing the mirror, supporting my upperbody by putting my hands on the bench, you position my ass high in the air as you lift my skirt high above my hips, and pulling down my panties. I can see you looking at me in the mirror, biting your bottom lip as you think about whatever it is you have planned for me. Then, quickly, your hand comes down sharply on my ass. I let out a little noise more out of surprise than anything else, but you quickly remind me “uh, uh, uh, baby…I said no screaming..” just as your hand comes down, this time harder, on my ass again…then, it’s gentle, lightly touching the newly red, hot marks, cooling my skin down. “That’s better. Now,” you reach down and grab my hair, pulling me into a semi-standing position, but looking at my face in the mirror in front of us, “are you going to be a good girl?” Anxiously, and dying from the anticipation, I nod my head silently mouthing the word “yes” as I lock eyes with you in the mirror. Gently, you push me back down into a bending position and I know exactly what’s coming. “Aright, baby,” you say, as you slowly insert your rock-hard cock into my pussy which is now soaking wet. Slowly at first, in..all the way…out…in…out….then, you start slamming into me. I have to put one hand on the mirror to brace myself against the force with which you are now fucking me. You are thrusting so deeply into me and it feels amazing, it’s all I can do to not scream out in ecstasy. Harder…faster…slower…deeper… I can feel my whole body tensing and releasing with each thrust. My pussy, vibrating against your cock, as my muscles down there begin to uncontrollably spasm around you. Your breathing becomes more shallow and I can tell that you are close to finishing. So am I. “Please let me cum!” I whimper out. Grinning again, you just say “alright, baby, you can cum… cum for me, baby.” Hearing those words sends waves of pleasure through my entire body and I start to shake. I can feel my muscles both weaken and tighten simultaneously as I relinquish control over them and give in to the extreme pleasure of letting you take me. The orgasm, beginning at my toes, bubbles up through me and spikes my adrenaline one moment, leaving me completely drained the next. Every nerve ending in my body, especially in my pussy, is standing at attention and my legs feel like jello under me. Then, I feel you still inside me, grow just a little bit harder then one final thrust as you explode, shooting your warmth way up inside me. Spent, we just take a moment, smiling, looking at each other in the mirror, and catching our breath. Then, slowly, you pull out of me, kiss the back of my neck, turn me around, kiss me deeply on the mouth, and say “see you at home later?” now grinning wider than ever. “Of course!” I say, “Looking forward to it!” As I gather up my shopping bags, and you exit the dressing room as nonchalantly as possible, after stealing one more quick kiss. “Later, baby!” As I stand up and start to exit, I realize that you have stolen my panties, and I blush smiling slyly to myself as I try to continue on with my shopping, knowing and preoccupied with what I undoubtedly know is going to happen when I get home…
Ok. So that’s the sort of fantasy people want to hear when they ask you to share a secret fantasy. Side note: can you tell that I have not had sex in a while? That was totally off-the-cuff and the details are so vivid in my mind, it was somewhat difficult to finish that example..
I, on the other hand, have fantasies about nice sex. Loving sex. The kind of sex where someone tells you how beautiful you are and how much you mean to them. Yes, I very very very very much enjoy the dressing-room-type sex too! In fact, I crave it! I can’t get enough of it! But, when someone wants to know what fantasies I have brewing in my mind, I’m frequently too embarrassed to tell them, not because they are twisted or kinky. But, because they’re not.
Yet another reason to file under “proof of Joan’s insanity.”
And now, dear readers, I need to take a cold shower [self-inflicted] and try to sleep. Sweet dreams, friends!