Right, quit fucking about now. Fuck me. Or let me fuck you. I don’t care which way around it is, I just need to feel your dick inside me and your hands on my naked body and your lips … don’t even get me started on just how much I’ve been thinking about your lips.
We’re on eight months-ish of abstinence now. Whatever strength I had before is fading away. I’m no longer calm. I don’t want to be patient or understanding. I’m not in the mood to make jokes about it. I need you to lie back, let me undress you and then let me fuck you. I need to come hard … on you. Not on my fingers, silently, barely daring to move as you sleep next to me in bed. Or with one hand bracing myself against the tiles as I take the shower head down from the wall and position those powerful jets exactly where they can work their magic. Or even using my trusted Rampant Rabbit, the most reliable tool in my box of tricks, guaranteed to get me off every time – and usually in just a couple of minutes.
I don’t want any of that.
I don’t even care if I’ve gotta work for it. I’ll beg for it.
I just want you. Your cock. Your fingers. Your tongue. Whatever. I’ll take what I can get as long as it’s yours.
What I’m really craving is the way you make me feel. I can get myself off, no problems, and I’ve even got an array of faux dicks to replace yours, but I can’t make my skin feel like it’s on fire like you can. I can’t make my heart skip a nervous beat the way you can. I can’t feel the weight of your body, or be surprised by a change in pace, or be taken aback by a harsher nipple bite than expected when I’m by myself.
That’s what I miss: the unpredictability of sex.
Not knowing when the palm of your hand will make contact with the flesh of my ass cheeks.
Not being prepared when you finally push your fingers inside me and nudge your thumb against my clit.
Not being sure what it’ll take for me to finish this time, or how long it will take to get me there.
When I do it all myself I can pretty much set a timer. It doesn’t matter whether I’m using my fingers or one of my toys, I know how to get myself there – quickly, quietly, with as little hassle and fuss as possible. Danger wanks are my specialty, an art I’ve been strenuously perfecting over the last eight months of accidental celibacy. Orgasms come easily and freely, literally, for me. Most days, anyway.
But when you do it, it’s different. Completely different. And I want that.
I never know when you’re going to switch from your fingers to your tongue or from your tongue to your dick. Or when you’ll decide I need to move from on-my-back to on-my-front. I’m not sure when it’ll all be over, or how long I’ve got to try and get to where I need to be. Not that we have any problems getting me there, of course, but there’s more pressure when you’re involved. And I want that pressure. I want to feel the disgruntlement of being taken right to the edge before my big finish is stolen away by an irritating change in speed. And to get ever-so-slightly annoyed when you jump straight from fingers to dick – no tongue, because finishing all over your face is one of my absolute favourite things to do and I hate it when you deny me of that. Or maybe it’s seeing that boyish grin as you lick your lips and wipe your beard afterward that’s my real favourite thing, a sense of proud accomplishment written all over your face?
But it’s not just about the big finish when I’m with you, although there’s no denying that it’s usually pretty spectacular. The build-up is just as exciting as the grand finale and oftentimes I don’t want the grand finale to come at all. I want the build-up to continue, to last for as long as we can make it. I want you to leave me feeling frustrated, angry, hopeful, impatient, demanding, eager, and bratty. I want you to bring out every emotion in me, all of them, one by one, just like you used to. I want the ebbs and flows, missteps, and awkward, intimate moments.
I want to enjoy it, let me enjoy it, all of it. Start to finish. The good stuff and the bad.
I want it all. I need it. I need you.
I need to fix this.
Please fuck me. Or let me fuck you.
*This blog post is a little late.