Towels

A friend of mine recently wrote me a text. She said that she had been watching a programme on television and that she laughed so much that she thinks she felt a little bit of pee escaping.

Perhaps it wasn’t pee, I suggested. But this text was from a self-professed non-squirter. She says that she has never squirted copiously during sex and certainly not to the point of cascades of cum pouring out of her cunt. She doesn’t believe the things that she sees on hard core porn sites. She finds it difficult to believe that someone can shower that much spray out of their pussy.

I have told her that it is not some photographic trick and that I too can squirt fairly profusely when the timing is right, and that I also think that people who assume they are urinating when they are laughing are not doing so at all. What they are doing is having an ejaculation, caused by a sense of joviality and relaxation, similar to what is experienced at the time of orgasm.

You can have an orgasm without a squirt and you can equally have a squirt without orgasm – like, for instance, watching something hysterical on television, or being excited to the point of “needing to go to the toilet”.

It’s NOT piss, folks.

Which brings me to the point of this short piece of writing.

Towels.

Lots of them. I cannot survive without them any longer. I need plenty of the things spread out before me whilst I am having sex to soak up the glorious juices that escape from my cunt as soon as I am aroused, which thankfully, is fairly often.

I first realised that I needed towels some years ago when the emissions from my fanny were becoming more apparent at every delightful dose of sexual intercourse. At first, I was reticent to squirt. Maybe there was something wrong with me. I’ve always been a little juicy down there. Perhaps I was abnormal.

As time proceeded, I seemed to be getting wetter and wetter down there, both at the prospect of sex and the actuality. No sooner had cock or fingers entered my cunt and I was happily writhing and letting the juices run out of me. Pre-ejaculation lubrication is a valued and scarce item these days, such is my need to get squirting at the earliest opportunity.

So, I decided that I needed some towels. As my lover had a birthday approaching, I thought it would be a sound idea to buy him a set of towels specifically for me to rub my cunt juices into.

As soon as I handed them over to him, he knew precisely what they were for and they have been put to plenty of use over the subsequent years of fucking.
In fact, it is probably time to replace them. So much of a soaking have they had that they are losing their fluffiness and are all hard as I lie on them, despite being carefully looked after and washed regularly after use (though I do like the idea of leaving a sexy aroma in his room once I have departed. I like the idea of him sniffing away after I have left.)

I was delighted, therefore, to be watching some squirting girls today on a porn site and noticing that many of them had a towel carefully positioned ready to capture the essence of a woman.
One of these gorgeous creatures had the scrappiest of towels, with the sides all frayed. Somehow this really pleased me because it implied that it had been well-used, hopefully as a rehearsal for this filmed fountain of hers. It was so good to watch someone else being so turned on by the dildo that she was pushing in and around her cunt that she gushed so profusely that she needed that towel down there to soak up her juices.

Real women need towels.

Real women soak towels.

Real women are not perturbed by placing towels under their frisky bodies before a fuck.

Now that last statement was a real issue for me to overcome. I mean, the last thing you want is when you are in the throes of arousal is a sudden pause for pragmatism. It could easily cause a disappointing state of floppiness as proceedings are postponed for the placement of a couple of togs of fluffiness beneath you. So it is vital that the towels become part of the process; a tool of the trade, so to speak.

Nowadays, as soon as I am lying there in bed, ready to squirt, I will reach out for the towels that are already there at the side of the bed. The very appearance of these pieces of cloth remind my lover that I am ready to squirt and thus the sight of them is far from a break in procedure. Rather it is a further impetus for a rise in the cock, knowing that I am about to flood the place.

It just makes you think, though. How many women would be more at ease with squirting if their partners had the foresight to have a load of towels at the ready?  How many women would be more at ease with squirting if they realised that it was perfectly natural to squirt and that being practical about the fact is not a turn off; rather it is immensely satisfying to know that you are prepared for a douching.

I am suggesting that everyone should get themselves a decent set of towels and use them to good effect. Even if you are not a squirter, it doesn’t mean that you should stay that way, and maybe the very fact that you have some towels at the ready will provide that additional incentive to let yourself go and squirt away to orgasmic contentment.

Today, I had a wank. Actually, I had quite a few. First of all, I lay in bed, on my back with my play tool vibrating over my clitoris. I wanted this to be a very gradual experience. I sat and looked at some porn whilst my little plastic pal did its business. After a while, I could wait no longer. I needed to cum. I placed the computer to the side of me on the bed so that I could still watch the lovelies frigging themselves and then I lay onto the dildo and wanked until I came.

No squirting at that point but I could feel the pressure of orgasmic juices building up in my cunt.

I relaxed once more, did some more watching and then got my fingers into my very lubricated pussy. It felt beautifully sticky but I still needed to cum. A repeat performance took place: a gorgeous orgasm that hardly needed a second of rubbing to make it happen.

But still there was no squirting. So it was time to dive into the airing cupboard, locate a towel and place it on the bed, full length underneath me.

At this point, I got rid of the plastic dildo and helped myself to an ample amount of cunt, feeling my inners exploding with the force of my touch. Eventually, with my legs dangling at the bottom of the bed, I felt the surge of emissions flooding out of me.

My towel captured it all perfectly.

I will keep the evidence for my lover to have a look at it tomorrow, to smell it, to know that I was turned on enough by touching myself that I had to squirt.

So towels can be a very important part of sex, with or without a cock to accompany it, though of course, a girl like me prefers a serious soaking with a cock inside.

But the towel captures it all.

Perhaps I ought to write a story from the towels perspective!