Writing about sex

When you are awoken, enlivened and excited you want to tell the world – well I do anyway.
I think I was born with a desire to help other people, or maybe it was part of the nurturing process, but that is a conversation for another time.
Come to think of it, it would be quite a good discussion – Sexuality and the Nature/Nurture debate.
Obviously as humans, we have a predilection for sex due to the fact that we are essentially animals and it is the way that we reproduce. But where does the appreciation, acceptance and for want of a better word acknowledgement of our sexuality come from? Is that instinctive as well or does it have to be carefully nurtured, without being stymied by the constraints of social acceptability?
Later!

To return to my original theme, I have always wanted to help people to make the best of their lives. I want people to realise their potential, not merely academically or intellectually, but to really live life to the full, using their emotions, caring for one another, feeling good, stretching themselves, learning to be empathetic, looking at the abundant beauty of their world and their lives.
It all sounds very visionary, but why shouldn’t people have a vision and a hope? Doesn’t that keep us alive and thoughtful?

I had a chosen path – a career choice that enabled me to ‘help’. The pathway needs a diversion at the moment because I cannot reach the people that I originally intended to ‘help’ but what this diversion has also brought is the thought that there are other ways and other people that I could help.
‘Help’ has been placed in inverted commas because I am not sure it is the right word. Help implies a certain amount of reliance, and as far as sexuality is concerned, I want people to discover their sexuality and revel in it for themselves. I want them to explore their sexuality and be invigorated by it and its potential to continue to excite and energise them. I also want them to know that whilst sexuality is reliant on relationships or encounters with other people, there is plenty one can do for yourself, and I am not just talking about masturbation.
Sex is about the mind, body and soul; learning what you want and need to enable that climatic combination of these three core elements of sexuality is something that everyone should, at the very least, be aware of.

So how can I help?
Sometimes, I am not so sure but one of the things that I am trying to do with these blogs is to show people that sexuality is not something for a chosen few. It is not something for the twenty something’s alone. It is not wrong or unacceptable to be a horny woman with 2.4 kids in middle age. It is something that people should be far more concerned about and it is something that is ‘achievable’ for the majority not the minority.

So how can I do this?
I guess, by doing what I do – looking at areas of sexuality that are either taboo or unspoken, thinking about the politics and the socialisation of sexuality, writing to normalise the sexual experiences that I am currently having.

And this is precisely where I am today.
All I want to do is write an account of my most recent sexual experience.
There are a variety of reasons that I want to do this.
Firstly, it enables me to relive the special, horny moments that I have most recently had. In the writing of this, I can enjoy remembering every little detail and it turns me on once more, so that I can physically recollect and thus feel my cunt coming alive with that heavy and pressing urgency of sexual fluids building up and ultimately needing release.
Secondly, I hope that my lover will read such accounts and similar physical and emotional things will happen with him. How often do we actually have this opportunity to read about your partner’s feelings and thoughts about their own sexuality because of what you have done to them or had done by them?
Thirdly, I write to show people that this is my life, and it could be theirs too.
I want to ‘help’ people to understand that this beautiful sexuality is not just some unattainable aspiration but they could and more importantly should be experiencing the type of experiences that I am having.
This is real folks. This is not some imagination or some titillation to attempt to excite. This is an account of the realities of breathtaking appreciation of my sexuality and the sexuality of another.
Finally, I hope that by reading about my sexual experiences, other people would consider writing about their sexual experiences to see what this whole process of writing does for them.

So, here we go.

Last night, I was, quite frankly knackered. Not sexually knackered but really tired and drained from a range of meetings and events over the last few weeks. I slumped into the chair to eat my evening meal and could so easily have drifted into a long and deep slumber.
Once I had refuelled myself with some tasty food however, I finally woke up, not to an overt and ridiculous frisky level, just a pleasant acknowledgement that I was alive.

Sitting there watching television, sex was not at the forefront of my mind. I was simply enjoying a simple, normal evening in front of the box, settling into a very loving embrace – just being comfortable.
And I don’t want the readers to think that I am so sexually driven that I am incapable of just enjoying this type of evening. I would have been more than satisfied to leave it at that. There is an utter delight for me to simply sit and be held and share the commonplace normalities of tv watching. It isn’t that I needed sex that much. It isn’t that I had an urgency to fuck.
But I’d been awakened and there I was, suddenly aware that parts of my body, my mind and my entire being was been consumed by simply feeling good, and well – if there is an opportunity to be sexual then fine – I guess it doesn’t take too much to get me going.

So, when he held me, it felt wonderful. When he placed his arm across my chest, it felt right, when he pushed his hand into my bra and twiddled away, gently manipulating my nipples, it felt deliciously warm.
Did he do all of this knowing that once stimulated, I was not likely to be able to stop at a boob massage? I doubt it. He did it because it felt right for him to do that; just sit there and hold me. It is perfectly natural to want to sit there and fiddle with my tits. It is not a prerequisite or a carefully planned form of foreplay. It is was just the right thing to do, and although he knows me well enough to know that once stimulated I am highly likely to want more, it wasn’t why he did it.

So as he is gently caressing by tits, cupping them in his ample hands, I feel a need to reciprocate, not as some sort of quid pro quo, but I just want to feel his balls in my hand.
I had no intention to vigorously grasp them so that he instantly gained a hard on. That was not my motive. I just want to smooth my fingers around his balls, feeling the firmness of them, running my hand around their shape, their form.
Of course, they change shape then. His cock, which is peacefully lying over his balls begins to grow with my slight and gentle touches, and his balls are similarly tightening, contracting and expanding at my touch.

I now want to feel them for real. I don’t want them to be covered and restricted by the cloth of either his jeans or his pants. I want my hand to forage through his knickers, through his pubes to reach down and fold my entire hand over his cock and balls, and as I continue to run my fingers subtly up and down his cock, I am aware of a need to move it to an upright position so that I can really begin to squeeze his balls in my hand.
I love feeling that part of him where his balls and cock come together, and as I do this, I know my hands need to take his cock and clutch it, and I know that the time has come where he needs to be stroked into a sizable hard on.
Time is taken, there is no rush, despite a ticking clock reminding me that I should be on my way.
Time is insignificant now and counts for nothing. His cock is growing in my hands, because I am touching him and he is responding not just physically but as I look across to him, I know, from the look on his face, that the physical enjoyment is transforming into that overwhelming joy of inviting the mind and the soul to join in the fun.

His cock is now enormous and stiff and I am now rubbing him fairly vigorously and he is enjoying it.
I have never read a book about how to wank. I never know whether I am doing it properly, other than the obvious reaction of a stiffy, but he assures me once more, that this is what he likes and what he wants. Similarly, as I take his sizeable one in my mouth, I have no idea as to whether this is the best way to give head. I don’t know whether I should be sucking more, or licking more, or providing more variety in the strength of my touches but whatever I am doing, he seems to be enjoying.

I adore the taste of my lover’s cock in my mouth. I love to feel it slide down my mouth to the point of contact with my gagging reflex. I want to suck him hard and wipe my tongue all over his dick that is increasingly excited as it sits in my moist imitation of the juicy cunt below.

By now, I am alternating between going down on him and wanking away. His stiff cock and his gentle moans of satisfaction remind me that I am clearly doing something that appeals to him and I cannot decide what I want more – his cock in my hands, my mouth or my cunt which is about to explode.

With passionate kissing, and longing licks of lips, with swirling, intertwined tongues we know that our sexuality is heightened. We both want each other and yet, in a way, penetrative sex is not essential. We have the reality, the truth and the delights of our sexuality right here and now. The fucking of cock and cunt is not a vital element at this point.

But I want to cum and I cannot do that subtly right now. I have to whip my knickers and trousers off because I know that I am about to spunk a fucking big load out of my bulging cunt.
His cock is so fucking beautiful at this point and I want to cum. It is overwhelming. My desire to cum is almost unbearable. I rush my attire away as he too de-robes. I didn’t need his cock inside me to cum. I was there with my mind. As he held his cock in one hand and my pussy in the other, I was completely sexually alive and ready for some penetrative sex. So the obvious thing to do was sit right down on his erection and fuck him hard as I ride away to an aggressively hot and fulsome gush.

I soaked his shirt and his sofa. His tummy, pubes, balls and cock were drenched in my sex. And still I kept on riding him because my cum was still cumming. More cum, more delight, more fucking, more wonderful, wonderful kissing and acknowledgement of our joint desire and joint sexuality. How good can this get? Can it really get any better than this?
And to top it all, he finishes himself off with a fantastic gush of spunk that I wipe all over my panties so that I can go to bed that night smelling his fuck juices as a reminder, as if I needed one, of this sensational sexuality that we share.

Oh yes, writing about this is damn good.
My reasons for writing are done.
I’m so turned on that I have had to interrupt this writing to escape to the toilet and get a few fingers inside me to ease the ubiquitous juices out of me. I hope that the second reason for writing will come with my lover reading this account.
The third and fourth reason – well that is up to the readers.
Please feel free to respond.