June has always been my favorite month. And here we are. Washing the paint of our best virtual sex off with a shower sex fantasy. I like to fuck in June.
“Texas ever been there?” he asks.
“Been to every state, most more than once. Texas 4-5 times. In Texas I closed out the Honky Tonk outside Houston and went to the George H.W. Bush shooting range the next morning. Cried at a father teaching his 4 year old to shoot a Glock, actually drawled out these words ‘look honey you hold this tight and daddy’s gonna help you pull this trigger ain’t no one ever gonna hurt you girl’.
Went to a BBQ another time with sustainable community people outside Amarillo, Bomb City (nukes made there, I assume you know these things because you know everything, but I say anyway). Least hippie sustainable community ever.
Got one other great TX story. Stopped at a gas station in West Texas. Hours of flat. Nothing. Windy. Everyone quiet when I walk in, you know. But they get used to me. I see a giant fat bald woman with a chemo cap. And her toothless toothpick hubbie. He buying her two king size Butterfinger candy bars. I walk outside. He talking about her sweet tooth. Wind blowing so hard. Flat. Plant material in the air. She unwraps both Butterfingers at the same time and shoves them both whole in her mouth, releasing the wrappers into the wind at the same time. That image. Texas.
You ever had a Butterfinger? Try chewing even one bite of that shit. Anyway, yes, I’ve been to TX. Why?”
“9 times the size of France. Meanwhile we go shower our paint. Because we may sleep together not just fuck. And a shower would be nice.” he says, hinting at a shower sex fantasy.
“I’d like to shower with you.” I admit. The shower sex fantasy does sound nice.
“So soaping and washing each other. Would that be a turn on?” he asks.
“Yes, total turn on. Shaving even, though I don’t shave anything.”
“Nor do I.”
“Cut my hair?” I ask.
“Wow. Cutting each others hair? Would we?”
“For me you us or the revolution?” he asks.
“All of the above.” I hope we get to fuck today.
“So now we are in the shower – sexual fantasy – diary record algorithm. How far we push this one before water gets cold.”
“Does it hurt when I soap your cock?” I ask, thinking about men I’ve met with sensitive skin.
“No it does not.”
“And your balls?”
“I am holding them with my right hand”
“You’re helping. Thank you. I’m being so gentle.” I reassure him.
“We have always helped. So you are going to shave my balls for the thrill and originality and pushing your psychosexual boundaries and testing my trust or you just going to find my prostate?”
“Both?” I ask.
“Shave you. This time. It has been so long. But I used to love the act of shaving. The only couple times I’ve shaved my legs in the past decade is because I missed doing it. So what razors do we have? Gillette.”
“I’m quite sure there are none and we have to order in from jeff bezos or run down to the shop or use very gently the machine i use to shave my beard. Oh gillette.” I can almost hear him shaking his head.
“Mmmm no this is America.” I state, proudly. It’s the first time I’ve been in the US for this long of a duration in years.
“Knew you would play this game.” he sighs.
“Run to the corner and there’s a Mach 3 Turbo Sensitive Skin… with the gooey strip and coated blades.”
“At your command.”
“And the packaging! So much of it. (oh I’m aching to talk the history of Gillette too…) Anyway ok I was afraid you’d say straight razor and I’ve never handled one.”
“I am not a fool.”
I laugh at this.
“We are practising our writing here.”
“Well, I’m practicing… You’re practising.”
“That sexy american voice.” he says. I blush.
“I’m scared to cut you, or yank on your hairs. Shouldn’t I cut them shorter first?”
“I think so & i might have to help but if you tell me not to i wont. I know this means my skin will be more sensitive a few hours & maybe my cock will look bigger. I hope i get to fuck the woman i am in shower with.” he says, hinting at the sex part of the shower sex fantasy.
“Shot to my cunt reading that. Please do help at least verbally. So scissors first then.”
“Wow castration anxiety.” he types this quickly. I react. I am so afraid of scaring him away. So desperate to fuck him.
“If there’s anything I want the opposite of more in this world, it’s to castrate you. I’d do bad things for you to keep your cock. And that’s what I’m thinking while I’m snipping hairs. Carefully. Focused. Breathing. Steady.”
“And I assume you know because you’re a man who makes passes at girls who wear glasses, that I’m like three inches away from your manhood with my face.”
“I have poor eyesight.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m only 3 inches away. No glasses.”
“Your glasses are useless.” he says. He’s right. It’s a shower sex fantasy.
“I’m on my knees with a razor in my right hand and your balls in my left waiting for instructions.”
“Shave carefully. Stretch skin before you do. It stretches. It is male skin. Not female legs. You like being told what to do? Do you need instructions?” he instructs.
“Mmmmm a little of both. But I could figure it out too yes. I would know to stretch skin. Like a tattoo. But my aim is to leave no scars. And that triggers the psychosexual as I think about the marks we leave on each other.” and I do. How he has cut into my heart with such expertise that I did not feel it. But now, whenever he is gone, the scars show.
“Forget shaving. We have shaved each other but not totally coz that is weird. Forget shaving.
Back to shower. I massage your scalp shoulders. We kiss water flowing over faces.”
“Back against the wall, leg raises, foot against the opposite wall, other foot braced at the edge. Pulling you into me, I’m wedged. Can’t slip. Arms around you. Water filling the pool my breasts make against your chest. Embracing you.”
“Thank u. U hot horny american girl with warm breasts and you so squirm. Hot and horny you.” I feel the warmth in his shower sex fantasy.
“And you. I’m not sure you’re not supernatural.” I admit. “We’re still showering.”
“U feel so american. It is ok. To be american. U didn’t do this.” By this I wonder what he means. The endless wars? The pandemic? The protests?
“I’m here. I can see the Rocky Mountains in the moonlight.” I say, wistfully looking out of the window.
“I’m ok with that. But it has not been such a large part of my identity in so long. My swelling Americanness. I love the water.”
“U bring me back up so often. Are you the lover i craved i think as suddenly i come and almost faint laughing at myself.”
“I am. I’m laughing at you too.” I am grinning. I know I’ve caught him.
“I want to dry and oil you. More minutes. More time. More pleasure. More of your body. More.”
“Sandalwood? My fave”
“After shower your legs and calves need to be massaged. You are back on your tummy.”
“Wiggling my butt.”
“And i work those muscles of both legs before sitting myself on your rump and my weight goes through to your shoulders and my pianist fingers work slowly.”
“Ohhhhhhhhh” I moan, at the reminder of his pianist fingers. Of his music. His rhythm.
“We both high.”
“I’m moaning. Oooo and shy then. First times so many all day”
“Sorry. Lie on your side. We talk. No need to fuck. Is there?
Do you need to fuck yet again?
Again?” he asks.
“Hmmmmmmm when you ask me that the answer goes to yes. Because when you ask me that it makes me shudder. In the best way.”
“Touch your clit.” He demands.
“Yes sir. I am touching and not moving because you didn’t say so and because will come so quick if I do.”
“Put your other hand there.”
“Now you can see the phone but both hands should be on your sex. Fingers to clit move as much as you want. Fingers in your cunt.
Even transcribing this now my clit twitches at these words from him.
“One finger on clit, one finger just an inch inside, pressure just when I want it and of course I came for you in a skinny minute.
And what about you? What do you need?” I want to addict him to me. To serve him so well he has to come back over and over.
“Watch you come. Read your orgasms.”
“Feel like slingshots today. Entire pelvic floor. Tension. Tautness. Twang. No slack, just at ready. You could make me come in ways no one ever has.” I confess. Truthfully.
“On the table. We are same height. Perfect angle. You stretch out across that table and up on your toes and tell me to fuck you. Where u want to be fucked? You decide. I don’t decide. I am just a cock that needs to fuck you. I need to come.
Make me come.” he commands.
“I like the table. I like grabbing the sides of it and swiveling my hips while you fuck me. I can tell you think I’m pretty. Corn-fed and all. You’re looking down at me. If you need to come then you can grab that table. Legs up your chest now, ankles over your shoulders.
What if I talk to you while you’re bearing down on me. Sweat dripping off your nose onto my chest. What shall I tell you? How much I want you? Will it be scary?
Or what about it? American porn? You’re so big daddy, you fuck me so good, give me that cock so hard baby?
Or just plain… I want you to come for me because I love it when you come. It’s my best thing.
You my best thing.”
The morning has started for him. He is sitting in a stairwell stealing WiFi, and has been all night. Those he is stealing from are waking. He has to go.
“Like u. Thank u.” he says.
And then disappears.
This post is #5 in a series documenting cybersex with my favorite lover, including that one time we went at it relentlessly 16 hours a day for 3 weeks straight.
2: Your Cock
4: Your Cunt
5: Shower Sex
8: Empty Me
12: 20% Battery
13: Online Flirt
14: Hot Messaging
15: Side of Shibari
20: Hot Sexy Stories
21: Erotic Stories
But wait, there’s more!
How we met: The European Lovers: Hookup
The first time: The European Lovers: Barcelona
Favorite Lover as Muse: