A Perfect Piece of Fiction

I'll tell you what's been getting me lately. And, by "getting me" I mean "getting me off".

First, though, let me say that I haven't had sex with another person in, oh I don't know, a month? Maybe a little more? So, I'm left to my own devices. And, by devices, I mean my fingers, generally, and sometimes a dildo. I'm not a fan of vibrators. I've used them, but find the sensation too extreme. After using them consistently for a while I become over-sensitive and it takes too much, and sometimes too long, to come. So, I eschew vibrators and rely on my good, old right hand. It's fabulous.

Anyway, in the hopes he doesn't mind my linking to his site, I want to share with you this fantasy that Roper from Confessions of an English Gentleman has so brilliantly developed and shared with us and what I've been coming back to over and over. And coming to over and over.

As in the fantasy, I picture myself in the lap of my lover, whoever he may be. I picture his hands on my thighs, holding them apart so that the stranger sitting between my legs has a perfect view of my mostly waxed, and very wet, cunt. I see the strangers fingers pushing up into me as my lover watches and makes me watch. I drip at the thought of a stranger, someone my lover has chosen, looking at me and touching me. And watching me as I spread myself for him and come completely open and exposed, while he ravishes my holes with his fingers.

A stranger. I am enamored with the idea of exposing myself, of opening myself, my cunt specifically, to a stranger. Of being seen by a man I don't know. Seen and appreciated. Seen and touched. Seen and instructed in what actions to take. Told to spread myself, to show myself, to masturbate, to come. By someone I don't know.

And yet, I also crave intimacy. Because I have no illusion that what I describe here, simply exposing myself to a strange man, is intimate. I have done it, more than once now, and I know this - it is vulnerable, it is sexual, certainly, and sensual, perhaps, and for me incredibly arousing. But, it is not intimate. There isn't closeness, except in physical proximity.

And that is what attracts me so to Ropers Fantasy No. 11. It combines both the trust and intimacy and ability to share something so private with someone I love and the debauchery of a stranger finger fucking me. It is, really, perfect.

Thank you, Roper. For, somehow, climbing into my head and pulling out such a perfect piece of fiction that I can ride on over and over.

Note: Obviously, I'm over my little moment of feeling supremely unsexy. Whew! As I seem to do with everything lately, I've decided to blame it on hormones. So nice to have a scapegoat.