Cum As You Are
Why what’s inside your head generally matters more than what’s inside your body.
As best as I can tell from my own decades of sexual experiences, there are basically two kinds of people when it comes to sex. There are those for whom predictability and physical sensation are paramount, and those for whom imagination is primary.
For the former there are countless resources explaining precisely how to stimulate this body-part while using that toy, tongue, or finger. For the latter, erotic stories and erotic daydreams provide a route to explosive orgasms and perhaps some real-life explorations.
I confess my preference has long been for the latter because it opens up a wealth of possibilities and different dynamics. It’s not unlike one’s taste in food: there are those who have their four favorite meals they can eat over and over again, the familiarity and predictability of this being comforting and satisfying; then there are those who prefer a wider range of flavors and textures and who are willing to try new things because every once in a while it will lead to the discovery of something additional to be included in their repertoire when the mood strikes.
Neither preference is better or worse than the other; it all depends on who we are.
For me, however, cultivating the imagination has always been irresistible. There’s something intoxicating about learning the secret desires and predilections of a woman, discovering what truly turns her on (sometimes she won’t even have been aware of it herself), and using that knowledge to produce endless pleasures.
It’s not a path to be followed by the unwary, because most of us have deep insecurities that are often triggered by exploration. I’ve known countless women who’ve fantasized about having a threesome with another woman but who will never do so in real life because they’re crippled by an insurmountable fear that the other woman would be prettier, sexier, or whatever. I’ve likewise listened to men talking about how hot it would be to share their partner with another man but invariably nothing comes of it; the other guy could have a bigger or more reliably hard penis, a better physique, or whatever.
Most people are constrained by their fears, which is sad but not my responsibility to attempt to ameliorate.
Instead I’ve focused on enjoying those times when I’ve been able to dive into mutual exploration with a woman and create both imaginary and real-world experiences that unleash waterfalls of bliss.
This is only possible when we set aside any misguided notion of what is “proper” or “acceptable” or (worst of all) “politically correct.” The erotic mind has no interest in trite formulations created by other people who believe it’s their duty to tell everyone else what they should be doing, feeling, and wanting. The erotic mind needs to follow its own winding path towards its own singular destination.
Now for some examples to illustrate a little of what I mean, because, let’s be honest, we all like juicy examples far more than abstract musings. All names & locations have of course been changed to protect the far-from-innocent.
Some years ago I met Erika at one of the interminable conferences I used to have to attend for purposes of work. We struck up a conversation over lunch, mutually sympathizing about the tedium of the conference and the waste of precious life it represented. We met up again for dinner and it became clear that “possibilities” were in the air. She began to talk about her less-than-satisfactory sexual life with her husband and soon I understood that their preferences were ill-matched.
He’d absorbed countless well-meaning articles about how women always need hours of careful preparation in order to be ready for intercourse and he’d developed a highly predictable routine that left Erika bored out of her mind. She’d tried explaining to him that often she just wanted to be taken and “used” but he was certain this was simply because she hadn’t raised her consciousness sufficiently. Plus, it was clear he felt he had to “earn” his once-a-week six minutes of intimacy. So he stuck to his elaborate “get Erika ready” routine while she ground her teeth in frustration.
She then went on to tell me she’d always wanted to try anal intercourse but her husband was adamant that it would hurt her too much.
I may be slow on the uptake, but even I was able to grasp the core message here. And so it was that after we’d hastily finished our meal we found ourselves kissing passionately in the elevator on our way up to my room. Erika’s body was trembling all over and when I squeezed her nipples through her blouse she whimpered with desire. As soon as the door of my room was closed behind us I ordered her to strip and get down on all fours. Although her fingers fumbled her buttons and the zipper on her dress, she managed to get naked in record time.
I instructed her to crawl toward me and suck my cock, telling her she had to earn her fucking. At this point her pupils were so dilated I suspect I was just a blur to her, which probably improved the aesthetics of the situation considerably.
Eagerly she deep-throated my already-hard penis and she kept whimpering and trembling as she did everything she knew to please me. After a couple of minutes I grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her over to the bed, then positioned her on her knees, her chest and face pressed into the duvet, and told her to reach behind herself and spread her butt-cheeks. Obediently she did as instructed and began to make half-panting, half-sobbing sounds. I positioned myself behind her and told her in a stern voice not to move or I’d whip her until she wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. To my surprise she said, in a trembling voice, “I’ll be a good girl, I promise.”
Although I can be slow on the uptake when it comes to women signaling interest in me, I do plan ahead once the lightbulb illuminates. As neither of us had expected anything like the evening’s events to occur, neither of us had any lubricant. Taking a cue from the dreadful Brando movie Last Tango In Paris I’d appropriated four tabs of butter before leaving our dinner table and it was with two of these that I carefully prepare her anus and rectum and greased up my own hard penis.
And then I eased my cock into her asshole.
Although I was prepared to withdraw at the first hint of trouble, to Erika it must have felt like it was her inescapable doom to be opened up and used unrelentingly. As the head of my cock pushed into her tight rectum she let out a loud moan of despair. I pushed in more and she came hard, her sphincter gripping my cock so tightly it was nearly painful. I waited, half in, as she shook and cried out with pleasure, saying “oh god, oh god,” over and over.
Now, while I’m rather fond of my penis (it being the only one I have) I’m under no illusions about its awesomeness. It isn’t one of those impressive cocks that enters a room a full sixty seconds before its owner, and I’ll never make a cetacean envious. Erika’s explosive reaction to being penetrated anally was obviously a function of what was happening inside her head, which was that her longed-for erotic dynamic was finally being realized.
Once she’d recovered a little from her first orgasm I proceeded to sodomize her for about ten minutes, after which I judged she’d be tender enough the next day to have fond memories but not be so sore that she’d be put off doing it again when the opportunity next arose. She surprised me by turning around and instantly taking my cock into her throat the moment I’d withdrawn from her asshole and sucking it eagerly until I spurted into her and she swallowed every drop, moaning and whimpering as she did so.
We lay holding each other for a while, me breathing easily and Erika gasping and sobbing unevenly as her body’s trembling slowly subsided. And then, ten minutes later, I looked into her eyes, told her to spread her legs, and then with a single thrust penetrated her vagina. Her eyes opened wide and within a minute she came hard, crying out so loudly I wondered if Security would come knocking on the door in response.
Once again, while I’d love to claim her vaginal orgasm was the result of my masterful technique and world-class male organ, the reality is that Erika’s mind was still driving the action.
When the mind is fully engaged, the body invariably follows.
It would be redundant for me to recount the next eight hours we spent variously half-dozing and fucking. It’s sufficient to understand that the greatest part of Erika’s physical pleasure was the outcome of her mental state. Her imagination and her physical reality had come into lock-step and the results were profoundly gratifying.
We never saw each other again (we lived on opposite coasts) but I hope she was able to find similar experiences elsewhere. None of us should live in a sexually frustrating state of permanent lockdown simply because our partner is unable to meet our true needs.
By way of a second example, another woman I knew had since her teen years fantasized about being used by a group of men.
It’s possible to look at the reality of this in two quite opposing ways. From one perspective it can be seen as a bit squalid: an anonymous group fuck where the woman is nothing more than a cum dump for men who care nothing about her. From the other perspective it’s the culmination of years of masturbatory fantasizing in which she is the central character, owning her sexuality and reveling in the sheer carnality of the situation.
Thanks to a bit of luck, fortunate timing, and plenty of judicious pre-screening, we were able to make her fantasy cum true. Everyone had a good time, and the good time herself was delighted by the experience even though it left her tender and a bruised for days afterward. Once again the key was entirely inside her head. She wanted to be blindfolded for the experience, explaining that “Everything is more intense when I’m not allowed to see who’s using me, and it’s erotic to think that maybe some of them know me in real life. It really turns me on that I won’t know, whenever I speak to a man afterward, if he was one of the guys who fucked me any way he wanted.”
The point of all this is not to say that we should always make our fantasies come true. Sometimes that would be quite unwise. The key point is that very often one’s state of mind matters far more than any special technique, toy, or item of clothing. It’s pleasant enough to learn new things and experiment with positions and bondage gear, but it’s explosive when we learn that where the mind leads, the body nearly always gratefully follows.