I like it when women give me prompts. I like writing. I like writing what comes to my mind, what bubbles up, what I feel I must write. But. I also enjoy when a woman tells me what she wants to know about the insides of my mind.
Recently, I gave Julie a bunch of options to rate in terms of hotness. One of the items she ranked as a “5” – really fucking hot – was giving me writing prompts.
I don’t know Julie. At. All.
We have been meeting regularly for a while now. Unquestionably, her good body is doing good things for my increasingly good body. Although I’ve been at this fitness thing for a bit more than a year now, and, in earnest – like, daily – for nine months or so, it’s only in the last two months or so that I’ve begun to feel, well, really fucking good. There’s a vanity component, of course: I look better than I have in years. I’m slender – something I’ve never been, or rather, never have been as an adult. (I was a twig-thin child and teen, but once I gained my freshman 80 – literally – I never have been back.) Ten or eleven years ago, when I started the blog, I was fit. I was muscular. But I wasn’t thin. I never could wear a pair of jeans with a 32″ waist comfortably – they always were snug. Today? Today, I’m wearing a pair of 30″ jeans. Comfortably. I weigh 160 pounds. Literally 20 pounds less than I weighed when I was 18.
And? Well, in addition to all that, my body just feels good. Walking is pleasurable. My legs don’t feel like they’re coiled up in tension. My movements through the universe feel a bit more easeful. This, in spite of considerable post-surgical pain that I fear I’ll never lose.
So. There’s all that, and Julie gets at least some credit. Prior to Julie, my daily stretching routine was a stretching routine, but it wasn’t pushing me hard. And it wasn’t building strength. Julie has me doing squats, doing planks, doing various yoga and Pilates poses that strengthen me and increase my flexibility. So. Thank you Julie.
But back to the writing prompt at hand.
All that time I’ve spent with Julie, and I don’t really know her. Scratch “really,” actually. I just don’t know her. At. All.
What I do know, I know from reading her slightly anxious facial expressions in our sessions together, and her texts. Which, as I’ve written, hint at a bit of excitement and enthusiasm that otherwise I would not know exists.
I know – from her texts, and from those anxious facial expressions – that Julie delights just a bit in my objectification of her, in the ways I leer at her, drinking in her body. And that that delight has a bodily aspect to it – that it makes her pussy twitch just a little. I know, also, from our little ranking exercise, that the things that she finds hottest are things that center my relationship to, experience of, and thoughts about her body.
No surprise, then, when the prompt came through: “What do u feel before and after we meet? And then what actually happens after we meet?”
So. First off. “U.” Julie and I don’t have the sort of relationship in which I might say to her, “Please don’t ever do that. She is not submissive to me (although I have the sense she thinks it might be fun to try submitting to me just a little). I don’t think, actually, that she’s submissive. I think she might like being tossed around. But I don’t have the sense that the notion of subordinating her desires and comfort to those of another – or at least to this other – makes her pussy wet. That the idea of giving up a bit of agency and relaxing into decision-less-ness is all that appealing. Not that she wouldn’t enjoy it. I have the sense she would. That it would be a relief. But rather, I have the sense that her anxiety, her insecurity, cause her to value control a bit too highly for that degree of agency abandonment to feel even remotely plausible. [I may be wrong. Or I may be right today, but wrong tomorrow. It may be that, over time, whether with me or with another, Julie will feel safe enough to abandon a bunch of control and just let herself go with the submissive flow. I hope so. For her sake. I have the sense it would make her cunt gush.]
So anyway – back to the text. “U.”
If Julie were interested in internalizing my desires, in devoting herself to them a bit, this would be the last text I receive from her featuring “text-speak.” For two reasons: one, text-speak just isn’t hot. And two? It communicates, to me, a sort of disrespect: when someone types “u” instead of “you,” they are implicitly saying, “I don’t have – or wish to spend – or wish to spend on you – the time typing two extra letters to complete a word.” Now I know that I may read more into a simple “U” than is intended. And I don’t fault Julie in any way for her “U.” But. She should know (and now, of course, she does) that one small way she could play with submitting to me would be to protect me from ever seeing that particular “word” again from her.
You’ll notice that I’m using her prompt, but I haven’t even – twenty minutes in – gotten to the actual prompt she intended.
What do I feel before and after we meet?
Before: we have, generally, been meeting in the morning. Early-ish. Before the start of my day, in earnest. But after I’ve gotten a lot done. By the time we meet, typically, I’ve meditated, I’ve been to the gym, I’ve traveled to my office, and I’ve had one, and maybe two cups of coffee. I’m in shorts and a t-shirt. My yoga mat is on the floor. And my computer is on my lap as I sit in a chair, dialing up our Zoom room. I’m fully awake.
And what I’m feeling is… ready. Typically, of late, I will have given her an instruction for this particular session. Yesterday, it was “Today’s ass day – pick your outfit, and our poses, and the camera angles, and everything to feature your ass as much as possible.” So in my “ready-ness,” I’m anticipating: what will she wear? Will it – like the leotards she’s worn – show me a lot of the flesh of her ass? Or will it – like her leggings and yoga shorts – instead focus my attention not on flesh, but on curves? Or, will it be a pair of short shorts, that manages to accomplish both feats, both hugging the curve with fabric and revealing the flesh of the crease of her thigh?
So those are thoughts, of course, not feelings. What I’m feeling in the moments before we start is, inevitably, hunger. Anticipation. Desire. I stroke my cock idly, grip it tightly, as I wait (if I’m there first). I’m typically not fully erect at this point, but my cock does swell, harden. Satisfyingly. In a way that makes me feel alive. And when she joins the Zoom, and I place my computer down on a couch or chair, so we can start, my cock’s tumescence typically does require a bit of… adjustment.
And when I see Julie, at the start of our session, I have a surge of feeling about what appears on screen – about the quality of the video connection (her WiFi has been nearly unfailingly excellent); about her setting (I’ve seen her, now, in four or five different places); about her lighting (she seems to enjoy preternaturally good lighting everywhere she is); and, of course, most of all, about her outfit. And Julie’s outfits never displease me. Even my least favorite – a pair of green shorts she’s worn two or three times – I would never complain about because, well, they manage that feat I described above, both flattering her curves and revealing flesh, all while giving me the hope (though never, actually, the reality) of a glimpse of the panties/liner that lies beneath them. So. When I see what Julie’s wearing, I typically feel admiration and gratitude – and, excitement – for I’m about to see it from lots of different angles, under strain from the pressure of our poses. So that’s a good feeling.
As for “after”…. [And I’ll note, she skipped “during.”]
After our sessions, typically, I jot down some notes. About what she wore. About what I liked seeing. About what I hoped to see but didn’t see. About ideas that popped into my mind for future sessions during this one. And as I do this, I feel… alive. My cock may or may not have been hard throughout the session, but now, as I write for just a couple of minutes, it is. And inevitably, I feel at least a little disappointment. Because if Julie were Diana, or Jude, or Leyla, or Emma, or Athena… well, if she were one of them, she’d have given me permission to record her, and I could dial up the session we’d just had, zoom in on her remarkable ass, and jerk myself off to the image of it, just inches from my face. But. That’s not available to me. So I feel a bit of disappointment (and confusion) about that. And, lately, at my newfound knowledge that even that idea isn’t especially hot to Julie.
So in the aftermath, the feelings are a mix of gratitude for what’s just transpired, excitement for what excellent ideas I’ve gained about the future sessions we’ll have (and anticipation of the execution of those ideas), that feeling of vitality and aliveness of a hard cock, and a slight sadness that I don’t have available to me the option of draining my hard cock while feasting my eyes on her ass.