I’ve decided to stop writing sex

Well, not exactly.

I was in a hotel elevator with Graziella (learn about her here; listen to her come here). We were either headed up, to fuck for the first time, or down, after we had finished and were headed home. I can’t for the life of me recall which. And I heard myself say, “I hate writing about sex.”

I explained myself. It’s not so much that I hate writing about sex. It’s that I hate trying to recount the details of sex I have had in a way that is either interesting or arousing. Because it rarely feels possible to make it either.

I really like writing about the circumstances surrounding sex, the ways it comes to happen, the set-up, the anticipation, etc. But the actual in-and-out? The “and then I put my cock in her pussy…” part? Not so much.

I feel that acutely here, as I contemplate telling you about Graziella, about how much, how well, she sucked my cock; about how expertly she rode me, how expertly I drove her while she rode me; about the length of time I spent between her thighs, a makeshift blindfold around her head, admiring how responsive she was to my tongue, wondering how much was performance, how much authentically felt, and whether there’s really a line, and where it falls. She previously had sent me a video of her doing something of a seductive dance for me. I’d told her of my preference for less “performative” videos, images. “I’m a bigger fan of natural than of theatrical,” I had written.

“To be honest,” she had replied, “that really is me being myself.”

So I sort of imagine that the nearly constant (and very hot) sounds emanating from her while I licked her clit were experienced by her as real, as felt. Even as they sounded somewhat theatrical to me.

And did she come?!? I honestly don’t know. Through the whole evening, I found that particular question a little baffling.

I’m not exactly fixated on the female orgasm. Or rather, I am, but not in that I need to get it when having sex. I love seeing women come, hearing women come, feeling women come, making women come. But it’s just fine with me, during sex, if a woman doesn’t come, as long as she’s having fun. And it certainly seemed like Graziella was having fun.

She seemed especially to like, and I definitely especially enjoyed, how while she rode me I used her throat to push and pull her back and forth on my cock. “No one’s ever done that with my throat before,” she said after. I’m lazy, as I’ve written, and as much as women like to be fucked from behind, hard, my favorite fucking position by far is on my back, you on top, riding me. One way to be clear about just who’s in control is if I grab your throat hard and use it to move your whole body, or at least firmly to guide it. This worked particularly well with Graziella.

And she also seemed to relish being given the chance to devour my cock – something she did with fervor and skill. It was in her mouth, at the end of the night, that I rewarded her with my cum – cum she swallowed hungrily.

I’ve heard from her twice since then. She’s told me, “You’re a cool guy, I had a lot of fun,” and “you’re really good at what you do.” I wasn’t sure if this latter was a compliment on my writing, or my tongue. I rather thought my tongue, but it wasn’t 100% clear. Then, I heard from her again. This was more clear. It was my tongue. She told me of a conversation with a couple with which she had had a threesome (that had begun in the same bar in which she and I met), in which it seems something she said had the guy seeking pointers, looking to improve his technique.

You know this is like candy for me – the idea that my prowess is being talked about in my absence just feeds my (endless) narcissism.

Anyway – the evening came to a close and we went our separate ways.

There – I told you all about it without writing sex!


Postscript: I never would post anything here without Graziella’s approval, and she saw this, and gave a lengthy explanation about her orgasms lately, about how sometimes “they don’t have a definitive completion… where [she] would absolutely have to push [my] head away.” She assured me that she “was not performing that evening.”

And yet – I STILL don’t know if she actually came.


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