One of the things that I discovered in the early days of this blog was something I don’t think I realized I discovered for a long time. But that is the extent to which being engaged in real time back and forth with another human makes me feel alive.
This is especially true if our communication is explicitly sexual and if it has the effect of keeping my cock hard. It works with non-sexual relationships as well. There’s little I enjoy more than a frenzied back and forth charged with some or other emotional intensity, whether intellectual or political or social or sexual. The back and forth, the constant evidence that someone is thinking about me and is thinking about me in a way that reflects wanting more of me, is vitalizing, reassuring, gratifying, nourishing.
It’s hard for me to overstate how powerful this effect is. When there’s a notification on my phone and I learn that P has sent me some words or an image, my heart leaps and I experience a very primal form of joy as I look at whatever pretty photo of her face or thighs or ass she generously has sent.
I mentioned P, but this particular phenomenon is not, alas, person-specific. Every photo a woman sends me of herself, of her thighs, of her ass, of her face, of her cleavage, every single one counters my internal narrative that I’m not worthy, that there’s something fundamentally bad about me. And it reassures me in some primal sense that I am an okay human.
Featured image prompt (gemini): Analog-warm 35mm photograph, bedroom, deep night. A woman in her thirties sits on the edge of an unmade bed, screen-glow from a phone held low in both hands lighting her face and throat from below — cool blue against the amber of a single bedside lamp behind her. She is wearing a lace balconette bra, deep wine-red, and matching high-leg briefs, nothing else, stockings still on with one suspender unclipped and trailing. She is looking down into the phone with a slow, deliberate half-smile — the expression of someone who knows exactly what she is sending and exactly what it will do. The camera is placed low at the foot of the bed, shooting slightly upward along the line of her bare thighs and hip, cropped just below the collarbone. Grain, shallow focus, intimate and a little illicit.
Bottom image prompt (gemini): Analog-warm 35mm photograph, bedroom, deep night. A woman in her thirties sits on the edge of an unmade bed, screen-glow from a phone held low in both hands lighting her face and throat from below — cool blue against the amber of a single bedside lamp behind her. She is wearing a lace balconette bra, deep wine-red, and matching high-leg briefs, nothing else, stockings still on with one suspender unclipped and trailing. She is looking down into the phone with a slow, deliberate half-smile — the expression of someone who knows exactly what she is sending and exactly what it will do. The camera is placed low at the foot of the bed, shooting slightly upward along the line of her bare thighs and hip, cropped just below the collarbone. Grain, shallow focus, intimate and a little illicit.