I don’t want to be naked when we start to fuck: I want you to undress me. I want frotting and cotton – want to rub up against you with a barrier between us. I want to be able to slip a hand inside your t-shirt and feel the soft hair in the small of your back with my palm. I want to feel like we’re going somewhere.
If we’re naked, we’re already there. If we strip in front of each other, tearing off our own t-shirts and jeans and socks, it’s half performance and half nuisance.
These clothes are no more than things to remove. A step that gets in the way.
So I don’t want to be naked: I want you to take off my clothes.
Do you know how delicious that sensation is when you pull down at my bra? Tugging the hem of the fabric so it grazes against a hard nipple as it slips down? The satisfying tightness as it strains to sit just below my tits? The way it sits so neatly – pushing them up as you bury your face in them.
I love the satisfying ‘pop’ of the clasp as you manage to get it undone and that is why I need you to undress me.
I want to undress you too. I don’t like the fait accompli of a naked guy standing proud and hard and grinning. I need – sometimes – to unwrap him myself. I need to kiss his neck and grab his arse and run soft hands over the crotch of his jeans. Judging just the right moment to unbutton the fly and slip my fingers inside to tease round the head of his dick.
I need to undress you.
I get told off sometimes because I’m impatient with foreplay. I get fidgety if someone tries to kiss my naked body all over. I squirm if he’s giving me head, because what I really want is a fuck.
But I do like foreplay like this: all twisted cotton and frotting and becoming naked together. Foreplay, for me, is watching someone’s dick get hard. It’s that moment when you run your hand across cotton and slide it up to find bare skin beneath. It’s discovering what colour your boxers are when I’m panting and halfway to wet, rather than seeing them screwed up on the floor before we’ve even begun that first kiss.
And when you’re together a long time, you’re often naked already. In bed you cuddle and it’s all skin-on-skin. No surprises. No frotting. No undressing. No half-clothed make-outs on the sofa because you couldn’t bear to unlock lips for long enough to go down the hall.
We’re naked already, so we’re ready to fuck. Except I’m not quite ready to fuck. I want you to put your pants back on, tuck your tight-wrapped junk back inside your jeans and let me discover it myself.
Besides: I like it when he undresses me.
I like it when he barely undresses me – just yanks my knickers to the side, then presses the swollen head of his dick against my slick cunt. Biting my nipples on a whim, because he’s just spotted them sticking out from a hastily-opened shirt and roughly pushed-down bra.
Being exposed piece by piece.
Discovering each thing as if it’s new, because we had to uncover it together.