I’ve written so much on this blog over the years about watching people wank, you’d think I’d have run out of things to say about it by now. You’d be wrong, though, because just as no two snowflakes – or two fucks – are ever exactly the same, so two precious opportunities to watch somebody beat one out will always be different in ways that I believe deserve fawning appreciation. Thanks to the uniqueness of every person I fuck, and the infinite ways in which I lust after their quirks and kinks, I can always find something in any given wank to get drooly and cross-eyed over. Today I want to talk about intentionality – how part of the joy of watching someone wank to porn is in understanding their specific choices about who and what will turn them on in this moment. Seeing them select a scene; skip through the parts they’re not interested in; maybe rewind the sections they want to to enjoy more than once… all this gives me horny little clues about their specific lusts in that moment.
Before we start I have to tell you that I’ve invented a character for this story. I’d like you to imagine there’s a porn performer called Hannah Tees. I made that name up by scrolling BlueSky till I saw a woman’s first name, and randomly browsing around a map of the UK till I saw a word that could also be a surname, then checking to make sure a performer of that name doesn’t already exist. She doesn’t, as far as I know, if you search that phrase you get T-shirt companies which is fine by me. This story relies on me being able to drop the name of a specific performer into the narrative, though, and I can’t pick the actual performer because then I would be breaking one of the boundaries this particular man has asked me to respect: no telling people about the specific porn he watches.
Consent, innit.
So: Hannah Tees. She doesn’t exist. Please imagine a porn performer of that name, and feel free to picture her exactly how you like, depending on your own tastes. Maybe she’s a curvy brunette with a wickedly playful grin who you’ve seen a lot in VR porn, or a slim blonde with blow job lips and a history of doing awesome kink videos. Perhaps she’s a splosh expert, if that’s what you’re into. It doesn’t matter exactly what Hannah Tees does, only that you know she’s a very specific person with a history of doing Those Kinds Of Scenes You Especially Enjoy. Got it? OK let’s go.
I’m semi-asleep on the sofa. I know I started another recent story this way too, but I have two jobs these days so I’m a very sleepy girl. Don’t judge me.
While I’m lying there, eyes closed and breathing lightly, but still maintaining my slutty aura by not wearing any trousers, he’s starting to get a bit horny. Contemplating a wank while I doze on the sofa next to him. I’ve been in and out of sleep as he’s been perusing YouTube, but when he switches to porn instead there’s a subtle shift in his body positioning and a difference in the tone of the sound now coming from the telly. It triggers some deep instinct even in my semi-sleeping brain – whichever bit of the amygdala is responsible for alerting me to a tempting erection in the vicinity – and I wake up so as not to miss anything hot.
I don’t snap fully awake though, for reasons that will be clear if you’ve read any of my previous odes to wanking: if I’m watching someone wank I want to make myself invisible, so as to replicate (as close as possible) the environment in which they would usually wank on their own. I don’t want someone to wank for me as performance, most of the time I want to see them rub one out as if I am not in the room. I want to watch them let go with total abandon, and cum all over themselves with the same grubby urgency that they’d use if there were no witnesses.
So I sneak peeks at him from under my eyelashes, but other than that stay as still as I possibly can.
This is one of my favourite parts of watching him wank: the porn selection. I don’t watch the screen as he’s choosing – by mutual agreement we’ve decided that the menu screens are for his eyes only. I find porn copywriting aggressive and unsexy, the screengrabs too alarming or gynaecological, and occasional words/brands/names an outright turn-off. Porn menus are not a place of honour, to me. No highly esteemed deed is commemorated in the copy or images therein. So I turn away from the screen.
What matters is not the scenes he’s scrolling through, but the fact that he’s choosing in the first place. There’s an intentionality in the way he hunts for porn, and I find that fascinating. What he’s doing, as he browses those menus, is similar to what I do when I’m lying in bed at night – running through my mental database of fuckbunkers and free use secretaries – but he has to perform a more complex task, remembering which thumbnails might have done it for him last time, or trying to place the name of this or that performer. There’s a vaguely hot sensation on the tip of his dick that tells him perhaps this video will deliver what he’s after, but he has to tune in to what’s horny in order to place it.
I watch his face. Instead of looking at the menus, I watch his expression and see if I can spot the moment when he goes from ‘scrolling indifferently through options’ to ‘eager for one in particular’. I observe him browsing and keep an eye out for the moment when something makes his cock twitch.
There will definitely be something sexy about knowing exactly what he’s watching, so as soon as he’s settled on a scene I’ll be flicking my gaze back and forth between the TV and him. But for some reason this time the selection process is proving tricky.
He’s taken his cock out now, and is slowly stroking and squeezing it while he flips through the options on the screen. His face is creased in a frown of slight frustration. Very occasionally he’ll click ‘play’ on something before scanning through the video then letting out a small, tight sigh. He’s vexed.
I find this vexation hot too.
I don’t understand in the moment why I’m so turned on by this, but unpacking it now as I write conjures the following explanation: intentionality. He’s looking for something incredibly specific. Perhaps it’s a type of sex, or a particular position. It could be a moment: sometimes there’s a flash-frame image from a porn scene that sticks in your mind and makes you want to rewatch over and over. The look in someone’s eyes as they choke down cock in a POV blow job, say, or the guttural grunt of satisfaction they make when they’re first filled with a really thick dick.
There’s a sexiness to the way he hunts down what he wants, and it echoes the intentionality with which he’ll sometimes tell me to hold a particular position during sex, or do a very specific thing to his cock. It’s dominant, casual, knowledgeable. He’s not a porn consumer, but a connoisseur. And those little sighs of frustration trip the same neurons in my brain as get tripped when he sighs at me sometimes, if he’s using my cunt and he hasn’t yet managed to come. That part’s important in why I’m hot for this too, I think. When I’m involved, he makes those noises on purpose, because he knows they turn me on. And I think they turn me on because I love that he’s being a little demanding – I love knowing that he’s not just after any old fuck, he needs something very particular. Likewise here, I enjoy the knowledge that he isn’t just going to settle for any old porn scene. His dick wants what it wants, and he’s willing to put in the effort to locate the scene that will fulfil that specific desire.
Happy sigh.
I could watch this sort of thing forever, I think. It’s one of the activities I miss most now I’m single. Living with someone – especially someone who saw wanking as a playful addition to pretty much every day – meant a constant supply of voyeuristic joy if I wanted it. I’ve been starved of it for too long, so now I lap up every last drop. Alternating my gaze from his hand on his cock to his frowning face and then to his other hand on the remote – enjoying how he so casually brandishes it with the ease of a man who peruses this porn collection often.
I squirm a little on the sofa, and keep my semi-closed eyes trained on his face. Note the increasing speed with which he wields the remote: clicking, scrolling, selecting, then returning to main menu with a deeper frown. He’s touching his cock with more urgency now, but still not settling in to a full-on wank. Click, scroll, select, return to main menu, beat a little more to keep the blood flooding good and tight into his erection…
I didn’t understand it at the time, but I’m delighted that now I can pinpoint the hot thing about this: the determination to find exactly what he wants. The intentionality of it. This focus isn’t being deployed to arouse me, but to scratch an itch that’s all about him.
Which is why the next thing he does – though he tells me afterwards it took a lot of courage – turns out to be the sexiest thing of all.
Having exhausted his capacity for scrolling and searching, he bites the bullet and decides to use his words. Holding the remote close to his mouth, keeping his dick gripped tight in the other hand, he presses the ‘voice search’ button and mutters:
“Hannah Tees.”
Holy shit.
I have no idea who this performer is, her name does not ring a bell. But the instant he utters it, my cunt fucking floods.
In that moment I gain a precious new understanding of what’s going on in his head: there’s a specific performer who does the kinds of things he wants to watch, and she’s potentially niche enough that her work hasn’t appeared on the basic menus. More importantly, I get that kick of realisation that he wants to watch this specific person’s work so much that he’s willing to risk exposing this information to me.
The point at which he gives up on clicking and resorts to voice search is the point where he takes his courage in hand and opens up a new layer of intimacy: risking me taking umbrage at his desire for a specific woman, because his need to see her is so strong it tips the scales in favour of just saying it aloud. Letting me know that detail because his lust has driven him to take a calculated gamble, and hurl all caution out of the window.
We discuss this afterwards and he lets me know how nervous he was about doing that. In turn, I let him know how wildly turned on I was when I heard her name come out of his filthy mouth. I’ve used a fake name here, but the actual name of the performer he mentioned will live on forever in my heart. Saying it aloud to myself right now causes twitches of lust that make me wriggle in my chair, and I grin to realise that this woman I have never met and whose work I am still only barely familiar with will probably turn me on for many years into the future.
He took a risk to be that intentional and specific, and it paid off a thousandfold. Impressive as fuck. I am not jealous if a man I’m shagging fancies a specific porn performer, and I really really enjoy those little extra steps towards intimacy when someone’s willing to let you even further inside their head.
Once he’s found a few of her videos, he settles in to the specific one he’s been looking for, and then – as a reward for me being such a good, quiet girl while he makes his selection – I get to watch him beat at his dick like I’m not in the room.
Determined, vigorous, purposeful. His grip changing and speed adjusting depending on the moment in the scene. I see which parts of the action cause him to speed up, and which parts he skips through, all the while wallowing in wet knickers and satisfaction as he pushes himself closer towards the edge.
Until, perhaps inevitably, I start getting antsy myself. Whereupon I yank my knickers aside and make a plaintive little moan, inviting him to finish off inside.
A brief shift in position as he tugs off his trousers and pants, even-briefer glance down to my cunt so he can slide it in, then the watching resumes. He turns his head to keep the screen in view while he rails me. Never making eye contact, just fucking me like he is wanking.
Grunting, like all he cares about is his pleasure.
Enjoying watching Hannah Tees get fucked, before dumping his cum inside me: a grinning, squirming, pervy voyeur.
Who is only too happy to receive it.