Girl on the Net

I remember very vividly the first sexy daydream I had about a boy. I felt myself growing hot and tense inside before experiencing a release of arousal as the daydream came to climax. Not a real climax, sadly I’ve never had the ability to make myself come just by thinking about the right thing. But the right thoughts can trigger something intense, and this was the first time I’d experienced that intensity: the instant, shocking realisation that my mind could make my body do this thing, purely through the power of imagination. It was way more graphic than the purely cerebral lust I’d felt for guys in the past. When I talk about this feeling on the blog, I often refer to it as that ‘kick in the gut’ of lust. Or the unngh moment. Some fantasies might press a few buttons in your mind, sparking ideas and feelings that you want to follow up later, but these particular sexy dreams and daydreams are on another level: they kick me in the gut. Give me that unngh.

That first ever unngh daydream is going to sound tame to most of you. It was me, and a boy I fancied, in an alleyway. I can still picture the exact fencing and the width of the alley, and even remember vaguely where it was. I used to walk through it at least four times a day: calling for one of my friends in the morning, then returning to her house at lunchtime to eat tomato soup and gossip, often about this specific boy. In the daydream, he’s there with me in the alley and he’s standing really close – his face just inches from mine as I lean back against the wooden fence. This boy (I don’t know if it’s relevant, but it might be) was someone I wanted so much it made me weep. Genuinely, I used to cry about how much I loved him, and how desperate I was for him to love me back. And this was around the time when I was just beginning to understand my own sexuality – wait, not understand it, I’m still working on that now I’m 40 – but feel it. It was around the time I started wanking, and I think this moment helped me connect that with the concept of boys in real life. Realise that ‘loving a boy from afar’ could come with occasional bursts of physical desire that I wasn’t yet mature enough to handle: these moments of intense lust. The gut kicks. The unngh.

We’re standing in the alleyway and he pounces on me: presses his lips against mine in a deep, deep kiss. While doing that he also, crucially, bunches up my skirt in both hands and lifts it, grabbing my arse as he pushes me against the wooden fence panels that form the boundary at the bottom of some random stranger’s garden. One swift movement: a kiss-and-grab, using his whole body to pin me against the fence.

Lust. Gut-kick. Unngh.

I had that fantasy during science class. I remember exactly where I was, which seat I was in, who was sitting next to me. Above all I remember the full-body flush – and then the gush – that let me know this particular idea was different to idle daydreams I’d had in the past.

I think what got me about it was that he was eager. So eager. The thought that this boy, who was reluctant to kiss me, might suddenly decide he needed to have me right now? So hot.

Yoga pants and ravishment fantasies

Note that this section is about one of my ex partners, and involves discussion of sleep-fucking and fake ravishment. It’s all very consensual and pre-negotiated (I love sleep sex and he was happy to fulfil my fantasies in that area occasionally) but if any of that sounds distressing to you, please skip to the next heading. 

Another daydream – this one began in real life, then appeared in a dream, then got honed and refined each time I pulled it out of my memory so I could come to it.

It was shortly after an incident where my partner had woken me up to do something truly filthy. I’d asked him to do this, if he was horny. I used to adore those languorously sexy moments when I’d flutter out of sleep to find his hands busily groping me all over, or hear him beating at his cock from a few inches away in the bed. Or be awoken by the insistent poke of his twitching cock sliding between my thighs from behind… Anyway. This time he was wide awake himself – he used to go to bed way later than I did, often spending his evenings cycling through porn and edging himself over and over. He’d been doing this, and decided he wanted to finish off on me, so he came into the bedroom and stood beside the bed, dick in hand. He pulled down the covers and nudged me onto my back, then yanked up the hem of my t-shirt to reveal my naked tits. Beating at his cock with one hand, dismissively pinching my nipples and pawing at me with the other. I can’t remember at what point I woke up, but I do know I pretended to be sleepier than I was because the second I woke up I was so aroused by what he was doing that my whole body felt on fire with it. I wanted, so desperately, to not break the spell. The lust! The intensity! The urgency with which he was touching himself! I was already squirming and hot before the denouement, but by the time he started coming – raining spunk in loud splatters down onto my tits and my face and the bedsheets – I was pretty close to soaking through my knickers.

Shortly after that, I started having a dream. In this dream I’d be lying on my side in bed, wearing knickers or yoga pants or something else easily removable. He’d come in, much as he had on that night, with a face of determination. Dick in hand. Utterly focused on relieving the frustration that he’d built up while edging to porn. In the dream, I do not wake up. I just lie there, motionless, as he pulls down my knickers then spits on his fingers. Works the drool into the slit of my cunt to make me fuck-ready. He spits on his cock too, coating it in a gobful of slick saliva. Stroking it round and round the head, then up and down the shaft with functional efficiency. Then he slides it in.

Like I say, that was a dream. I had it on a number of occasions, realising as I woke after each one that it had given me that cunt-drench lust, and I wanted to play with it more. So in daydreams it got developed: sometimes he’d take me slowly, savouring really languid, experimental strokes to give himself maximum pleasure without waking me up. At other times he’d stab it in quickly, with vigour and need, entirely unconcerned with whether or not I’d wake up. Sometimes in the daydream I would wake up, and then – ah then – I’d imagine him putting a hand over my lips to keep me quiet. Murmuring ‘shhh‘, or barking it like an instruction, as if it was urgent for me to be silent so he could focus utterly on the final few strokes he needed in order to come.

The swift movements with which he took me, the urgency with which he needed to do it… yeah. Those things were what shaped this into a recurring daydream. One that gave me that gut-kick. The gush.

It’s because he was so fucking eager, that’s why. Desperate to come in me. Desperate… for me.

Soft circles and a mouthful of cum

I’m teasing and playing with his dick – I can’t quite place where, this is a legitimate dream rather than a daydream, so place and time is hazy. I think it’s on a bed, but it’s much larger than a standard bed – almost impossibly expansive. As if we could roll over and over for miles and never fall off the edge of it. He’s completely naked, I’m wearing nothing but The Socks. I am kneeling between his legs, and touching him with the first two fingers of my right hand. Really gently tracing circles on his thighs and stomach. I’m pretty sure in real life this would be something he’d enjoy, like a pint in a beer garden on a sunny day, but in the dream he’s far beyond mere enjoyment – he’s absolutely ecstatic about it. Every circle I trace with my fingers prompts sighs, moans, twitches in his rock-solid dick. In dream worlds, you don’t get to know how much time passes, but something about the quality of this dream tells me I do this for ages. Just tracing circles and circles and circles with my fingertips on the soft skin of his inner thighs, and then up and over them – brushing close to but never quite touching his dick – until I get to his stomach. Then back down again. The first time I had this dream I also teased his ass a little. The same as above: circles and circles and circles around the entrance, but never quite touching completely, and certainly never going so far as to do what he wants, and slide myself in. Every single circle – no matter where on his body – brings a new noise or movement. A pulse of blood throbbing into his cock. A fist straining with tension as he grips the bedsheet. A catlike stretch of satisfaction as he spreads his legs wider, trying to shuffle beneath my hands to get contact on the parts of his body he’s most desperate to have me touch.

The thing I love most about this dream is that it’s firmly rooted in things I know that he likes: as much as other men have loved kink, sleep sex and the occasional bout of strugglefucking, this one loves gentleness and teasing. And my subconscious is fully on board – his desires show up in my dreams. They’re reflected in the ways I want him to be eager for me.

I do eventually let him come (like real-life me, dream-me is a serious people-pleaser). And in this dream, the way he comes is especially spectacular. Continuing the theme of gentleness, I lick my lips and press them to the head of his dick – aiming to begin with delicate kisses and silky licks to build him up further and further. But the prelude with my fingers and the circles has already worked its magic: the second I make contact with his cock, it gushes into my mouth, pumping spunk between my open lips and over them, pouring out of him and bursting across my tongue, into my throat, down my chin. The intensity with which he comes is the thing that makes me wake up from that dream feeling gut-kicked and gushing.

The need. The urgency. He’s just so fucking eager for it.

Lust and need: I love it when you’re eager

Recently, after we fucked, I asked my dude which particular bit of the shag was his favourite. We’re all doing this these days, right? The sexy post-match analysis? If you don’t do it yourself, please read that link and consider it – it’s my number one best sex tip, I think. My dude often seems surprised when I do this post-fuck discussion, but it’s second nature to me – I like to people-please, and I’m 80% powered by praise (the other 20% is cider and beans on toast).

So after a recent excellent shag, where I felt we’d really connected and enjoyed each other, I asked him which particular part was his favourite.

“When you said I was really eager,” he said. “I liked that.”

I’d been sucking his cock for a while – slow and deliberate, like my favourite blow jobs. Enjoying turning my sensitivity dial up to 11 and zooming in on the little bits of feedback he gives me when I’m doing something well. I got a lot of it that day – more than I think I’ve ever had from him before. Moans and twitches and sighs and all that good stuff. It made me wet as fuck. Gutkick, cuntgush, unngh – whatever you want to call it.

But that wasn’t the best part.

The best part was just after I knelt up, straddled him, and tugged my knickers to one side so I could slide down his shaft: he gripped my hips with trembling hands and tried to pull me down onto him. I’d been enjoying taking my time – teasing, as he likes, with the tip of his dick just inside the entrance before I let myself have all of him. But he didn’t want to wait – he wanted to be inside me now, right now. And with hands that shook with needy lust, he tried to yank me down onto his cock.

“Ohhhh,” I told him as I tensed my thighs to resist. “I love this.” I slipped down a little more, so he was inside but not quite all the way. “I love how fucking eager you are today.”

And his eyes grew wide and sparkled.

I’ve thought about that moment so much since it happened. Daydreams which lead to idle masturbation, fuelled by the memory of how needy he was and how urgently he wanted to get fucked. I replay that moment in my head, and try to conjure the exact sensation of his hands on my hips and how hard I had to tense my thighs to resist for a tiny bit longer. It’s hot not just for what it was in the moment (although that was incredible) but because he told me afterwards that this was his favourite part. Knowing he liked that bit best takes this daydream from ‘thing I’ll casually think about’ to ‘thing I must urgently come to.’ It makes it way more powerful than purely cerebral lust, it gives it that unngh quality – the one that had me getting flushed and ashamed during science class the first time it happened.

Knowing he was so eager to get fucked is exceptionally hot in itself. Knowing that he liked it when I commented on that is a force multiplier. He lusts after me telling him how he’s sparked my lust! That’s fucking incredible. It elevates ‘ooh that’s good’ to ‘unngh yes please’ and brings me that cuntgush, kick-in-the-gut, full-body yearning that sits at the heart of my sexuality. It’s a gorgeously meta example of what turns me on most of all, the thing I want most from the man I am fucking: eagerness.

Almost everything I talk about on here has male enthusiasm at its core. From gang bangs, sex cinemas and kinky threesomes to simpler pleasures like kissing or nipple play. Whether the story I’m telling you is true or fiction, the one thing every man in the narrative has in common is that he really really wants it. Urgently, needily, desperately, greedily, achingly, hopelessly, fucking eagerly: he wants it so much. That’s where my lust comes from.

In every story I care about telling, there is always a man who is eager.