I love your dick. It’s beautiful even when it’s soft. And I love your arse and your thighs and your big shoulders and your arms and – oh God, everything.
But there’s something better than seeing you naked – seeing you almost naked.
Guys in pants
You’re slightly hotter with your pants on. Not because I don’t want to see your dick, but because I really, really do.
You standing in front of me, walking around the bed, in tight boxers that cup the bulge of your dick, makes me wetter than even the sight of your dick can make me. Because I know that it’s there – I can see the outline, temptingly close. Because I want to watch your boxers stretch as you grow harder. I want to put my mouth on the fabric and suck you in, wetting the cotton with my spit and feeling you grow thicker as you strain to get out. And if I’m lucky, I want to feel you twitch, and taste precum leaking through.
It’s hot because you’re not letting me see your dick.
Guys naked from the waist down
One word: boywanking. At University a boy I was deeply hot for used to sit in front of his laptop in a t-shirt in the morning. Not quite wanking, but not quite not wanking either. He’d shift in his seat, and I’d look at him from my position in the bed across the room. I’d pretend to be asleep as I watched his arse pressed against the back of the chair. I could see the slight curve of his hips, and watch his hands – one gently brushing the trackpad to mouse over a page, open and close browser windows, and the other holding his semi-hard cock as he waited for me to announce I was awake.
If I didn’t get so wet looking at it I could watch it for hours, just thinking about the cold chair against his arse and the weight of his cock in his hand.
Guys in not-quite-clothes
By this I mean primarily pyjamas, dressing gowns, towels. Anything that’s temporary and relaxed. Clothes you’d wear sitting on the sofa when no one’s around except me. Private clothes, in which I can imagine you alone, casually puling the drawstring on your pyjama bottoms and sliding your hand inside to have a solitary, functional wank in front of the TV. Clothes that – if I’m lucky – still carry the scent of spunk and the filthy, idle promise that you’ll let me bury my face in them.
Not onesies, though. Even I have limits.
Guys draped in bedsheets
This one’s a bit of a cheat really – you’re technically naked in this scenario even if you’re not wholly visible. But crucially lying underneath a bedsheet or duvet is still ever so slightly hotter than lying fully exposed on top of it. Why? Because what I really want is to be unsure whether you have an erection or not. I want the satisfaction of reaching for your dick and either finding it hard or finding it about to grow hard in my hand.
I want to guess. I want you to roll over, sleepily, and let me strain to see whether your dick is pushing out the bedsheet. And then I want to walk over to where you’re lying, just as you wake up, and sit my fully-clothed self on top of you, squirming to feel your cock pushing back up against me. And I want to feel it twitch as I kiss you good morning.