Girl on the Net

Telling people I’m a sex blogger usually leads to one or two misconceptions: that I am constantly shagging, or that I am shagging in such wildly creative ways that no normal human could keep up with the carnival of kink. But that’s not really what I’m about. I’m not obsessed with the quantity of sex I’m having, nor the depths of any particular depravity. In fact, I reckon I could have relatively vanilla sex once a month and still be eager and intense enough about it – and the fantasies that lead up to or come out of it – to write a passable sex blog. I’m not a nymphomaniac or the kinkiest woman alive: I’m just a plain old sex nerd.

When I write about fucking on these pages, I don’t see myself as a performer or educator – more like an eager, oversharing geek. Apart from when I write the more ranty/thinky blog posts, I’m not really presenting you with a thesis that I’ve extensively researched, I’m showing off the latest shiny Pokémon card I got.

I’m standing over my Warhammer-style collection of tiny fuckdolls, holding one up to you with trembling fingertips, going ‘look! Isn’t this cool!’

While quantity of sex is lovely, and kink is fun to play with, rarely am I ranking my sex life on these axes, and some of the best sex I’ve ever had would score low on the latter one anyway. My particular brand of sex nerding, I think, involves getting obsessed with the details.

Sex nerd in practice

Of an evening, when I’m calm and relaxed, I’ll often put on some chilled out music – something fucky like Solid Gold or sultry like Thelma Plum – and take my shiny collection of sexy thoughts out so I can admire it. This or that recent fuck, replayed inside my head, as I take note of the different flashes I remember.

The sex stories I share here aren’t usually written exactly as they happened. Don’t get me wrong: I strive for truth. But when you’re recounting an excellent shag, you’re never going to be an accurate reporter. You probably remember some general details – the moment someone asked if you wanted to move to the bedroom, or the point when you knocked a lampshade over while removing your bra. You might recall that fingering came before sex, and some other basic stuff about (for want of a better word) the itinerary.

But when you zoom in on details, it’s often hard to place them in time. Which part came first – the way someone grunted “God, I have missed this so much” into your ear, or the way they looked at you with burning, hungry eyes and begged you not to stop? Sometimes things are a blur. And occasionally the details that stood out from any given shag can dissolve into the general feeling of happy, just-fucked bliss if you don’t capture them soon enough after the event.

So I sit on the sofa, glass of wine in hand, and let my mind wander over the last time I had sex. I pick up the details that shine brightest in my mind, then examine them.

Like treasure.

Like Doctor Who memorabilia.

Like Magic: the Gathering cards.

Like stamps.

I am a sex nerd, and to me that means I obsess over the details. I want to understand every single thing about this tiny moment – an action, a phrase, a look, whatever it might be. I like to zoom in on why it felt good to me, why it stuck in my memory. Often I’m dwelling on why that particular person did or said it – the things people instinctively do during fucking can give us an indication of their broader desires that I find super powerful. It’s those unguarded moments that sometimes reveal what turns them on, and tells you things about their desire that they may never have thought to articulate aloud. Then I’m asking myself how those desires gel with my own, whether they’re ones I could play into during future fucks. Whether I should text this person right now to explain why that was so horny and offer a specific ‘thank you’.

I treat sex like any other nerdy hobby: planning for it, reminiscing about it and – yes – messaging my comrades-in-nerdery to say ‘remember this little moment when you looked down at me and told me ‘sssh’ before you came in my mouth? Wasn’t it awesome?!’

Though some readers expect me to be all about the quantity or kinkiness, I think I’d be a sex nerd even if my life hadn’t been blessed by either of those things. Because sex is about the details, and no two fucks can ever be the same, there will almost always be a particular detail of any given shag that’s worthy of special focus.

There is always something.

Some neat turn of phrase that makes my spine shudder. A particularly unrestrained moan or sigh of pleasure. A visual image that I want to hold in my head. Or a tone, or an idea or a kiss or… whatever. No two fucks are ever the same, so there’s always always something.

Put your legs back

As I’m sure you’ve guessed, from the build-up to this, I’m about to give you an example of one of those ‘something’s.

This guy and I, we’re having sex. Pretty standard vanilla cishet PIV sex, in missionary. I’m on my back and he’s on top of me, dick tightly stretching out my cunt. The usual. When I say ‘the usual’ I make it sound a bit boring, but one of the reasons the ‘boring’ type of sex is so mundane is because quite a few of us do it a lot. And we do it a lot because it’s a fun one to do. If your junk happens to be arranged the way ours is, missionary sex allows for a lot of specific physical rubbing that feels incredibly nice, as well as bonus stuff like eye contact and bum/tit grabbing etcetera – even kissing if you’re a monstrous pervert. I won’t go into detail about how brilliant this fuck was, but it was exactly as brilliant as you’d expect missionary sex for two people like us to be (i.e. very), with the addition of us both whispering the occasional bit of dirty talk into each other’s ears to keep things lively.

I’m just saying that despite being fucking fantastic, this shag was fairly textbook, so if I weren’t a sex nerd then there probably wouldn’t be enough to hang a whole blog post from.

But, see above: there is always something.

He knows I’ve got a thing for being asked where he wants me to come. Or being told he’s about to. I like to prepare for that moment, to really revel in it with him. To feel the build-up and hear the crack in his voice as he tells me he’s so so close. And we’re fucking in missionary, my legs clamped round his hips as he slams it home, pulling him tight to me and squeezing every muscle in my cunt around the pounding length of his cock, when he does something kickass to let me know it’s time.

Because as well as knowing that I like to be forewarned when he’s going to come, he also knows I like to be used and treated like a Fleshlight. He understands that moulding my body to his specific physical needs in that moment is sometimes a cum-trigger for me in and of itself. So before he comes, he does something outrageously good:

Grabbing one of my thighs with urgent, digging fingertips, he tugs my leg up to nudge me into a more convenient position.

Then says:

“Put your legs back so I can come nice and deep up inside you.”

Unngh.

Imagine a cascade of shiny Pokémon cards raining down upon you when you hear that, please. A gigantic dining table covered in Warhammer fuckdolls. A hefty tome of the rarest ever stamps.

Because my God. My. God. The clarity of desire behind that gesture was exquisite. The sudden reminder that he didn’t just want to fill me with his cum, he wanted to make sure he shot it as far up inside me as possible.

The forewarning too: hnnng. Recognition that I wanted to know exactly what was going through his mind, and how soon the torrent would start – all the better to enjoy it myself as it happened.

He had the urge to not just fill me with cum but pump it really deep, and let me know exactly what he was doing so I could revel in every single detail.

I swear down, when his dick started pumping spunk I could feel each and every squirt hitting the base of my cervix.

This is probably the most ‘vanilla’, ‘normal’, ‘mainstream’, ‘textbook’ fuck I have had in a very long time. And yet, like a Star Trek enthusiast eagerly explaining what the ‘Pon Farr‘ is, I still want to draw your attention to an outrageously sexy detail.

The way he ordered me – in hurried, commanding tones – to ‘put your legs back’ so he could pour his spunk as deep inside my body as possible? That was so hot it resonated through my cunt in that moment, and continued doing so long after the sex was over. It’s the part that stuck out most prominently in my mind when I was reminiscing, because I could still feel the heat of it deep inside my body.

Like I say: sex nerd. For me that isn’t about quantity or kink, it means that no matter how ‘standard’ each shag might be, I can always find a detail to zoom in on and obsess over.

In every erotic encounter, there is something.

There is always always something.