There are three words that, when combined, make me shiver with delight. I’m not talking about ‘I love you’ – they have their place but aren’t likely to get me hot and wet and trembling. These three magic sex words are like an aural orgasm – they pinpoint a perfect moment that makes me want to stop time and milk that one second until I’m satisfied I’ve made the most of it.

It’s explained better by example.

Lubed up masturbation

“Do you want to try this?” I held out a bottle of lube – “tingling”, it said, although I suspect what won him over was that it also said “new”. He held out his hand, squeezed a bit into his fingers, and rubbed it on the head of his cock.

I’m a sucker for guys rubbing their cocks.

Prompted, perhaps, by recent thoughts on guys and sex toys, and remembering how meltingly filthy it is when I get to pull him swiftly to the edge of orgasm using a dick-sheath, I lay him down on the bed and got out two possibilities. One black, solid, and narrow – squeezing it onto his dick is tricky but the effort is worthwhile. The second one is clear, jellylike, and much softer.

I went for the latter – I like the feel of it in my hands. Because it’s so soft, as I squeeze and rub him I can feel the rock-hardness of him pushing against the sheath. I can run it up and down, twisting and clamping it round his dick, feeling the head pushing against the end and through my fingers.

I love the rhythm of hand jobs. The up down up down, the friction. I love the smooth-sticky feeling of lube on my fingers, and yes – I love the control. I like knowing that every kick of arousal, every grunt and moan, every tingle and twitch, is down to me.

He put his hands behind his head and looked me directly in the eye. His eyebrows furrowed into a frown as I rubbed faster, squeezed harder. I revelled in the increasing frequency of the slick-slick-slick noises as I rubbed his dick. And then the three magic words:

“I’m gonna come.”

Ungh. Those words have such a beautiful, simple sexiness that they make me instantly taut – aroused and eager for the inevitable end. I did what anyone would do, and immediately slowed the pace, trying to keep him hanging there for a moment while I took in his frown and his rapid breathing, and the double-twitch of his cock just before he came.

It turns out restraint is neither my, nor his, forté. He arched his neck, leaning up towards me as he shot spunk into the cup of the jelly sheath. It’s clear, so I can see him filling it as he moans, and as his frown deepens. That’s what I’ve been waiting for – that’s what the joy of the control, the feeling of sticky-wet lube, the anticipation as I came home with the bottles – all leads up to.

I’m gonna come.

His pleasure. My achievement. The perfect combination of hot.

Honourable mention to the lovely PR person who gave me the lube (Durex Embrace) that kicked off this story. She challenged me to see if using it could bring on an orgasm in less than 3 minutes. For the record, I reckon the 3 magic words came about 2 and a half minutes in, so kudos for that. I don’t do product reviews and this is the first time I’ve accepted a freebie, but I was sort of intrigued by this lube (it’s actually two different lubes sold together that produce an intriguing sensation when combined), so it was the kick-off for this particular escapade. I hope you’ll not think me an awful sellout, and will agree that the story above is way better than simply giving something marks out of ten.

I’ve been having a lot of typical sex lately. You know, the sort of sex you have when you just fancy some sex but have no particular desire to put a cherry on top. Basic sex. No-frills sex. If exciting and boundary-defining shags are the equivalent of a twelve-course tasting menu, then what I have been doing is eating cheese sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a whole month.

And guess what? It’s brilliant.

I love cheese-sandwich sex to almost exactly the same degree as I love twelve-course fancy sex.

My typical sex

It starts with a suggestion by one or other of us. Not a gentle touch or a barked command, or anything designed to elicit a specific sexual reaction. I’ve had shags that have started with playful sofa-fighting, and ones which I’ve kicked off by simply pulling my knickers down and offering my naked arse to the gentleman in question. Typical sex isn’t like this, it begins much more simply.

“Fancy a shag?”

“Yep.”

There’s a pristine beauty and simplicity to it. It’s not overworked, which means that if the second person doesn’t fancy one they’ll know it’s not the end of the world to decline. Nor is it overly-prescriptive. “Fancy a shag?” leaves you open to developing a particular type of shag if you like. I could respond with “yes, will you fuck me over the bath?” or “no, but I’d love to suck you off while I rub my clit through my knickers.” In short, ‘fancy a shag?’ tells me that you’re horny, and asks if I am too. All the rest is up for grabs.

Once it’s been established that both of us fancy a shag, we touch. Although I’m generally a fan of variety, in this specific scenario, when I am in the ‘typical sex’ mindset, I get off on the predictability of it. He grips me around the waist and immediately slides his hands down to my arse. There’s a delicious familiarity there – the exact size and shape of him is satisfyingly unsurprising. The exact degree to which he squeezes me has been carefully calibrated over years of ‘a bit harder’ and ‘oh God yes that’s it’ until he’s got just the right pressure to get me dripping.

The same familiarity comes, of course, from his dick. I know how quickly it gets hard, what motions will best help it to get there, and exactly how to open this specific pair of trousers (seducing someone new is great fun, but I never seem quite as suave as I’d like because I fumble with unfamiliar trouser openings). His dick has a very specific weight in my hand, and I’m an expert on just how to hold it and squeeze it to ensure that the typical fuck takes its course.

There’s no detour here for blow jobs – I’m describing my typical shag. And typically I don’t have time to take him slowly into my mouth, because we’ll both be too keen to start fucking. So fuck we do.

And the best part is that as soon as we begin, it’s all about the end. This is an ‘everyday’ fuck – something at least as fun and functional as masturbation.

He’ll fuck me with quick, efficient strokes – touching the bits that give him extra shivers through his dick. I’ll push back and squeeze around him so I can feel as much as possible inside me: so that every atom of my cunt is pushing into part of his cock. There’s no pretense that we’re trying to impress each other, or even making an effort to get each other off: we’re doing it because we need to, and because each of us is as keen as the other to feel those first twitching waves of orgasm grip us in the pit of our stomachs.

‘Typical sex’ doesn’t mean ‘boring sex’

It’s a fuck you have because you both need it. It’s even better than wanking because it’s a mutual pleasure, and is therefore sociable: like monkeys picking fleas off each other or you scratching an itch that I just can’t reach on my own. And the moans and ‘oh yes’s and sighs at the end don’t just signal joy or sexual ecstasy – there’s a definite tone of relief. We’ve soothed and satisfied each other.

That’s why I love the everyday fuck. I love it easily as much as I love the special ones, the exciting ones: the ones with extra people or special toys, or words that make me growl with lust. Because while twelve-course meals are undoubtedly exciting, sometimes you just want a cheese sandwich. Something you eat while standing up in the kitchen, dropping crumbs onto the counter and forgetting to put the butter back in the fridge. It’s everyday, it’s typical, it’s nothing fancy, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t delicious.

As I might have already explained, I’m deeply impatient. So impatient, in fact, that if foreplay lasts longer than ten minutes I am liable to cry. I was once mocked by a guy, who was far keener on build-up than I was, because apparently the only thing I ever said in bed was “pleasepleasepleaseplease.” I don’t know what he was upset about – it’s certainly better than “mehmehmehmeh.”

Anyway, because I love guest blogs, and particularly guest blogs from people who have a different perspective to me, the following excellent post by Helz captures perfectly her delight in making someone wait. And wait. And then…

Antici….pation

Okay, yes, I did steal this title from a Rocky Horror lyric. Shoot me. It’s very apt though.

What is almost better than a conquest is the magnetism, the frission, leading up to it. It’s something organic between two people that can’t be forced, you both have to want to rip the clothes off and melt into each other so badly and you both know it. No one has made the first move yet and all you have is heavily layered conversation where you can barely focus on the words because even talking to each other makes you wet, and you’re zoned in on her mouth, her lips…her skin and her eyes, boring into yours and you both know that you’re going to see a lot more than each other’s eyes later on… but not yet. That anticipation, that mutual magnetism, is pretty rare yet so delicious. The excitement, and the wonder that you might be mistaken, that she might not want you and it’s all in your head and the electricity that zaps right down through you at the thought of her is what makes the whole exchange magical.

I like to, whilst making out with someone, draw back. Make them wait for our lips to meet and shrink away from their touch. Soften my gaze and my body, make it look completely touchable, mutely draw them in with my eyes, then refuse them. When your lips are centimeters away from mine and you can actually feel my warmth, but you’re unable to touch me because I keep drawing away… I know that you really want me. I like making you want me. The frantic, hot, hard kisses and touches you give me after that after being denied for so long show how much you crave this, crave me…

Before I eat out a girl I like to make her anticipate it for a very long time. I love the downy inner thigh which leads up to your cunt, and I love to linger on it for as long as I possibly can, giving your butterfly butterfly kisses and softly kissing, licking and stroking your thighs, occasionally giving your lower lips some very, very light touches or kisses, and I do this until I know that you are biting your lip to mask your croaks and moans, so hard that it could draw blood, until you’re dripping with ladyjuice and until you’re rolling your eyes upwards, as if you’re praying to some Sapphic goddess. I know you’re tingling with desire all over and I kiss your lower self harder and harder and slloooowwwly work my way to your cunt and start very gently, just when you think you’ll get some form of release I stop and kiss your pelvis and your stomach, then work my way down again until you quiver and your knees buck…

You like the anticipation, sometimes, more than you like the actual sex act, and the fact that you want it, me, so much makes me horny as hell and gives me almost as much satisfaction as if you were giving it to me.

Then it’s my turn.