True confessions

I have a secret.

Sexy photos and videos aren't my thing, which is no big secret to anyone who's read my blog for a few posts. I love words; they are the fuel of my arousal. However, reading stuff does not generally turn me on.

"Whoa, Nelly," I hear you say, "how is that even possible, sex blogger who reads lots and lots of sex blogs and sexy stories and spends so much time doing so?"

A scene I described in the novel Beloved Bondage did, in fact, arouse me to the point of masturbation.

Another scene, when I was much younger, in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe also aroused me to that point, though it was clearly not meant to.

Once, having netsex with my ex, I was very, very aroused.

But in general? Nope. Nothing. I have an intellectual response to things I find insanely hot. "That would be really hot if it happened to me," I think, or "Wow, that must have been amazingly arousing to be in that situation." I can even have a "Oh, wow, I want to go try that right fucking now" response, but actual arousal? Nah. Not so much. Before I was married, I spent a lot of time reading sex stories, but honestly, just for ideas. Somewhere buried in the often crappy prose and terrible dialogue, I would find a nugget of hotness, and I'd keep it for my very own, to experience one day.

Some stories I'd evolve into my own personal fantasies, and I would use the hot elements to spin my web when I did want to be turned on later. I'd touch myself as I rewrote the stories to suit myself in my head, but never while reading.

Another confession: Before my husband, I never had an orgasm. I'd masturbate to almost there, but when I got close I just couldn't keep enough energy to get myself off. The sex I had with my ex during our brief two weeks together in person certainly didn't do it. 

Then came my husband. We had a bad netsex experience together once, before we were a couple, though it's not what you're thinking. We got stuck in a chat with two other people who were really, really bad at it, and shouldn't have been doing it there in the first place. We stayed silent there, watching awkwardly, as it was too amusing to look away, and making jokes about it over ICQ. It became one of the weird bonding experiences we had to lead us to our couplehood.

I think in part due to that experience, it took us quite some time to lead up to netsex ourselves, though I'd been quite the avid participant with my ex. Even after we'd met and been intimate in person, it didn't quite happen for us online. It took some gentle leading to get there. I was his first everything, so I didn't want to frighten him away by looking like a sex maniac.

I knew if we ever worked up to that point it would be amazing, because this man was able to turn me on with his words without even trying. I spent a lot of time helplessly aroused by his sincerity, by the endless depths of his love for me. The man was into me, and it was hot. Reading him was turning me on.

There was a stumbling block besides his innocence: he didn't seem to get the point of netsex. Just a weird thing for weird people to do in his mind, I guess. I couldn't get him there, no matter how often I tried. So I wrote him some steamy emails, which had the desired effect of turning him on.

He got it then, and he ran with it, keeping me in a state of almost perpetual arousal for weeks at a time, sometimes with long sessions, sometimes with a well-placed comment here or there, sometimes with his own steamy emails.

Reading him was really, really turning me on.

I had a few orgasms with him, without ever touching myself. I never did masturbate during cybersex, with the exception of fondling my breasts once in a while, or feeling the wetness as it slid down my thighs. I don't know if he did. He never told me exactly. Probably he did; I've learned that's a thing people do. My body responded to his words so beautifully without my interference though, I never felt the need to do anything during but marvel at my own sexual response to a man who was so very very physically removed from me. It seemed like self-stimulation would take away from the magic for me.

He allowed me to buy a sex toy though, kind of a rabbit vibrator, and he'd give me permission to masturbate with it in those lonely hours after he was asleep. Occasionally he'd get me all worked up first and then leave me to it. I'd write him about it sometimes, what I did, while I was doing it, made easier by the fact that my computer's keyboard was on my bed. Once, he required me to write him about it.

Reading generally does not turn me on. But reading this man, my soul mate, turns me on beyond belief. Reading my own writing with his words in it can often have that same effect.

I miss his writing though:

As you work your indescribable magic, and I near a state of perfect bliss, I retract myself a little, and indicate to you that it'll do for now. You make a curious face, and I start to kiss it, assuring you there's nothing you did wrong. Stroking your hair again, my eyes get lost in yours. There's a bit of a blur...and your eyes return to me, except now in a picture on my desk, which I find myself sitting at again. You're gone from the bed, but I still feel you with me, and I long for the days we can make all our fantasies come true.

 Until then...good night, beautiful. I love you...

We make our fantasies come true a lot, nowadays, and there are only so many hours in the day. It's his extreme levels of hotness that lead me to want more and more of him - whether that's in my mailbox or in our bed.