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Like a busted dam, I can hardly hold back the rush of descriptors fumbling from my mouth: “Two women in a warehouse. I watch his face the whole time, not pausing when his smile becomes a frown and his eyes squint as if it hurts to look at me.“Afterward, the women exit the warehouse through a back door while the men applaud.” For a long moment after I’ve finished talking, there is silence between us, but there is also a sense of relief on my part.There’s something so sad and humiliating in imagining a person locked away in a dark room, hot laptop balanced on chest, turning the volume down low, scrolling, scrolling, choosing, watching, escaping, coming. But my proclivity for solo pleasure has strong, stubborn roots.I lost my virginity to a water faucet when I was twelve years old. Drew to thank for this life-shaking experience; it was their late-night radio show “Loveline” on L.He knows about my extensive fluency in the hardcore categories of various porn sites.He knows about the bad habit I used to have of hooking up with not-so-nice men because they were available and I was bored — and that I rarely used protection with any of them.The past couple of months has allowed us to cover most of the basics — what ended each of our most recent relationships, what our parents are like, what we hope to do with our lives in the next few years — but there’s still a longing for something deeper, and I can’t think of anything deeper than knowing a person’s favorite porn scene. For one scene to stand out amongst the rest, when so many others are available, there has to be something below the surface. What keeps a person returning in the deep, dark recesses of a lonely night?
Or perhaps something a little more racy: These two hot teens swap their math teacher’s cum after he made them stay late in the classroom. I feel a constriction in the back of my throat, a flutter in my belly, a tremble in my extremities. ” I reach for the sheet, damp with sweat, a tangle of 300-thread-count cotton across our limbs, and yank it up to cover my breasts. The tone of my voice has become defensive and he can tell. He’s trying to be considerate since we just had sex while staring at the laptop screen after searching terms of his choosing: Latina, real tits, blow job, threesome.
A.’s KROQ that served as my primary means of sex ed during my pre-teen years.
This technique is one of the many things I learned, but I had a whole other kind of education going on, which had long filled my head with other ideas — sex is something that happens between a man and woman who love each other; masturbation is a sin.
He’ll think he doesn’t satisfy me, and men do not like feeling inadequate, especially when it comes to matters of the bedroom. We fucked all the time, but even still, I wanted more, something only I could give me.
In some cases, as expected, it was because I wanted more sex than they could give me.