Recently, I had my first cybersex experience.
I know, what’s taken me so long? Why have I only plunged my sticky little digits into it now?
Well, to be truthful, it never really appealed. It seemed a bit like watching pornography, but without the images…or the sound. And there was the trust issue too. How on earth do you know that the other person is really doing what they say they are doing? As far as I know, they and their twenty drunken friends could be sitting in the pub with a smartphone winding me up as I typed out my gasps and moans.
As for the pay off…it’s still a lot like masturbating to a magazine article. I’d rather lie back in my bed, spread my legs wide and conjure up a fantasy involving sixteen firemen…
But late one Wednesday evening, something extraordinary happened. I was chatting on Facebook with a lady friend – someone with whom I’d exchanged sexual experiences via email when the urge just came upon me (pun intended). I was still feeling horny from my latest MFF short story and as per my ‘get it done, girl’ rules, I do not allow myself to jill off until I have closed down my laptop and retired to bed. Otherwise, sheesh, I’d have carpal tunnel syndrome and some very chapped lips.
But on this night, my friend and I were chatting privately and the subject got a little steamy…starting with the weather in our respective parts of the world and what we were wearing.
I was still in my light weight bathrobe which hides almost nothing; she was in her jammies. The chat went from there. I told her how horny I was feeling and why and she encouraged me to go right ahead and have some fun. I was so wet that I could barely resist. But once those two favourite fingers touched my slippery flesh, I was lost. Legs parted, my robe fell open and I pinched my nipples mercilessly until I squealed. My fingers circled my nub, slipped inside several times until every digit was shining with wetness.
And during all this, I was relating what I was up to across the world-wide web…one handed. Now, I know that there is a certain element of trust required here, but she told me that she was so turned on by what I had just typed that she had slipped off her jammies and was following suit. She even asked how I was touching myself and did the same.
Masturbation for me normally consists of privacy, a warm bed and my eyes tightly closed as I conjure up a scenario that inevitably ends up as the plot for my next short story. But to touch myself, eyes wide open, whilst typing? It just didn’t seem practical with two (then three) fingers buried inside my intimate parts. But it turns out that my orgasm was probably delayed by several minutes as a result of the constant tiny interruptions – and was probably twice as nice.
And so, after about fifteen minutes, I had a sticky keyboard, legs in different time zones and a burning need to come. I tried to delay my approaching pleasure, but my fingers paid me no heed, circling and pressing and slipping across my lips until I could stand the denial no longer. Something kicked off deep within my body and IT WAS HERE!!!
I did the unforgiveable. I went off-line for about three (maybe four minutes) as I finished off with several bucks, my fingers well up to the third knuckle by now and a deep almost cramp-inducing shudder that left me panting and wheezing. ‘Wow’ was the only word I was capable of forming at that point.
The laptop went ‘plink’ as a new message arrived and I realised that I’d been unforgivably rude towards my distant friend. But she laughed, well aware of why I’d disappeared, referring to it as ‘mopping up time’. She continued, with my encouragement, to have fun at her end, using her fingers as I guided her. She found a new way to touch herself in the process and…suddenly went off-line. 😀
I have to admit that it was a novel and heartwarming experience, sharing something like that with a distant friend. We’ve done it once more, but since the second time didn’t have the same forbidden naughtiness as the first, we both felt that there probably won’t be any more.
But I do feel a lot closer to her as a result, because of that shared and unique experience.
PS Isopropyl alcohol works wonders on sticky keys – it’s available from Radio Shack as wipes or a spray.