My list of ideas for blog posts has never been longer, but writing any of them seems impossible today. It’s not just anxiety that’s preventing me from concentrating, though I imagine that’s part of it. Today I am craving human touch, and I hope in writing this I can move on and focus on other things.
It’s not always about the fast, hard fucking and the filthy words you whisper in my ear while you pin me down. It’s not always about being used, or being called a slut as you invite others to watch how wet I get when you beat me.
My fantasies feature these things, and more, but not always. Sometimes I just crave touch.
It’s not even kissing, though I wouldn’t say no. I’m not making the distinction between rough sex and tender sex. I’m not asking for gentle caresses or delicate circles around my nipples any more than I’m asking for a spanking or you to pinch my nipples until I squeal.
Sometimes my fantasies aren’t sexual at all; sometimes it’s just about human touch.
I want someone standing near me as I cook, their hand on the small of my back to help me balance. I want someone behind me, their hands on my hips, as I stand at the sink washing up. I want someone’s arm around my waist, or just someone to hold my hand, as I walk down the street. It’s that touch, that warmth, that steadying presence that I yearn for.
I crave someone to sleep next to, so when I wake up in the night there is no longer just a cold bedsheet and the fading memories of a dream that leaves me shaking. I wish there was a warm body, who I could cuddle into. I’d try to breathe in time to their slow, steady breaths, and maybe sometimes they’d wake, just enough to pull me closer and hold me.
It’s the comforting protection of someone offering to spoon me while I cry, or while I fall asleep. It can be simpler too, though. Last summer I spent days dreaming about someone’s hand on my arse as I fell asleep. Nothing complex, just someone’s hand on my bare arse cheek, or even over my pyjamas – a sense of relief, almost as though its presence gives me permission to relax.
Hugs that envelop me, making me feel safe. Lying on my front with you lying fully on top of me, pinning me down with your whole weight. I’ll unwind as I lie underneath you, trapped in a soothing calm.
A calm that only comes from human touch, which is why – right now – it is in all my fantasies.
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.