Right now, I feel disconnected from my body. It’s partly lockdown and partly my depression, but I find it hard to remember that sex feels good until I’m literally pushing a vibrator against my junk. In theory I know that I like being touched and I like sucking dick, but in reality my arousal feels clinical and detached. It feels like my body has forgotten how to be so horny that I can’t think about anything but sex, and I miss it. I miss the overwhelming desire and anticipation I used to feel before a fuck.
Content note for dick-focussed smut. I also realise the irony of writing a piece yearning for this kind of sex when COVID means that many people are limited to no-contact lusting.
I want to feel that anticipation again. I want to go on a date knowing that it can’t end in sex, knowing that however much we are into each other that the evening cannot end with your achingly hard dick inside me. Maybe we’ll make out in an alley and you’ll squeeze my tits through my shirt, but maybe I’ll have to make do with a chaste kiss on the cheek before I walk home with unsated lust between my legs.
I definitely won’t get to suck your dick; I definitely won’t get to feel your fingers closing around mine while you grin wickedly at me and I wonder what I’ve got myself into. I’ll think about these things, of course. I’ll think about them all evening while I sit next to you, getting more and more frustrated because all I want to do is fuck you. I want to feel the anticipation grow between us as we eye-fuck each other and try to talk about anything but sex. Of course we will eventually, but we’ll start by pretending that we’re not both incredibly horny.
I want to meet you somewhere public, so it’s clear that we can’t fuck. The fact other people can see us is the only reason I’m forcing myself not to straddle you and grind against you. I want to find excuses to move closer and closer to you until your hand is on my thigh. I want to feel its weight and its heat close-but-not-close-enough to my dick. I can’t fuck you, but fucking you is all I can think about to the point where I wonder if we could slip off to the toilets so I could blow you.
The anticipation that we stretch between us will make it hotter when we do fuck. It is delicate and a thing of beauty, this fragile restraint that we build together knowing that eventually we will tear it down as we tear each other’s clothes off. I want sex and I want you, but first I want to feel how my body aches to touch you.
I think I want you to show me your frustration, and let me see how much you want me. I want to see your cheeks blush and your ears flush red and see the restraint you have to exercise to stop yourself from bending me over the table and pulling down my jeans. I want you to be so hot for me that you have to sit on your hands because all you want to do is fuck me hard and fast. I want to take pride in your sharp inhale of breath when I lean over the table exposing more of my tits.
That said, maybe it would be even hotter if you remain annoyingly in control of yourself. You can hide your arousal so you tease me with mine: make fun of me for how horny and frustrated I am, mockingly call me a slut for how cock-hungry I am. Smirk as you tell me that you know I’d get to my knees there and then in front of everyone because I am so desperate for you to fuck me. Ask me what perverse things I would do just to earn the pleasure of choking on your cock.
I want you to twist my arousal into a weapon that you can use against me by whispering filth into my ear. I want you to make me so desperate that every word feels like a thrust of your fingers inside me. I want feel my lust for you twist in my gut. I want to feel the thump of arousal in my cunt. I want you to learn close and tell how much you want to fuck me. I want to reach over to put my hand on your crotch and grin in satisfaction because your dick is achingly hard too.
I want to flirt with you when we can’t fuck – or like we can’t fuck, at least. I want to sit there, not allowed to kiss you or touch you or ride your dick, until every atom of my body is electrified by your presence. I want to feel so horny that my stomach tenses and my dick twitches and my cunt clenches. I want to want you with every part of me; I want to want you so much that it hurts. I want you to want me that much too, and I want us to have no choice but to hold back.
I want to flirt with you when we can’t fuck, until the anticipation is thrumming through me. I am hard and horny and you are hard and horny but we can’t fuck. We can’t fuck but I am overwhelmed with my lust for you and it feels like I am flying.
That’s what I want right now.
Wow, it’s a while since I wrote something that’s even a little bit smutty. If you enjoyed this post, please consider buying me a coffee! Ok, yes, I’ll probably actually get a hot chocolate, but your support helps me write more filthy things.
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.