Call me

I love B so much, it hurts some times. I miss her with every capiliary in my heart, and every sinue of my aching body.  So far, we've only been apart for a few weeks, and we have the best part of a year apart to cope with.  We speak on the phone all the time, several times a day, and we text so much that my service provider wants to offer me share options.  So, its probably no surprise that (at the moment at least) I miss her more physically than in any other way.  I get loads of her personality and humour and kindness through remote means.  But I can't touch her, smell her, see her or taste her remotely.  

Maybe it's because I'm male, but I can never express the way I feel as poetically as B can.  She writes so much better than me - hopefully you'll become a regular reader to this blog and come to appreciate that.  I don't know if I'll ever do the way I feel about her justice in this blog, and how crude my feelings will come across to her and other readers.  But I'll try my best.

So let's start here; I have masturbated at least once a day every day since B left the country.  I am so ridiculously sexually charged without her, and nothing I can do can make me feel better.  Every wank is empty, every porn movie is boring, and even the exciting sex lives of other people on sex blogs across the world are not enough.  The only satisfying sexual release I enjoy is when B and I are on the phone, and I can hear her panting and cumming into my ear.  Phone sex is the only time when making myself cum feels good.

Quite despite what she says below, she's so fucking good at it.  She has an amazing vocabulary, an amazing ability to conjur the exact image of what she's doing and what she wants me to do to her, and nothing turns me on more than hearing her desire.  As she has described in her post below, I'm pretty much always angling for her to have phone sex with me when I call - it usually starts with a cheeky comment, usually on my part, which she'll either spurn or grab on to.  At the moment, it feels like 9 times out of 10 she spurns them, but when she grabs on to them, it's the best feeling of anticipation ever.  A stirring in my loins, a settling into my position; a sort of "here we go then" feeling which is itself enough to make me hard.

I like her to describe what she's wearing, and for her to hold back the description of her underwear until the last minute.  Lacey? Silky? Skanky? I don't care what pants she's wearing, as long as she describes the detail to me, and the state her hot lust has made put them in.  I want to know that her hand is inside them, or over the seam of them, working her clit.  I want to know what I'm doing to her in her mind that is making her hands work herself so furiously.  Am I sucking on her large round nipples, nibbling behind her ear, am I just watching her from the other side of the room rubbing my cock?  Am I working her lips with my tongue the way only I can, how does she taste today, where does she want me to put my cock first?  All this things she'll have an answer to, and it'll be an answer that'll make me harder and harder and harder.

As she gets more and more into it, she gets dirtier and dirtier.  As the words get more breathless, she describes to me how she wants to be pounded really hard, how she wants me to fill every hole, how she needs to taste my cum, wants me to throw her on all fours and fuck her in the arse, then pull out and cum all over her back.  All this is described to me breathlessly, through loud moans (I love it when she's loud) as she continues to fuck herself with her fingers and toys.  My mind is filled with the images she's describing, the image of her on her bed, and the knowledge that one day, eventually, when we're back together, we can do all of this for real.

I know that they're things that she would never say if we were together; a lot of them are things that we won't do when we're together.  But I disagree with her when she suggests she can slip into 'sexline phone operator' talk.  I know her well enough to know what's real and what's forced, and the words that come out of her mouth when she's hot, wet and ready to cum are stream-of-subconsciousness expressions of the flashing of images going through her mind as she's orgasming.  I know her well enough to know she couldn't say those things if she wasn't lost in the moment, and the moment that moment is gone, she stops and goes back to her wonderful, meek, cute self.  She's no phone operator.  I never ever want her to force it or fake it.  In fact, the infrequency of it surely contributes to its specialness.

At the moment it's these things that makes me feel most close to her.  It feels naughty, it feels private, it feels personal, and... it's just so damn sexy.  I get anxious about how to let her know when I want it.  As you've read, it does make her uncomfortable some times.  Perhaps she just needs to know that it's a given: I ALWAYS want to have phone sex with her.  It's a standing order.  So if you ever feel in the mood honey, you don't need to know if I'm in the mood or not.  I am.  Fuck me now, please xx