Monday, 17 November 2008

Wood and lace?

In general, I try not to think about the loss of the ability to be physically close to G, to kiss, to make love, to really feel connected to him. Now that I write this, it is very fresh and raw and it stings. Since we talked about writing about how it feels - physically and emotionally - to be separated by 7000 miles for a long period of time, the loss has been hanging over me like a dark shadow.

Physically, I miss the daily contact. I miss being touched, being hugged, kisses between friends, these plain shows of affection are part of being more isolated here than back home. The next level is to miss G and our daily physical contact - holding hands, rubbing my nose against his stubble, a kiss hello or goodbye. Sometimes I can barely think about my sexual needs as the need just to be touched in a deliberate affectionate way, rather than just jostled in the street of a city of 18 million people, is so strong. A few days ago, I woke up ready to roll over, grab G's cock and make some mischief. Playful early morning sex. In his absence, I took a walk.

Touching myself would have just made me feel even more alone and exercise would distract me. As I walked along, the lace edge of my bra rubbed my nipple hard. I had to choose between the painful sexy sensation and the need to keep my levels of desire at bay. I could feel my underwear was already wet and I was embarrassed to be so turned on in the street. Later in the day, I sat on a cold wooden bench, and the cold hard wood against my bare thighs also delivered the same feeling. Is this all it takes? Wood and lace? I changed my bra to a smooth one and resolved not to sit on benches for the rest of the day. I just couldn't handle any reminder that I couldn't have sex with G.

I sense that our sexual separation is harder on G than on me, and I can tell by the sound of his voice when he calls whether he's aiming for a sexual conversation and how horny he is. This pleases me as much as upsets me, I know him so well I can anticipate how the tone of his voice reflects the state of his cock. It can be very hard to find a time when we both have the time, privacy and space to enjoy each other and masturbate. I am not a natural at talking dirty, or even talking about sex, perhaps agreeing to write this blog is overly ambitious. Perhaps it will help me learn a way to express my desire. 

I love words but lack a suitable vocabulary that describes the subtlety of how I feel, how G makes me feel and what I would like us to experience sexually together. I cringe at every word I think of to describe my own body and sex for me is such an overwhelming stimulation of other senses that I feel thwarted by the requirement to verbalise this into something that translates into something G would find a turn on. When I'm really wet, I'm focused on a dreamlike quality - smell, sensation and colours. Those are things that don't really work when you describe them to someone else - the smell of leather, dark purple, vanilla, the crunch of brown sugar in my teeth. Now, I'm a good student and I can go through the sexline phone operator routine as well as the next girl, but with G my deepest desire is for sex to be real. Not forced, not pretended. Real. This is so much harder to achieve over the phone.

The distance between us magnifies our different approach to sex and feelings of being turned on and sometimes I find this very hard. I find G his sexiest when sex is the furthest thing from his mind, when he works, when he drives, when he concentrates and his jaw is set. I have to work hard to resist grabbing his occupied hands and thrusting them into my wet, lust filled places. If I get playful, he gets cross. Kind of cute, but not the sexual release that I crave. 

I have my period so my body has the ripe heavy fullness that G loves - I am amazed by the weight and softness of my breasts and my scent has changed in the tiny way it does each month when I notice G enjoys smelling my hair more, enjoys the taste of me more and strokes my skin more. Wasn't nature kind to do this? I feel guilty that my body is so ready for sex, and has the qualities that would turn G on, expecially that it's all wasted in a country that would view my double F breasts as fat rather than attractive.

Writing this has focused my attention inwardly and onto the physical state of my body that I have been ignoring for days. The cashmere of my jumper is bliss against my fingers and I remembered how G's hands roved over my breasts the last time I wore it at home. I'm soaking wet and can smell how turned on I am. 

I half imagine that all the men in the room can also smell that I am sitting here thinking swirling thoughts of burrowing my head into G's groin, taking him in my mouth and sucking very hard hard for a few minutes before sitting down on him cowgirl style and riding myself to a very much wanted orgasm.

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