What I Miss About Sex With Men . Category: Editorial and Quick and Dirty
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I was reminded of a particular incident in a relationship from several years ago when reading a piece by a fellow sex blogger. I thought I’d share that story – it’s in the second half of this post – and also express my love and appreciation for that one thing that you can’t really replicate in a girl-girl relationship.
***
I’ve written about spunk a couple of times previously. This is the third time. I like spunk.
I commented on a post by my splendid fellow sex-blogger Girl On The Net, that was about being spat on and into (in a sexual context), but also, more widely, about being the recipient of a man’s bodily fluids – especially in a submissive ‘treat me like the filthy little slut I am’ kind of way. I’ve been spat on before, and it can be horny as fuck in the right context, and context is everything here, people.
But this post was going to be about Spunk. Cum, jizz, baby-sauce, jism; call it what you will. GOTN touched on that in her post, but I wanted to lean into it a bit more.
***
I’ve been in a same sex relationship for coming up to two years now. It’s the first for both of us on an official basis; we came out for each other. Romantic, huh? I’m in my mid-30s now, and she’s a handful of years younger. Until Autumn 2023, our friends and family generally thought of us as straight, although a couple of my friends claim they’ve always known I wasn’t. It’s funny and surprising, some of the things that you get asked, especially when everyone has had a few drinks.
A year or so ago, we were out for dinner with some of our friends – a pair of straight couples. All of us like a drink, so inevitably, it got a little bit raucous towards the end of the evening. Then one of our friends asked us whether we missed anything about sleeping with men, and if so, what.
Well, yeah, there are some things. Not deal-breaker things, but still. Some people seem to struggle with the idea that you can be bisexual and in a committed relationship with one person. Like the lure of the cock will somehow become irresistible at some point. It isn’t, and it doesn’t, although I do remember penises fondly (and so does she).
The one thing which we both agreed we missed the most, and which surprised the friends into silence for a few seconds, is spunk. Yes, really, but it’s not that surprising when you think about it.
***
Apart from the delightful menu of activities that open up to you (!) if you are in a girl-girl relationship, you can replicate most things about having sex with a man pretty effectively. Semen is another matter altogether, though.
There’s lube which is designed to look and feel like real cum and which you can squirt through certain dildos to mimic the act of ejaculation. It’s a reasonable simulacrum in terms of look and texture but, well, it’s just not the same. Of course, it doesn’t smell or taste the same, for a start. That might be a good thing, depending on your viewpoint. Personally, I never minded the taste of fresh semen from the loins of a well-hydrated man.
I was given a tip when I was in my teens that has served me well, so I’ll pass it along to you: If you hold semen in your mouth for a while, instead of spitting it out or gulping it down, the flavour and texture mellows. It becomes less gloopy and develops a subtle, gentle, warming heat – a bit like very mild ginger. It varies, though – of course.
Anyway, I digress. There was this one boyfriend… Oh god, I would have gladly allowed him to use me as a drip tray – I loved his cum and could have happily drunk it in a martini glass with a cocktail olive garnish. Others have been less palatable. It’s the same with girls, of course. I’ve tasted only a small handful of girls (me included), but there’s a definite difference; it even changes at different times during the menstrual cycle.
***
Spunk though.
It’s the headspace aspect of it, and because you know that the fake stuff isn’t real, you can’t replicate the psycho-sexual effect. It can be a loving consummation – a marking of territory that wants to be marked and claimed; It can be a tribute – a testament and libation poured out in honour of your feminine magic; it can be an instrument of soiling – a proof that he has used you for his pleasure and left you filled or covered with his muck: fucking clean yourself up, then go and make me a sandwich.
It can be all of those things and more. The real stuff is like a magical potion. And, of course, it can put a baby in you, which really is magic.
So, when I commented on GOTN’s post, it called to mind an incident with the last but one boyfriend I had. We will never speak of the last one, but the second-to-last was OK in many respects. Sex was one of the better aspects of our relationship.
It’s been a while since I told you a true story, so here’s one, about an incident with this particular guy.
***
We had eased into a routine with sex, which was moderately sub/dom in nature. I am, as I’ve said before, on the subby side of the bell-curve. Nothing too extreme, but I like a bit of light choking, being restrained, hair pulling, not-too-vigorous spanking and slapping, and being told what a cheap, dirty little slut I am. That sort of thing. All rather vanilla to some people, I guess. The more turned on I am, the more disdainfully I like to be treated, and he enjoyed pushing that.
There was one occasion where I had been clear with him that I expected a proper seeing too that evening. It must have been a Saturday because he had gone out with some friends, probably to the football, then to the pub afterwards. Anyway, he got in around mid-evening, I think; a bit beery and blokey – having been with his mates all day. It was clear that he was in a leery mood.
What followed was a performance where both of us knew what he was doing, which was to try and wind me up as much as possible. He made a big scene of reclining on the sofa with the remote wand and flicking through the channels, lingering over films which, if he started watching, would take him past midnight.
***
After what seemed like hours of this nonsense, I stood in front of him and stripped off, dropping my clothes onto the floor around me, until I was stark naked.
‘Are you going to fuck me then, or shall I just go to bed and get my vibrator on the job?’
‘Christ, you’re a needy little slut tonight, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, so come and do something about it.’
I’d had to deal with him in this sort of mood before. He was going out of his way to be demeaning and try to make me actually beg for it. Unfortunately, I’d been behaving like a bitch on heat, so he realised that he’d be able to get away with quite a lot of shitty behaviour before I eventually snapped and told him to fuck off. After the strip-tease, he did follow me through to the bedroom, so it finally appeared that I was making some progress.
His game plan was clearly to make me do all of the work. Having stripped his own clothes off, he lay still, with his hands behind his head, wearing that supercilious expression that used to drive me crazy. It made me all the more determined to break this veneer of detached arrogance. He was a lazy lover anyway and generally liked to let me do most of the work, but this was dialled up to the max this evening. He would provide a cock, but it was, seemingly, up to me to do the rest.
***
The first task, to produce an erection to play with, was simple enough. He was already semi-hard, and it was the work of a few moments to produce a very serviceable hard-on by sucking his dick and – a favourite trick of his – sucking his balls while I stroked the shaft. I carried on for a while longer than I might ordinarily do – unless I was going to take him to completion in my mouth – to try to ensure his continued interest. I knew that he wanted to fuck me, but that urge was fighting with his competing desire to wind me up to the peak of frustration and annoyance.
Having secured the means for my cunt to be filled, I straddled him and guided him into me. He really wasn’t going to do anything; he was just going to lie there. Fortunately, I was wet enough that I didn’t have to rely on him doing anything to get me ready. Giving oral sex (to a cock or pussy) is an absolute sure-fire way of getting myself extremely aroused.
I rocked back and forward, grinding myself down on him, and slipping a hand there to flick away at my clit, making myself groan and gasp. I put on a good show, if I say so myself, giving him a running commentary about what his cock felt like, stretching and pummelling my insides. The mask of studied indifference was beginning to slip, and he now had his hands on my hips, pulling at me on the downward/forward stroke. I changed the angle of my hips and ground my clit down against his pubic bone. This wasn’t going to take me very long.
***
‘Think you’re just going to grind yourself off on me, do you?
‘Well, I was thinking that you might like to come too?’
‘I’ll fucking decide when I come, bitch.’ Get on all fours now. I’m going to fuck you from behind.’
The idea pleased me. Getting done from behind has always been one of my favourite positions. Not only does it make me feel like I’m submissively providing a hole to be used, but I can also reach through and help myself over the finish line by playing with my clit. Then there are the opportunities to be smacked, have my hair pulled, and so on. There aren’t many downsides.
He got in position and was in me up to the hilt again in no time. As expected, my arse got warmed with a few sharp slaps, making my cunt tingle, and my hair was yanked – so deliciously painfully. I groaned and, reaching back between my thighs, caressed his balls as he thrust in and out.
It didn’t take long before he was announcing through grunts that he was going to cum. My fingers went to my clit with the aim of synchronising our orgasms. His big hand grabbed my forearm and yanked it away.
‘I decide when you come.’
‘Give me your spunk then, fill me up with it.’
‘No. You don’t deserve my cum.’
And with that, his cock was unceremoniously withdrawn. I was desperate to come and put my hand back down – I was soaking, and a few quick strokes would finish me. He slapped my backside again, hard, making me yelp.
‘I said I’ll decide when you come. What’s the matter – can’t you understand English? Get in front of me – now!’
***
I swivelled around so that I was facing him as he knelt on the bed, his hot, hard cock glistening wet with my fluids.
‘You don’t fucking deserve it. I know you want it inside you, but I’m going to make you watch me spilling it on the bed, and after, you can clean it the fuck up.’
I remained on all fours, my eyes fastened on his wet cock while he wanked himself over the line. It was so hard, and I was so turned on that I was actually trembling. Why won’t he stick it in my pussy and empty himself there or in my mouth? Please don’t waste it. Doesn’t he know how much I need it?
His come shot across the white bedsheets, in thick ropes, spattering all in front of me, when I wanted, longed, for it to be inside me. I love when a man comes so that I can see it; the look on his face as our eyes lock and he orgasms, splashing my thighs or breasts. It feels like the sincerest tribute. This was different. He knew that I wanted him inside me, and he was going to deny me deliberately, like offering a child a sweet, then tossing it in the bin so they can’t have it.
His face had a look of cruel satisfaction on it which only served to make me even more desperate for what he had so disdainfully jetted across the white cotton in front of me. I must have looked so desperate that he finally relented.
‘Go on then, little slut. Jeez, anyone would think I didn’t feed you.’
***
Immediately putting my face to the surface of the bed, I began to lick and suck the semen up into my mouth. I wanted to do this as quickly as I could before it soaked into the cotton and was lost. I licked and licked and swallowed every drop that I was able to retrieve, as though I had just crawled through a desert and happened upon an oasis.
‘You might as well come now,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you hassling me any more tonight like some disgusting nympho.’
I touched my clit again and came almost immediately, rolling onto my side with my hand clamped between my legs as I twitched and moaned.
‘Happy now?’ He came across and stroked the side of my face with his finger. ‘You’re a good girl really. Such a good, slutty, girl. I’m going to go and watch ‘Match of the Day.’
I wouldn’t want you to think that he was this contemptuous of me all the time. He was, in fact, pretty nice, mostly, and we did make love as well as fuck. To be honest, though, the times I remember most clearly were when he treated me like a cheap whore, and I absolutely loved it.
Love, Jaimie xx
Links and Stuff
There seems to be a pattern emerging of me being obsessed with ‘clean-up’ following messy sex. Apart from this sleazy autobiographical account, It’s featured in my previous two stories as well, here and here. Is my subconscious telling me something??
Red satin Chemise in the picture by Boux Avenue, who are my go-to for affordable lingerie and nightwear.
