Sex in Black and White — Part II, Browsing
“It’s all right for a woman to be, above all, human. I am a woman, first of all.”
I found a staggering number of sex sites out there. It took me a week to pick one! Called ‘CravingYou.com,’ its high-definition photos drew my attention.
I never did anything like it; I needed to learn how it worked and how strangers hooked up online. Cocks were everywhere on CravingYou. As with most women, I find them intriguing. I wonder what it feels like to have one.
The site displayed hundreds of mysterious appendages, many with absorbing features, large balls, veiny smoothness, cut and uncut coronas. They simultaneously drew and repelled me.
Not surprisingly, the site featured few female profiles. I was curious about the other women. Were they like me? Did they want what I wanted? Some, I assumed, sought sex as a means of securing relationships, something too often absent from the modern girl’s repertoire. It did not concern me, as I was not after a lasting connection.
Some women were plants; their profiles felt fake, lures to get men to use the service. Others, however, seemed real, genuine women genuinely looking for sex without commitment. Those sustained me, validating my insanity.
‘CravingYou,’ I quickly learned, would not let me browse thoroughly, not until I created a full-blown profile. It angered me, but not enough to put me off. Eventually, I opened an account.
Naturally, they asked questions; most were blatantly sexual. At one point, I indignantly slammed shut my laptop, whispering to myself, “They can go to hell.”
By then, it was too late, as the notion had taken hold. There was something erotic about baring myself to strange men. So I inched along, spending hours focusing on photos of impressive erections and overly-inviting bylines written by men looking for easy women to fuck.
What I was after—deep ass fucking—I found hard to express. I felt silly and a bit frightened. The act had intrigued me since childhood, and I could not get it out of my head.
However, the uncertainty of who might scan my page nagged at me, and I found filling in answers to the site’s questions harder than expected. But after a few days of toying with wording, I pulled my thoughts together and completed my page.
Once finished, I stopped and stared at the monitor, my index finger shaking. I hovered over the mouse and tapped once, too lightly as it turned out. Half relieved, I tapped again. Nothing happened that time either. On the third try, I managed to click; instantly, I was visible to the world.
CravingYou captivated me. Its questions were invasive, but I understood the reasoning and answered candidly—well, mostly:
Question: ‘How big a role does sex play in your life?’
*Answer: None, but I want to explore sex with an experienced, creative partner.
I was proud of my daring but thought of my angelic mother when I wrote it. What would she say if she knew what I was up to? Setting that aside, I continued with my unremarkable sex life:
Question: How many sex partners have you had?
*Answer: Only one; right now, I am uninvolved.
A good Catholic girl, I thought about my future confession—which I would do after all this ended. I even listened in on myself: ‘Bless me, Niğde Escort Father, for I have sinned. It’s been three years since I last confessed to fucking a total stranger.’
Even given the relative eternity between my only partner and the one I angled for on CravingYou, somehow, my wrongness bubbled to the surface, and the thought of having priests listen to confessions brought me renewed admiration for men of the cloth.
My so-called experience amounted to this: I allowed one man to fuck me a dozen times. Though my sex life was ‘limited,’ my horizons were not. Where sexuality is concerned, women should have the same freedoms as men.
Perhaps it is naïve, but ‘parity’ with males means something. It overrode everything I was taught. If I wanted creative sex, I would have creative sex. I do not need a steady boyfriend to do it—or so I thought.
Question: ‘How much enjoyment do you get from giving or receiving oral sex?’
*Answer: “I’ve never sucked a cock! I am curious about how it feels, however. My cunt has never been licked, either, but I am curious about that too.”
Given the times, I felt brave to admit it. I was twenty-three! How many twenty-three-year-olds have not sucked a cock—or two—or ten? I was long overdue.
The prospect, especially of fellatio, scared me. What if I proved terrible at it? What if I could not make him hard? What if I did not come when he reciprocated? Men, ‘Cosmo’ insists, expect us to love both giving and receiving. For that matter, what if he comes in my mouth?
Question: Do you swallow?
I cannot say the thought of a man exploding in my mouth attracts me. My friend, Anya, was clear, however: “Men insist on it,” Taryn. If you expect a man to love you, you have to do it.” She said it so casually, not so much as turning to face me for emphasis.
“I will not,” I vowed. “Frankly, I don’t care what men want, and I don’t want men to love me. If I ever suck one, it will be on my terms.” This time she did turn around, her look stern.
“What are your terms?” she asked. Getting no answer, she prodded me, counseling rehearsal. “Listen to me,” she said. “You need to practice. Take a spoon and a container of plain yogurt. Sit in front of a mirror and drop a dollop onto your tongue. Play with it like a porn star mouthing a fresh load. Then, stop thinking for a change and gulp it.” I frowned. “Do it, Taryn,” she urged. “It’s good practice!” The idea seemed stupid, but she was serious, and because I love her, I tried it with her there.
The project lasted only a minute because as soon as that first spoonful hit my tongue, I resolved it might as well have been the real thing. Like the complete failure I was, my hand flew to my mouth, and I ran off to the bathroom to vomit.
“I’ll never swallow cum, Anya!” I cried into the echoing ring of the flushing toilet. Later on, things got worse.
“The yogurt experiment is just your maiden voyage,” Anya smartly added. “If you want to learn to handle cum, practice with raw egg whites.” My blood pressure skyrocketed. Anya had accomplished her goal, however, and I learned that if a man ever did come in my mouth, I would panic and scramble in search of the nearest potted plant to spit into.
I wanted options, and there were none. Sex for the modern girl Niğde Escort Bayan means sucking cock; it is that simple. Anyway, I had to be careful as the thought of making a scene with some man I just met horrified me.
Anya half-expected my response. “If that doesn’t work,” she advised, “let him come on those gorgeous boobs, Taryn. Then rub his sperm over them like it’s body lotion. Your white skin will shimmer in candlelight, men like that.”
I doubted I would have the wherewithal to do that either, but I kept an open mind, even caved on the next question.
Question: ‘If you have not swallowed in the past, are you willing to try?’
*Answer— “For the right partner, I will consider it.”
It was a complete lie, but I had to post it that way because swallowing is settled law. Besides, I concluded, I might want to—for the right partner.
I sensed a change in my thinking. I knew, for someone I was really into and truly loved—or at least liked a lot—I might enjoy a warm if unsettled tummy. Then, I thought, what if I retch right in front of him? How gross would that be? He will be insulted at my rejection of his manhood’s sticky distillate. The prospect was unthinkable.
Though unlikely, I left the dishonest, ‘I will consider it,’ answer in place. Anya was clear about it: “You won’t get hits if you say no. You need to sacrifice.”
Question: ‘What are your thoughts on anal sex?’
*Answer—”I haven’t tried it either, but am very interested.”
My restrained but underlined answer barely hid my biggest secret. Yes, I was interested in anal sex, but not just interested—I was very interested!
I so needed to be filled back there—I wanted it deep. Having graduated from hairbrush handles, I tried anal probes, even phallus-shaped ginger root. Anal was my most coveted urge. I loved the idea, and the fact that it would hurt drew me like a moth to a flame. I craved the thought of rectal stretching—of a man forcing himself into my bowels, of being forced. I wanted anal, and the deeper, the better.
Consequently, the cock I selected was not the biggest one my mind’s eye fondled, but it was long. Anya was right. Big, that is, thick could wait for later.
Question: What is the largest number of people you have shared a sexual encounter with in one session?
*Answer—I’ve only had one-on-one sex.
I had been taken by one guy, a paltry few times, not terribly satisfying experiences. To make matters worse, I did not orgasm with him, not once. I feared I might never accomplish that little feat with anything other than my trusty vibrator.
Long before that first time—and often—I had brought myself to climax. So I knew I could come without a man; the question was, could I come with one? How does a girl explain such a thing on some internet form? Despite my only lover’s frantic thrusts, my thoughts during sex with him wandered to fleeting images well beyond what we were doing, to satanic cravings of bound wrists; legs forced wide apart, my wanton rectum pounded.
Like now, I could not bring myself to share such secrets with a man, not outright—and certainly not with the virtual world, into which I had clicked my way. I naively hoped my eventual partner would see me for who I was and act accordingly.
Huffily, I feel it is a man’s Escort Niğde job. Isn’t that what men are for? Is a man who cannot see through me worth it? I half-assumed if he had enough audacity to post photos of his erection on CravingYou.com, he would show imagination without promptings from an untested woman.
Considering what he is getting, I should not have to give specifics, but in the next section, I more or less did anyway.
Question: What types of sexual activities turn you on?
*Answer—Giving Oral Sex—Receiving Oral Sex—Anal Sex—Toys (Vibrators/Dildos/etc.)—Rimming—Light bondage—Mutual masturbation—Handcuffs/shackles—Blindfolds—Choking—I think.
Emboldened, I laid it out as plain as day. Anyone worth fucking, I judged, should see me for what I am. I mean, really, rimming, shackles? With a total stranger? What else does a girl need to say?
After answering that question, it was only a matter of finding a willing participant with a long dick who could read and who might recognize something truthful about a girl if it fell on him. There had to be someone like that on the site, and I crossed my fingers, hoping.
Question: ‘What types of sexual activities are OFF-LIMITS to you?’
*Answer—Water sports/urine, cross-dressing, home movies, erotic photography, scat.
Yuck. No, thank you.
Question: ‘Have you ever had erotic pictures or video taken of you.’
*Answer—”Not that I know about.”
Though I prayed I had not been videotaped during my first experience, these days, I could not be sure—revenge porn is everywhere, and it frightened me. The secretly-taped movies phenomenon terrifies all of us.
Anya had been filmed once. She was heartbroken that her former boyfriend—that complete fucking asshole—posted a video of her on YouPorn! “It’s out there for gazillions of wankers,” she’d sobbed. “I’m such a fool, Taryn.” I felt terrible for her. “Don’t ever let anyone tape you, Taryn, not ever!” She made me promise.
What if the guy I eventually hook up with does it anyway? He will take me to his place or someplace convenient—for him. What if it is wired for video? Like Anya, I might be equally victimized. I dreaded the thought, but as I did with all dreaded thoughts, I pushed it away, telling myself I would think about it tomorrow.
Question: Does size matter to you?
*Answer—I think so, but it is yet to be proven—I have only experienced one cock! I want a good-sized man to show me one way or the other. Anya insists it matters. “How does a girl know he’ll fit?” I naively asked her one day. “I mean, how big is big?”
A certified expert, Anya answered straight-away. “Big is nice, Taryn, but don’t be concerned with it right now. Any vagina can manage any cock. It’s the way we’re made.”
Then, she added a caveat: “Listen, my back door pet, anal is another story altogether. You need to start with something—less than.”
“Less than?” I asked. She nodded knowingly.
Question: What kind of relationship are you looking for?
*Answer—Play partners, short-term fuck-buddies, BDSM partners. The thought of being on my back, legs tied to the bed’s uprights, and having my cunt whipped with a riding crop seems like heaven.
Question: What is your current dating situation?
*Answer—I’m single and want to remain that way. I need this point to be clear. No way am I looking for deeply-rooted intimacy. An orgasm or two—or ten—and maybe a glimpse of what it is like to be desired are what I want. If that is a lover, so be it, but otherwise, things have to stay black and white.
End—Part II – Browsing