reading is fun

The other day, when I again had nothing to say, I told him maybe I could read to him again.

I love to read out loud to someone. It is always a bit of a performance.

In this case, my performance is made all the more interesting by the fact that I am reading my own dreams, in my own words. It is the closest I get to saying exactly what I want. Though I wonder if it hampers me, if it has become a safety net for me to fall back on to. If I could script my own life, I’d have no problem acting it out, but since I can’t, what’s the point?

I like it though, because it provides focus too for my scattered mind. These days I have not been able to focus on a fantasy long enough for me to cum from the thought. With the words already laid out, I can just concentrate on them being read, hear them be said out loud. Touching myself at the same time, I am made to really enjoy the thought fully, as if I were there living it. And of course the fact that I write most of these words with him in mind, and he is there listening to it, maybe enjoying it too- that is what pushes me right to the edge.

So I read him 'my shower', which isn’t the most explicit or heated piece of writing. But I read it with my hand pushing lightly been my legs, and I found myself really lost in the moment I described. And I found too, another thing that I like, my words polished and brandished anew in his ears as they came out of my mouth. Some more awkward than I remember, some hotter that what I first felt.

I fumbled with sentences, I had to stop to sigh frequently, and by the end, again, my voice was a shaking, desperate, uncontrollable mess.

When I was done, I just stopped and tried to catch my breath. Usually I whisper a light ‘the end’ or ‘that’s it’, but I was unwilling to end the spell. And he said immediately-

‘You have to fuck me right now’

I groaned a laugh and I said in a voice that was still the voice I had been using while reading:

‘How would you like to be fucked?’

And he told me. And he told me actually how it was him who was going to fuck me. And how in that moment all my words would be gone and I would be all his. And he told me to imagine how it felt for his cock when he put it in my cunt. And then he told me exactly how it felt. And oh he went on and on and on so that even as I came closer and closer to cumming, I had this tiny urge to stop and applaud.

And after we both came, breathing and gasping and breathing, he caught his breath before I could catch mine. He asked me, all calm and cheerful, all husky with a cold, how I was doing, and I wouldn’t have known I was capable of such Harlequinesque hyperbole, but I said,

‘..that.. was … incredible’

And he quipped back lightly,

‘Yes I know… I’m good at this aren’t I?’

And I laughed and swore at him for knowing this, under my breath, though he might have heard.

‘Fucker’

Which is exactly what he was I suppose. And I heard his smile over the phone as he continued.

‘Yes I know a little bit about how your perverted mind works. As a pervert myself of course’

I sighed a laugh, still recovering. Not really wanting to recover.

‘And the more you keep feeding me your words, the more I’m going to use them, and the better and better this is going to be’

Deal.

And he was right about another thing too (the fucker hehe). He was right about what he said as we shut the phone, that I loved lying there afterwards like that.

Snuggled under blankets because my body was suddenly cold against the air in my room, just drawing in the glow of my sex close around me as it faded.