I’m wearing a lace black bralette and black crotchless knickers. My new wand vibrator is fired up.
My sofa is dirty cream, set off with a green and gold blanket that clashes with different shades of green and gold on the accent wall. At one end, there are two grey pillows, which I’m currently lying against, sprawling lengthways along the sofa as sexily as I can. At the other end, my phone shows a mini mirror image of me, and a larger one of Flint taking up most of the screen.
A year ago, I met Flint for the first time. I’m going to be honest, I thought our first-anniversary sex would be slapping. Just truly filthy and sloppy in only the best of ways. Global pandemics ruin everything. Video sex is fine, though. And anyway, they can’t keep us locked indoors forever.
Talk about feeling exposed. My intimacy issues haven’t been challenged too much in lockdown; a screen is a great protective barrier through which to curate the videos and images I’ve been sending Flint. But now I feel wide-open, literally, imagining his view of my cunt, with the rest of my body somehow vaguely in the distance.
Despite this, I come embarrassingly early.
Maybe it’s the novelty, maybe it’s the fact I haven’t masturbated for a while, or maybe it’s getting to see Flint in real time, his hips moving instinctively, gripping his cock and watching me. But, we’re just five minutes in when I realise what’s happening. Normally, I’d hold off for a bit and take my time, but – at the same time – I’ve never come in front of Flint before and I don’t want to scare it away.
In some ways, this is a monumental moment. I have never – never – reached orgasm in front of another person. At the same time, it’s just another orgasm. Again, the veil provided by the screen that separates us means it doesn’t feel like a huge deal. Part of me wants flowers, Champagne and a cake: Congrats on your orgasm. The other part knows that turning this into something bigger than it is might prevent it from happening again.
So we move on.
About 15 minutes later, I come again.
I don’t actually know how Flint feels about this. I wonder whether he thinks it’s all based on the vibrator. While that definitely helps speed things up, there’s no way this would have happened without the image of him watching me while he jerks off.
Men getting off is the main thing I search for when I’m looking for porn. I’m not that bothered about watching two people have sex – just give me a guy by himself and I’m satisfied. I’m not sure what I find so arousing: a man knowing how to pleasure himself, the unselfconscious ways they go for it, something short and sharp and devoid of fluff or extra content. All this creates a perfect storm for me.
And I don’t often watch Flint masturbating. When we’re together, we’re together. I think about him doing it, sometimes at points during the day when I should be thinking about my day job, sometimes deliberately at night, and in my head we climax together, but separately.
After we’re done on video, we chat for hours, naked and relaxed: him on his bed, me still on my couch. I’ve never been more naked than I have this year. I’ve never been more fucked and fingered and slapped and bitten and pleasured and teased and whipped and flogged and scratched and licked and held and validated.
It’s been a good year.