The Countdown to Friday 5:01.
I feel compelled to post regardless of the fact that I have nothing of interest to say (not that I ever do). Thusly submitted herein, dear reader, is another missive to the Smut Gods, followed by a question for y'ins ( ososexilexi, five Super Awesome Bonus Points to you if you can explain to me why the fuck Pennsylvanians say things like "y'ins").
My First Sex Fantasy: I am in fourth grade, and there's a boy who sits next to me in class named Tommy Pope. Tommy is not exactly the type of boy who might inspire amorous feelings from other single-digit-aged girls, but for some reason, I find his green eyes, freckles, and smilingly studious mannerisms to be deeply appealing. Tommy listens to me blather nervously about books I'm reading, about my weird fourth-grade obsession with Steven King books (I learned most of my prepubescent bad words from Mr. King, among other things), and actually evinces some interest in such topics. I consequently fall deeply in love.
I begin to concoct a complicated and heavily revisited fantasy about Tommy and me, one that I drag out and inspect, look at, and rework so often that it has become a footworn but heavily guarded dirt path into the deepest recesses of my libido. It stoicly got my oh-so-young self off more times than I could ever count. The most crystalized version takes the form of Tommy, in the wee hours of the night and while I am at a friend's house post-sleepover when everyone is fast asleep around me, sneaking in through the basement window and timidly padding his way to my sleeping bag. I've just been pretending to be knocked out this whole time, waiting for everyone else to slip into slumber, and my preteen body tenses with anticipation. I have no idea he would show up but I feel as if the sheer force of my will has drawn him to me, like a heat-seeking animal.
Without a word, he crawls conspiratorially into my sleeping bag, and we duck our heads under the warm down of the cover so no one would ever see us, should they happen to awaken. We're kissing, hesitantly at first, but we quickly gain confidence even though neither of us has ever done this before. The heat our two bodies generate within the old sleeping bag dampens both our foreheads and my hair sticks to my skin in moist clumps, our breathing heavy and irregular in the confined space. His hot little hands find me in the utter darkness and there, buried under miles of goose down and late-night silence, we explore each other with the curiosity and temerity that only happy innocence allows.
To this day, the idea of being shrouded in utter darkness, cocooned in layer upon layer of sweaty fabric and forced into furtive whispers for fear of being discovered, learning every inch of a mysterious body whose owner found their way to me like a moth to a gleaming porchlight, holding my breath with giddy apprehension... there's something about that image, that feeling, that gets me hot every single time.
So, on that note, I pose this query to you: what is your earliest sexual fantasy, and how has it imbedded itself in your deeply buried lizard brain of a libido?
(*Edited to fix my silly spelling error of ososexilexi's name. D'oh!)
My First Sex Fantasy: I am in fourth grade, and there's a boy who sits next to me in class named Tommy Pope. Tommy is not exactly the type of boy who might inspire amorous feelings from other single-digit-aged girls, but for some reason, I find his green eyes, freckles, and smilingly studious mannerisms to be deeply appealing. Tommy listens to me blather nervously about books I'm reading, about my weird fourth-grade obsession with Steven King books (I learned most of my prepubescent bad words from Mr. King, among other things), and actually evinces some interest in such topics. I consequently fall deeply in love.
I begin to concoct a complicated and heavily revisited fantasy about Tommy and me, one that I drag out and inspect, look at, and rework so often that it has become a footworn but heavily guarded dirt path into the deepest recesses of my libido. It stoicly got my oh-so-young self off more times than I could ever count. The most crystalized version takes the form of Tommy, in the wee hours of the night and while I am at a friend's house post-sleepover when everyone is fast asleep around me, sneaking in through the basement window and timidly padding his way to my sleeping bag. I've just been pretending to be knocked out this whole time, waiting for everyone else to slip into slumber, and my preteen body tenses with anticipation. I have no idea he would show up but I feel as if the sheer force of my will has drawn him to me, like a heat-seeking animal.
Without a word, he crawls conspiratorially into my sleeping bag, and we duck our heads under the warm down of the cover so no one would ever see us, should they happen to awaken. We're kissing, hesitantly at first, but we quickly gain confidence even though neither of us has ever done this before. The heat our two bodies generate within the old sleeping bag dampens both our foreheads and my hair sticks to my skin in moist clumps, our breathing heavy and irregular in the confined space. His hot little hands find me in the utter darkness and there, buried under miles of goose down and late-night silence, we explore each other with the curiosity and temerity that only happy innocence allows.
To this day, the idea of being shrouded in utter darkness, cocooned in layer upon layer of sweaty fabric and forced into furtive whispers for fear of being discovered, learning every inch of a mysterious body whose owner found their way to me like a moth to a gleaming porchlight, holding my breath with giddy apprehension... there's something about that image, that feeling, that gets me hot every single time.
So, on that note, I pose this query to you: what is your earliest sexual fantasy, and how has it imbedded itself in your deeply buried lizard brain of a libido?
(*Edited to fix my silly spelling error of ososexilexi's name. D'oh!)