Girl on the Net

Do me a favour: before you start reading this post, open this song in a brand new browser tab and hit play. Because I want to tell you what this song makes me do: grind heavily on the nearest willing hot guy and demand ‘I want to use your cock.’

It was only when I watched the second Guardians of the Galaxy film that I realised what I loved most about the first: the song ‘Hooked on a Feeling’. I don’t know why. It doesn’t remind me of my youth, the lyrics aren’t particularly incredible, and although the tune is catchy as hell it’s not the sort of thing I’d normally go for.

But I love it because it makes me want to fuck.

Specifically, it makes me want to fuck differently to the way I normally do. Not submissively or as if I’m being used for a wank, but powerfully: like I’m in control. The kind of sex that starts with me straddling him on a sofa and giving long, deep kisses. Holding his wrists behind his head and hearing him whimper as I grind my crotch into his erection.

This shag happened just last week.

It begins with him lying on the sofa in jeans and a t-shirt. His t-shirt is riding up ever-so-slightly, so I can see a thin sliver of pale, downy-haired flesh just above his belt. I’m dancing and staring at him – drink in my hand, filthy thoughts in my head, no obligations until morning tomorrow.

Scratch that beginning, then: this didn’t start when he lay on the sofa in front of me – stretched out like he’d been placed there by room service to deliver just what I needed. It started an hour earlier, when both of us decided to step away from our laptops and have ‘a night.’ Not a night of watching TV or working on projects or doing life admin: a night of just hanging out, the two of us. With music playing and drinks and chat and all the things you do in the early stage of a relationship – when every night spent together feels deliberately like a party.

We pour drinks, giggle, catch up, and hit play on a list of our favourite songs. He lies back on the sofa, I feel the dirty thoughts begin to swirl in my head and then… this track comes on.

So I sit on him.

One thigh either side of his legs, brushing denim against denim. I lean down and kiss him hard enough to press his head back into the sofa cushions. With my fingertips I pinch his nipples gently and he reaches out to touch me.

I’m not quite grinding in time to the song – that would be a bit too cheesy. But I do things faster than I usually would, because there’s a steady beat and I’m flushed with booze and energy. I run my hands up beneath his t-shirt, and grip the back of his neck, pulling and pawing at him like it’s the first time I’ve ever had the chance.

I squirm. I grope. I stand up and pull off my jeans and knickers.

He starts to do the same and I tell him no.

“No. Not now. You just lie there.”

Because this song – and others on the list – make me feel playful. Not horny or relaxed – playful. I am not a scary dominant ready to take what I need from him – I’m just frisky. Bouncy. I feel alive. And I want to translate that liveliness into action:

I want to use his cock.

He grins, and lies back as I pull out his dick and spit on it for lube. It’s hard already, of course: did I not mention the grinding? Or the nipple-pinching? And when I sit on him, within ten seconds he’s pulled down my shirt so my tits are spilling out the top of it for him to suck on – that would do the trick even without the other stuff.

He is rock-solid. I am full of energy. And there’s only one way I want to burn it.

So I sit.

And something about the track drives me to grind and bounce with more force and speed than I usually would. It makes me want to lean over and kiss him while I ride – wet, deep kisses that I’m practically sucking from his mouth. It means that him touching my tits or grabbing my arse or doing the standard hands-all-over-my-flesh groping that he loves so much gives me a bigger thrill than ever.

Because it feels like nostalgia, this – even though the songs aren’t ones I knew from childhood. The jangly, catchy, easy tunes help this feel like making out by the toilets of a cheesy club, or on the tobacco-scented sofa at the back of a dodgy pub. Grinding in an alley. Getting fingered in a car. And above all – above ALL – they make me feel like I’m nineteen again: buried beneath a duvet on the sofa at someone else’s party, riding the dick of a guy who just cannot get enough of it.

It sounds like dirty weekends and impulsive fucks and romance that’s based on finding the nearest place to hump in.

It sounds like brand new love.

So when he tries to get involved – to push up against me and thrust into me and put himself in the driving seat of this particular shag, I don’t want to change the atmosphere. I want to grind, frig, hump and suck just a few more kisses and thrusts out of his dick before the music ends and I go back to being me.

I put one hand on his stomach and push him down. I bite kisses onto his neck and put a hand round his throat. And as the playlist moves on to the next perfect song I take a second to whisper in his ear: “Not yet.

“Not… Yet…

“First I’m going to use your cock to make me come.”

Normally I suck at music – I’ve been told my taste is ‘eclectic’ and ‘seriously atrocious.’ But if you’re interested here’s a post on the worst songs (in my opinion) to put on your sex playlist. Oh, and here’s a great guest blog about sex making music better (yep, that’s the right way round).