Girl on the Net

Today’s guest blog got me so fucking horny. I’m not going to give it a much longer intro than that, but when this week’s guest blogger – Jocket – sent it through to me I was very annoyed that there were people in my house so I couldn’t immediately go and wank. It’s about skin hunger, and lust, and not making eye contact. Yearning and aching and relief. I adore it.

Skin hunger

Skin hunger. That’s what the experts are calling it, this desire for physical contact, and right now K and I have a bad case of it. We’ve always been attracted to each other from the first snog-and-grope just out of view of work colleagues in a pub garden, but because of relationships and missed connections and time abroad it never went any further, and eventually the friendship matured into something that never would. I really like that. I like that K is close enough to be honest with, to flirt with, and to commiserate with when one or other (or lately both) of our sex lives are in the ditch.

Here we are, sprawled on K’s big squashy sofa, legs comfortably entwined while we drink and gripe about the horror of dating sites, occasionally poking each other in the soft bits to punctuate a joke, sometimes showing a little skin as a tease. A dare, even. Flirt chicken, we call it, tempting the other to make a move. Neither of us ever does because we know that to burst that bubble of tension would be to lose what makes the friendship so strong and special between us. But god do I struggle not to sometimes. Tonight it looks like K is struggling too.

“The trouble is it’s so *obvious*,” K complains, “we’d do it, and it’d be good…”

“Best you’ve ever had, baby,” I automatically add, like I always do, into the space that was left hanging.

“…but then it’s done and we’ve crossed a line and we’re not this any more.” A waved hand indicates the takeaway, wine bottles, tangled legs and my quite noticeable arousal.

“So there’s a line?”

K fixes me with the challenge look. I’ve been blessed and cursed with this look many times before. A piercing stare with an expression that says *try something. I dare you.* After holding my gaze for just long enough to make the point, K breaks into a smile.

“And there’s the line.”

I pretend to take a note: “The line is… eye… contact. Got it.”

“Yes,” says K, thoughtfully swirling the dregs of a glass of wine, “eye contact…”

K throws back the last of the glass and walks to the door. I assume it’s time for a comfort break but instead K tells me, “sit there, on the rug.”

I’m confused but drunk and horny enough to play along, so I sit cross-legged on the rug in front of the TV. I’m surprised when the lights go out. K has blackout curtains, so the darkness is total.

After a few seconds I feel K settle down, back-to-back with me. I feel K’s head lean backwards onto my shoulder and then comes the next instruction, hot breath in my ear.

“Take your shirt off.”

I wonder what on earth this is going to be. A massage? A trick? K’s sense of humour is just sharp enough that I could end up kicked out of the flat topless. Still, I’m horny enough to let hope win out, so I slip my t-shirt up and over my head. A rustle from behind me, and I feel the warm, soft skin of K’s back pressing into mine.

“Here are the rules,” the voice comes hotly into my ear, “we don’t turn around. We don’t look at each other. If we can follow those rules, we can get off together, and I don’t think that would cross the line, do you?”

“I- uh- y-“ Dammit, I’m too horny for words.

“Good,” says K with a sigh, settling firmly against me. In the darkness my other senses are alive. The warmth of flushed skin, a carefully-chosen signature scent on a warm body, hair on the nape of a neck brushing against me; these sensations fill my perception. The sound of jeans unzipping… unzipping!

I reach down to give myself an experimental touch over my clothes. I’m aching with arousal. K’s shoulder blades shift against me and I imagine a hand slipping inside the underwear I’ve imagined many times but only ever been teased with glimpses of. K’s breath catches as the first touch lands particularly well and I throb with sympathy. I open my fly, sliding a hand inside to my own skin. I’m so turned on I surprise myself with a little gut punch moan.

“Having fun?” I don’t need to see K’s face to know the smirk that’s painting it.

Carefully, gently, I begin to stroke. A strange part of me wants to impress K with my control, to give the impression this is so everyday that I’m not shaking with excitement. Against my back, I can feel muscles working gently as K strokes, equally slow and controlled. Doing the same thing, I wonder?

I ache to turn around and see whatever the darkness will reveal, perhaps even kiss K’s shoulders and neck, but I know the rules are deadly serious and everything would stop as threatened. K’s self-control is much better developed than my own. Instead I focus on listening, picking out the sound of breath beginning to speed up. Is it my imagination or can I hear the sound of rustling from the long-imagined wonders between K’s legs? I’m trying to keep my pace, giving myself as much as possible to commit to memory. I know if I speed up I’ll be on the edge in seconds. For a second I ease off, and the tension leaves my shoulders. K must feel it, marking it with some quip – I’m in too much of a haze to even parse the words – but this time the heat of breath spilling past my ear makes me shudder and twist. I’m rewarded with another hot breath, this time of laughter mixed with the low, rumbling breath of someone intently chasing an orgasm.

Suddenly the pressure behind me disappears and there are shuffling noises. A quick, cold hit of adrenaline shoots through me. Did I do something wrong? It passes in a second as K presses back up against me, surely feeling the goosebumps that are now pricking my skin. I takes me a second to realise it must have been K making better access by shuffling their jeans down. The shoulderblade against mine feels different now, more urgent, a different angle. I dare to speed up my own movements just a little.

“I’m close…” K pants into my ear, and this time I let the heat flow through me all the way to where my hand is no longer listening to any control my brain tries to impose. I just about manage to conjure a reply – a deep, aching ungh that clearly acts as encouragement, as I feel K’s hips shifting and movements intensifying.

“Oh yessssssss…”

Hips pushing and spine twisting against me, I feel a shuddering presence relax into me as K’s orgasm hits. In response my own wells up, shooting through me with an intensity that makes me forget to breathe. We rock together, skin to skin, feeding energy to each other as the climax floods from belly to scalp.

The moment ebbs away far too soon and we relax into each other, slowing our breathing. The silence in the darkness makes me realise how much noise we had been making before. We sit there forever, but far too soon K’s back slips away from mine.

“Stay turned around.” I sense the movements of standing. Shuffling, the noise of a zip, and suddenly the lights flick back on leaving me blinking. K is standing by the lightswitch fully clothed again.

“That was fun,” K grins, “you can show yourself out.” As I blink into the too-bright light K has already slipped out and away to the bedroom, closing the door gently but to definite purpose.

At least my t-shirt is still where I left it.