“I’m hard because you’re crying.”

Said with sheepish, downturned eyes. He was expecting me to be horrified. Expecting me to tell him he was filthy and disgusting, and that my misery wasn’t cheap porn scene for him to get a boner over. What he – and if I’m honest, I – wasn’t expecting was for a hot pulse of arousal to flood through my stomach and crotch, soaking my knickers and wishing I could muster more tears.

What he didn’t know at the time was that I found his tears equally hot. He’d once told me a story of something he’d done after we broke up, and it filled my head with a vision of him gripping his dick with fury and rubbing hard at it while he thought of me with someone else, salty tears pouring down his cheeks as he got red and horny and sad and miserable.

He introduced me to the idea of a crywank. And he vocalised something I’d have been too shy to put into words: crying can be a massive turn-on.

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