Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Real Sex Lives: Girly Jona, A Jerk-Off Description in the Second Person

(You have arrived in the midst of a grand celebration in which we're running IBWMW's all-time greatest Real Sex Lives.)

This is from Girly Jona, an Icelander living in India who is all about "unconventional girl power" (and whose charming pixie quirkiness is doing shamefully little to dispel my now rather entrenched racist stereotype of what all Icelandic women are like.)

I chose this because I like how it shows that, even if your sexual partner is your own hand, you can, as Jona puts it, "either do it quick and dirty — the equivalent of a drunken downtown one-night stand — or you can treat your body to the full romance of a 3rd date."

Here now, please welcome the lovely Jona:

It’s not a matter of jerking off or not; the question is how you plan to do it.

You can either do it quick and dirty — the equivalent of a drunken downtown one-night stand — or you can treat your body to the full romance of a 3rd date.

Because you are both indecisive and an almighty force in your own existence, you create two separate timelines. For the first one, you take your pants off and throw them in the general direction of the laundry hamper. Your panties follow, but because you’re clever enough to make use of the elastic, they slingshot right in.

Next, you unenthusiastically get your laptop and type in something easily accessible. No need to get creative in this timeline, that’s not the name of this game. Something categorized and well-tagged like xnxx.com will do. You’re frustrated so you go for the rough stuff. Cattle prod tag.

You click through a few videos, but eventually you get a notification from your body: it wants to commit.

You know this because the boobs and cocks in this video, although very much like the boobs and cocks in the previous videos, grab your attention.

The video that’s on the screen features a gang-bang. A slave training. And there is a cattle prod. There is also a tied up girl begging for more cock while her dominatrix offers her up to strangers.

You let yourself get wet before you even bother putting your hand to use. You’re sort of halfway stimulated. You’re still missing the second half of that electric combo of wetness and friction. This really is the laziest possible way to jerk off. It’s the equivalent of having your morning coffee while still in bed so you’ll have the energy to get out of it.

But you get there rather quickly, no thanks to yourself, except for the fact that you’re proficient in knowing exactly what you want. You want some fucking cattle prod action; kind of in the same way you want to go to the gym. The thought alone doesn’t move your mountains but the action will. You know yourself pretty well that way.

You let your body lock on to that action. Your mind engages. It starts by narrating to the rhythm of your hand, saying stuff like ‘Fuck yeah! Fuck her in the ass!’, and ‘Yeah, that slut can take another cock!’. The brain-sensors the would usually tell you those are silly things to say are completely tuned out.

You watch the dominatrix closely: she’s better looking than the slave. And she has that whorishly high ponytail you like. She looks like a woman that gets her way. And she looks like a woman that likes to inflict pain.

As soon as your hand reaches that magically-climbing rhythm that latches on to your steadily rising heartbeat, your mind starts doing that pornorama thing it does. You get greedy, so in a matter of seconds you are all of the people.

You’re the slave with cloth-pins on your nipples and your dripping wet pussy, begging your owner for permission to cum. You’re the guy occupying the ass of a sweaty tortured girl that’s tied up and hanging by her hands. You’re the frightfully beautiful owner of a public toy that everybody loves to use. You are the voyeur looking for an opening.

You are the dominatrix again. Your fingers are lodged in that little girls throat while your other hand pulls at her cum-soaked hair. You drag her eyes up to meet yours, pull your hand out of her mouth and reach for the prod. You see her colorful mix of arousal, pain and perpetual horniness as you run the plastic tip of it down her abdomen. You switch it on but at the same time your pornorama switches over to the slave. It does so just in time for the electrocution.

You take a breath, feel the steel tip of the device caressing your clit while in a distant reality, your actual fingers are rubbing your real clit furiously. As that electric spark kicks off, your skin gives under the pressure of your fingers, your imagination and your horniness, and you convulse in a steady rhythm as your body rides the wave of your orgasm. You get a few glorious tidal waves in there before you have to pull your hand away.

As soon as it’s over, the images on the screen turn back into people. You are none of these people. You are not engaged anymore, you don’t care who fucks whom and who gets fucked. It’s amazing how much porno looses its appeal as soon as it’s served its purpose.

You close your laptop and head for the shower, not because you feel dirty, but because you are. You’re sweaty and sticky and after you blow-dry your hair, you should probably run the hairdryer over the wet spot on the bed-sheet.

The other timeline is something else all together.

In the other timeline you take of your clothes and put them away where they should go. You dim or turn off the lights and make all efforts to have as little sensory disturbance as possible.

You get into bed, naked, and just lay there until the fabric surrounding your skin reaches perfect body temperature. You keep your chosen hand on your chest until it’s nice and warm, too. In the meantime you just focus on your breathing. Nothing matters and nothing exists outside of the entity that is you.

You let your tired mind zone out as your fingers make their way down your abdomen. They feel like a trail of butterflies.

When your hand reaches your lady parts, it’s going to feel like a stranger. Not in a bad way, just in a neutral ‘pleased to meet you’ kind of way. But there is no excitement going on, no expectations and no tension. Nothing more than a flaccid manifestation of your day.

Your mind craves OJ. The thought repeatedly tries to swim past the moats of your mind. It takes discipline to get to the place you want to be: a perfectly calm mind.

Every deep breath gets you closer to that goal. Pretty soon, you manage to see only black. Your body ceases to have a physical form and just melts away. The only remaining points are your mind and your clit.

You let your hand play around for a bit. Whenever you like something, you go with it. You try different variations of that thing, different pressures and angles.

It really is a bit like dating. You ever so cautiously allow yourself to discover the relationship and its hidden potentials. And you’re not in love yet. There is much more to explore first.

Not being in love, here, means a rather dry form of communication. You have to convince your body to send blood to selected places, blood that will enable you to amplify your touch and get your glands going. Get you wet.

But for now you just play around. You don’t think about sex or the cute barista in that coffee shop or sex with that cute barista in that coffee shop. You think of nothing but the feel of your hand and how the sensation connects to your brain.

As you continue playing, your brain will start noticing your efforts. It will send the troops in aid of those efforts. Now, every touch results in a beat on your mind-monitor. Instead of seeing black, you see a fine neon green line forming between your clit and your mind. You tune into it.

Now there is nothing but the line. You can see how you respond to different touches, and when the time comes, different ideas. And rest assured, if you touch yourself for long enough, your brain will feed you the dirty images necessary to get the job done.

But since you did yourself a favor and went with the complex meditational method of jerking off, you now have full control of your fantasies. There is no haste, no characters or themes except for exactly the ones you want. You make your porn.

It’s a story. It comes enclosed with smells and touches, tastes and escalations. Half your mind controls the story while the other half monitors the pleasure that derives from it. You focus on that half. You feel your hand beat in the rhythm of your clit, which beats in the rhythm of your heart.

If something in your improvised storyline spikes your readings, you follow that notion. This is where the cattle prod originated. You follow it blindly and nothing, absolutely nothing, is off limits. It’s is your mind, your imagination and it hurts no one to go to all the lengths possible to raise that neon-green line.

You let your physical outlines disappear; nothing exits except for your mind and your clit, and the touch and the story that make them link. You have no other organs or extremities.

This is the essence of being in control. The only thing you have to do in order to finish is turn up the pressure a tiny bit and put a bit more force into your story. But you’ve been preparing for such a long time now, almost an hour, and you want to collect all the water you can before you let that dam break.

Once you feel that oncoming climax, you focus on it. Since there is nothing but your mind and your clit, the latter feels like an enormous touchpad. You feel all of it, you feel where your skin is wearing down from your touch and you focus on that area. Your fingertips erode the fine barrier that holds back the force of your orgasm until you can’t hold back anymore.

Every last drop of pleasure you’ve collected over the span of the hour breaks loose. Your entire body gives way for the release and all your pent up pleasure pours out in waves of indescribable joy. There is no sense of self or body or sex or sex-organs, only the angelic organs of ecstasy. The darkness in the room gets replaced with your white light.

You take your time finishing. You mend your touch to be able of bring out every last iota of orgasm. Your brain continues to give reports in the form of a neon green line blipping its way across a screen for a while.

In this timeline you don’t become so sensitive that it brings your hand to a grinding halt. These waves don’t toss you up on dry land, they let you lay on the beach so the the last of the water gets to caress your ecstatic figure.

When you come back to reality — to the bed — you just lay there. You feel like you possess the happiness of a million care-bears. Your whole body cheers you on and thanks you kindly. It truly loves you for what you just did.

It’ll reward you with sweet dreams and a stress-free morning. It won’t even bother you with the notifications that you’re wet and sticky.

It loves to be the object of your mental romance. It loves it when you take your time; except for when it just wants to be beaten like a cheap steak. That’s necessary too sometimes!


xoxo
jill
Have something true and real to say? Get to it then, my friend. 

7 comments:

Gia said...

Hahah wow. It's true that if you're watching something, once you're done you are DONE. Totally not interested in the scene anymore.

Brandon Lostinidaho said...

I remember watching a TV show where some kids discovered a porno. Old VHS tape.

"Where the movie starts is where he finished" was their comment, or something like that...

What a great post, and very vivid too. Lust is what you make of it, and you should never feel alone (as long as you have hands...)

Kari said...

That was rather amazing.

Betty Fokker said...

That's way more effort than I ever go to. Of course, the lights flicker as far away as Chicago, so there is clearly a certain amount of energy expended. It just isn't mine.

Jack and Jill said...

I appreciated reading this. I'm a guy, and I could probably be satisfied with "quick and dirty". But I prefer to take my time, treat my body to a little more. Unfortunately I'm the stay-at-home Dad of a kid who rarely naps. More often than not, I've got to settle for quick and dirty.

-Jack

Girly Jona said...

Ah, thanks you guys! I love comments :)

Not to sound tenacious about my own existence, but I actually moved from India like 3 months ago and am currently road-tripping around the states (42 done, 6 to go!! Woot woot)
Getting some 'quick and dirty' on the greyhound has been an interesting experience.. super quick and super dirty.. you know it is when you're tempted to put a condom on your hand just to stay safe! Self romance never sounded so good..

Also, I fear I'm pretty standard as far as us Icelanders go. We're all bastard offsprings of elves and vikings.. and the quirkiness comes form the centuries of incest.

Thanks again Jill for letting me guest post, it's an honor and a privilege- Lovelove

Ninja Mike said...

So....as a dude, I find it kinda odd that I got really turned on by this. You're guest is an excellent writer. *Following!

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