How dirty could you get?

Today in a desperate attempt to prevent another relapse I had the most peculiar encounter. Giving my fingers a break and using a man seemed like a responsible option, especially keeping in mind I couldn’t recall the last time someone went down on me for longer than 30 seconds.

In temporary bliss of multiple orgasms I felt generous enough to trade it for one of his. For the first time in my life my usual response of “I prefer using my mouth” did not arouse excitement. Turns out my hands were not to be rested and my mouth served whole other purpose.

-Will you answer some questions for me?

-Sure – I said with both of my hands on his private parts growing more and more grateful for how minimally intensive the manual labour on my clit usually is.

-How old were you when you lost your virginity?

-16.

-Ohhhhhh – My words not my efforts evoked this reaction – and you’re 16 now and you came to my place to sell some cookies, what are you wearing?

-A really short skirt you can almost see my panties and I have no idea how much it turns you on.

-Ohhh!

- A tank top with my newly grown breasts almost out completely out. I’m so innocent, so very unaware how much you want to cum all over those…

The fantasy went on. Us fucking, his imaginary 15 year old step daughter walking in and joining, after I go down on her and he masturbates watching us.

My sense of what’s good and bad in bed (morality, not performance wise) is pretty much “whatever serves you is fine”, but I experienced a huge mental battle about perpetuating a fantasy starring a 15 year old. Once my catholic lizard brain got in motion I couldn’t help but go all judgmental. On the underage presence, on myself and on my partner, a man twice my age. 7 years don’t really seem significant in the grand scheme of things, but in my case they shaped an innocent 15 year old with ambition to become a princess or a sex goddess/groupie into a slightly damaged, but no less ambitious 22 year old adult capable of giving consent.

I went on rethinking all those situations I’ve been in, still in my late teens and tried to find proof of my lovers being pervs drawn only to my hardly legal age and in fact taking advantage of that fresh pussy of mine. I failed. I realized that actually I used to be much more of a predator than I am now. Let’s take Biker Guy – I practically seduced him and the age difference between us only made it so hard for me… “Oh, if you only were 20 years older…” he said before giving in. Finally, having the last time I saw him in mind I worked out a narrative I can live with.

There are people out there abusing teens and it’s awful and calls for lives in prison or chemical castration. But that’s not what happened today. There were only two adults, enjoying their bodies, even responsible enough to use a condom on the top of usual contraception.

The last time I saw Biker Guy he’s been whispering a story into my ear while I masturbated. It escalated quickly and before I knew if I was finishing to the image of myself tight up, being fucked up the ass with a dick in my mouth in the middle of some playroom filled with 20 men taking turns.

My point is that sexual fantasies are not your regular dreams and can go into extremes. No harm in pushing them either. The likelihood of me ever choosing to find myself in that kind of situation is as slim as that man, talking dirty about nymphettes, ever chasing one down. The whole notion of no limits to your imagination is pretty liberating if you ask me.

Only question is – if there are no mental blocks leftover from that society taught you – how dirty could you get?

Photo from ages ago by Stephane Leblon