smut theory


“How will I access your dick?” I asked.  He said he wanted to wear his underwear.

“We’ll find a way!” he said.  ” Underwear has that…”

“Oh, the penis hatch?” I asked.  “Does that actually work?”  We were laughing.  “I always thought it would have to be really, really cold, for anyone to actually use that, and not just pull their pants down.”

I imagined some unfortunate cold guy in a snowy land who needed to pee.  “Men’s mysteries,” I said.  “I guess that’s what you talk about in men’s groups.”

I imagined a bunch of white guys with beards at the beach at night, with a bonfire, talking about penis management, penis hatches, and general dick care.  Dick lore!

“No,” my spouse said.  Of course not.  Of course they are talking about…how they were socialized to violence?  How to hold rapists accountable?  How it can feel to hug another man?  Maybe how to have self-worth unrelated to money?  Don’t ask me.  I wouldn’t be a fly on a kelp leaf.

“Well, you’re not a man, but you played one on tv,” I said.  I’d heard the story of how long ago, my spouse got in trouble for supposedly sharing something from a men’s group that he was sworn to keep confidential.


Then we had sex.  He was getting sleepy, as his melatonin was kicking in.  I knew we didn’t have much time.  There was no way I was going to come, but there was definitely hope for him.

“Do you want to masturbate on me?” I asked.

He said yes and was on his knees, on the bed, pushing his dick in my face, in a way that was not too subtle.  He asked me to kiss it, so I did.  Then he said he wanted me to make it wet.

“Do you want coconut oil?  Or do you mean with water?”  I asked, playing.  “Can oil be wet, or does wet have to mean water wet?”

“With water,” he said.

I could see where this was going!  I kissed the head of his dick some more, then sucked it.  But my undiagnosed muscle issues mean I’m in neck pain within seconds.  I’m always trying to figure out better ways to have sex around what I’m guessing might be fibromyalgia.

“Can you help me by pushing on the back of my head?” I asked.  “Can you fuck my mouth?”

He didn’t mind.  “Thank you,” I said with his dick slid into my mouth, so the words were muffled.  Or dickled, I guess.

down my throat

A long time ago, I would dissociate during sex all the time, but especially while sucking dick.  I didn’t enjoy giving blow jobs, did it because I thought I had to, and would basically leave my body.  I kinda liked leaving my body, long ago.

These days I love sucking my spouse’s dick and don’t allow myself to dissociate in bed.  But sometimes during sex, my mind wants to go down an unhelpful path.  Usually I’m good at sex, but that’s an example of how I’m not.

“I’m going to come,” he whispered.  I was holding his thigh with my right hand, and rubbing his hip with my left hand.  He pushed my head down on his dick as he ejaculated down my throat.

I was aware of his breathing and the intensity of his feelings.  How his dick felt inside me, so vivid and defined and large, as he had that beautiful moment of release and love.  I felt very tender, to accept his semen down my throat, and to care for him in that way.


We cuddled a bit, and I asked him, “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to make you come,” he said.

“No you’re not,” I said.

“Oh!” he said, taken aback.

“No way is that happening,” I said.  “But you could give me some other kind of pleasure.”

He massaged my calves, then my thighs.  My thighs especially were hungry to be touched.  I murmured with bliss.  No one ever touches my thighs, really.  But they are super valid.

I had a vision of being old with him, and maybe one day my parts wouldn’t want sex anymore, or his.  And how we could love one another by touching each other, this way.  The kindness of it.

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

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