smut theory

disabled sex

“Is that why you came back?  For more of that?” I asked, thinking about disabled sex.

He’d stopped home between two volunteer jobs and didn’t have long.

“Later,” he said.

this morning

His balls seemed extra big and lovely, this morning.  So loose.  The soft folds of skin where the sweet balls move freely, plump.  He lay on the bed with his legs spread.  I stood leaning my face down to his package.  I kissed his balls kindly, and grabbed them as I sucked his dick.

The head of his dick looked so shiny and good.  I licked and licked it, kissed it, licked the underside where his frenulum would be.

He was so hard.  When I paused to rest, I looked at his dick–it had that curve of a very hard, very interested horny dicked person.  I associate that curve with youth, but my spouse is getting old.

So beautiful–I wanted to photograph his gorgeous dick.  But does the world really need another dick pic?


“You’re perfect,” I said.  I hadn’t said that in a while, but the feeling surged in my body.  Desire to worship him, as he woke up.

I sucked him, rubbed his chest, rubbed his thighs, grabbed his ass as I blew him.  Kissed his balls and sucked his dick some more.

“Does it feel good?” I asked with my mouth full.

“Yes,” he said.

I felt surprised he wasn’t coming.  I’d suck on him, shallow then deep.  Then I’d rub my tits on his balls and inner thighs, as I sucked just the tip of his dick and looked up at his face.  Mmm, that felt really good.  My large breasts, bumping against him, a motion of love.

But his eyes were closed; he wasn’t all the way awake.  As he slipped in and out of dreams, maybe that made it more unlikely that he would come.  Probably he was having weird bits of sex dreams or non-sex dreams that might not have been gratifying.


My arm was hurting; I asked him to move over so I could lie down next to him and cuddle him.  I held him in my arms, and my legs nuzzled his legs.  I kissed his head and pet his hair, as he half-slept.  When I kissed his mouth, I could gauge how awake he was by his response.

Sometimes I don’t like being so attuned to his health.  Disabled sex is work.  When I wish for an additional partner, part of that is a wish to take a break from my spouse’s disabilities.  I wish to keep my consciousness more in my own body.  It can wear me out, to live inside of myself but sort of also inside of him, in an imagined way.

I’d like to trust a partner to hold their own health.  It can feel like too much, to carry my spouse’s disabled health as well as mine, all the time.  Having sex, in a meeting, driving somewhere, at a party–everyday life.

It’s a lot of managing.  It’s an honor, to love and interdepend with this kind, brilliant person.  But it would also feel amazing to make love with someone whose heath I could sort of forget about.

without me

Then I was wondering why he didn’t come easier.  “Did you beat off without me?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“Did you have sex with someone else that I don’t know about?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

It was a silly question, but I don’t mind asking silly questions.  I thought briefly of the party we’d been too, imagining he’d gone into a guest room, to have sex with someone there, and not told me.


I imagined a friend asking, “Can I suck your dick?”  Then she would kneel at the couch, to appreciate his eager dick.  She’s be ecstatic, to finally feel this tenderness with him.  His dick would push deep, deeper into her mouth, into her throat.  His hips would buck, and he’d quietly moan as his semen pumped into her.  Easily–his body so excited by the novelty of her care, her lips different from mine.  Then back to the party.

Or someone would be holding him, kissing him, taking his dick out of his pants.  Then she’d turn around and bend over, holding onto furniture.  He would grasp her hips, nudge his curious erection between her soft, pink labia, and slowly slide himself–blissfully–into her hot, trembling body, her pussy feeling so different from mine.

She would whimper as he began to ram himself harder inside her, the furniture shuddering as he fucked her faster, hurrying to come, so they could return to the party before either was missed.  He’d pause, thrust all the way into her, then fill her with the wet, hot liquid I normally receive.  She would feel loved and dirty.


They would quickly kiss as he put his dick back into his pants, still hard and slippery with cunt fluids it’d never worn before.  He’d think about this moment many times in the future, and she would too, masturbating to the memory of his fingers digging into her hips, as he spurted his semen inside her most vulnerable places, so hot and wanted.  What a good spouse, devoted to me, taking just a few moments to fuck someone else at a party.

It would be fast and exciting enough that she would not need to tend his health much.  It wouldn’t feel like disabled sex, for her–that’s what I get.

No, at the party, sex with someone else would not have been very possible.  He stayed with me almost the entire time.

hard for you

“Is it going to be hard for you, if you go out and don’t come first?” I asked.

“No, it’ll be ok,” he said.

I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable all day.  Half-boner in his boxer briefs, mind drifting to sex very often.  Or being near the other volunteers, if someone kind touched his shoulder.  His dick might harden into an erection that hurt him or didn’t feel right, in that context.

It’s been ten years.  So much disabled sex.  I have ideas, but I still don’t really know how it feels to be him.

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

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