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Condoms and the pleasures of going without August 11, 2010

Posted by Leah in Gallimaufry.
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One of the reasons I am looking forward to the boyfriend’s visit is that I miss bareback sex.

My boyfriend and I are both sexually active with multiple partners — me more so than him. I’m more likely to indulge in a one night stand. He prefers a regular coterie of lovers and typically has a couple of other women that he plays with. Under the circumstances, we use protection outside the relationship for everything except oral sex, which we regard as an acceptable risk. We also get tested for STDs twice a year. Before we moved in together, we even used condoms with each other. After we started sharing the same living space, we have eschewed protection in our own bedroom.

Because I owe it to myself and my partners, I use condoms out of necessity. I am not fond of them. I don’t like the consistency of latex. I don’t like how an erection looks when it is covered. I don’t like how it tastes or smells. If it made a noise, I’d disparage that, too. A condom clad penis never feels as natural as a naked cock boring into me. The waters from my pussy surround it, sluicing along the sides as he interrogates the void. I prefer flesh on flesh, his heat against mine with no barrier between us, the tension at the point of entry, how I stretch around an erection, the touch of skin upon muscle, the way I squeeze him and experience the subtle responses his cock makes. I like how much more sensitive the sex is. When he thrusts into my cunt, his shaft becomes coated in thick and viscous fluids. That image alone arrests me. In the endgame, the movements of his pelvis accelerate and the stem stiffens and the glans enlarges and he grunts in satisfaction and hammers me harder and harder until his body shudders, the legs trembling, and his balls contract and the shaft pulses and recoils and the semen geysers out in thick jets that bathe my womb, and I feel it — yes, I do.

After a glorious fuck, I will often cup my hand over my cunt to keep the boyfriend’s semen within. I play with it once it leaks out, using my fingers to smear it over the lips and clit. I will push the come back in again and use it as lubrication for the next go. That always feels extraordinary: to have him in me a second time, his cock in motion through what he has previously spilled. I like the slippery, sticky wetness at the beginning, how the amalgam of his semen and my cream cover the sides of his cock and trickle down his balls. I love sucking him clean once we have both orgasmed. The contrasts are vivid. His flavor heightens my own. When the come seeps out of me, as eventually it must, I like the liquid sensation between my legs when I sit or walk. I like how it slowly drips down my thighs and dries over my skin. I won’t wash it away. I like that the stains mark me as his lover. I like wearing this secret on me during the day. I like how it smells. I am sad when it flakes off.

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