I would like to find a meaningful connection... and by "connection," I guess I mean what I like to think maybe most people might mean... the subtle compositions of thought and feeling... hesitant and excited, uncertain yet ready for the soft surprise of two hands actually touching... or even, if we dared, the vulnerability of lips kissing... the trembling, the words or meanings, motions and emotions... anything and everything that might enable some mutual chemical magic between two strangers on a lonely site like this. You know? I mean, for once, maybe something...

My Ideal Person We’ve finally made plans to hang out… You’re alone, so you ask me to come pick you up. I knock, but nobody answers… the door is open… I come in and find my way to your bedroom. You’re asleep… You wake up to see a large mound in the blanket, just over your thighs, the shifting of soft cotton sheets across your pelvis, and the skin of your belly. You realize I have already pulled down your panties while you slept; you wake up naked, already open and exposed, vulnerable to my hands; your body is already mine, so you give in and you give yourself over to my hands as they overtake the warm insides of your legs. You relax, and ease into the weight and presence of my head against your pelvis. My hair brushes your inner thighs. You let go, relaxing back, while I take charge. All I want is to destroy you—make you cum until you lose your mind.

You feel my breath blowing upward, sweeping across the soft, dark skin stretched tight through the inner fork of your thigh; you feel every sensation; you’re an open nerve, hypersensitive to every touch. And I am touching you because I cannot get enough of you. My breath sweeps across the skin just above your ass. You want to be explored. You want me to see and feel every part of you.

My tongue startles the warm skin of your thighs—my face moves upward, forward, slowly into the heat hidden between your legs. You open up further; you spread and unwrap yourself. I can do anything to you. You are subject to my every move—to my hands, my fingers, my mouth, my tongue. You have given it to me. You are exposed. You want me to lick you all up, devour you.

You spread apart further, stretching your legs outward to give me full access; cool air shocks the burning, wet heat between your legs. You want me to dive in, but I move back down. I play with you; make you wait. You tighten up, arching your shoulders, pressing and rolling the full length of your back into the bed. Waves of sensation roll and swell deep, up inside you. Every touch shoots currents through every muscle; my fingers step slowly back, up across the soft skin of your inner thigh. Deep down inside, you tighten, loosen, and then quiver. Your body shivers, shakes—you want me to press harder…

You are dripping, and I lick you clean. I drink you in. My tongue presses up firm inside you, sliding and grinding through folds, deep; I lick harder, faster, pressing further. I want all of you. I’m chomping down, devouring you. You push your pelvis forward, grinding yourself up tight against my tongue; you my grab hair, pull my head in harder, my face smashed deep inside you, rubbing you tight, your hand leading me into a heavy rhythm; I want to be in deeper, harder; you pull me in, and I press forward, all our strength grinding me into you, tighter, rubbing harder, faster… your legs spread and stretch out wider, your pelvis pushing forward, smashing me into you. You lose control as a moan slips, surprisingly, from your mouth… “Oh … fuck…” Your body tightens, contracts, shakes furiously, until you cum, moaning louder, exploding in violent spasms of pulsating fuckeditude…

Have you ever had cybersex?:
I have cybersex quite often.

View more of selfconsious1's responses