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This post is inspired by a conversation I had with Vinnie Tesla recently. Basically, he wrote all of the funny parts and I’m just stringing it together.

So, this has happened a few times. I will be fooling around with someone on the phone and he says “I want you to taste yourself.” So, I do.

Then he says “Tell me what you taste like”

And I’m fucking stumped. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

Vinnie argues that, “the significance of it is not cullinary, of course—your partner is attempting to assert the physicality of the act—another sense engaged, and trying to make the image of you doing so more vivid for himself.”

Well, that sounds really pretty when taken out of the context of me splayed out on my bed with fingers in my mouth trying to frantically come up with a Michelin-style write-up of my pussy juices. Cliches always jump to mind from reading too much crappy porn. The word “sweet” always comes to me but of course doesn’t describe it at all. To be honest, I don’t taste much like anything, I’d be hard pressed to distinguish from the normal taste of saliva in my mouth. I usually cop out and give a coy response like, “I taste like me.”

The next person who asks me, though, is getting pure sarcasm.

“I detect oak notes, hints of vanilla, a well-structured finish, with elements of berry and a light astringency. An appealing, woody varietal, excellent with hearty stews or grilled meats.”

Here is a confession.

I don’t have sensitive nipples. I spent the first year that I was sexually active pretending that I did, though. I thought there was perhaps something wrong with them or that maybe I was feeling all there was to feel. I did a lot of exaggerated moaning and groaning when my boyfriend would suck on them. Meanwhile, I could barely feel a thing. I didn’t understand all of the hype.

I have heard rumors that women with larger breasts sometimes don’t have very sensitive nipples. I can’t find anything to corroborate this one way or another. Nonetheless, when I am turned on, they are basically numb to any sort of gentle stimulation.

I finally admit this to my boyfriend and he has adjusted his technique a bit. He still sucks on my nipples sometimes because he likes to (and hey, it isn’t as if I dislike it). And he also began doing something completely delicious. He licks and kisses for ages right at the crease of my breasts where they meet my chest. Everything that I imagined was supposed to happen when someone licks your nipples happens when he does that. Shivers run through my whole body and I find myself begging him for more.

However, I’ve more recently realized that there is pleasure to be had from my nipples. It all started when I began having phone sex with A. For me, gently sucks and nibbles don’t do much but hard pulling and twisting turn out to be remarkably effective. If it weren’t for A ordering me to pinch my nipples until I was whimpering in pain and pleasure I might never have discovered how much joy I could get from treating them roughly. A side effect of this is that I have also become very responsive to the word “harder” as he often growls it out me when he wants me to step up the intensity of the squeezing. The timbre of his voice at those moments is so incredibly intense that I really can’t think about disobeying.

As a result of these exchanges, I brought the new discovery to my boyfriend. He now enjoys pinching, twisting, and biting my nipples in addition to his previous repetoire. One of these days I’ll even get him to admit that he is becoming a bit of a breast man.

It hadn’t occurred to me when I started my series on phone sex partners that any new ones I took that also read this blog would be expecting that I write about them. It is of course a logical expectation but has me incredibly on edge. This is nothing like being sent a CD in the mail – I have no problem slagging a band. But, what about bad phone sex? How do I account for that gracefully? My solution right now is only to write about someone that I’ve done it with more than once. That creates an immediate stop-gap for the bad ones (which are obviously not repeats.)

This is what I told S today while I was still catching my breath. The absurdity of the question weighed on me as I was basking in the glow of my orgasms. Interestingly, by writing this, I am breaking my own rule. However, I expect to speak to S again. Although it is probably unwise to document the events while my pussy is still wet from the sound of his voice, objectivity isn’t a necessary component of smut.

I’ve known S for a few months and up until recently he always treated me like a kid sister. Albeit a kid sister that he gives candid sex advice to. Still, there was never much of a spark between us although we were good buddies. Then recently the dynamic shifted – I had been harboring a bit of a crush on him all along but I’m not sure just what clicked in his head. We flirted for a few weeks and things finally came to a head today.

I’ve never been so nervous about phone sex before. Perhaps it was because I pursued him more than he pursued me – I didn’t get that worshipful vibe that I get from most of my partners. But, there was something delicious and exciting about trying to please and seduce him. Then it happened, he told me to touch my pussy and describe how I felt. Once the ball is rolling there is no turning back. I savored the change in his breathing when I told him that I was incredibly wet.

S used the word “cunt” in a remarkable way. It slid from his mouth softly but with undeniable precision. I usually don’t care for the word very much, nor the word “slut”, but he wielded both with grace. I’ve come to realize that I can be ordered around gruffly with words that I approve of or tenderly with words that I usually hate. The tenderness that S caressed his words with made them delicious.

My favorite moment in any phone encounter is when the man loses his composure despite how hard he is trying to maintain it. S was fighting to keep his voice even and smooth but I knew that as he listened to me writhing and moaning on the other end of the line it was getting more difficult for him. When he finally interrupted the fantasy he was weaving to tell me how amazing I sounded, I almost came. His voice cracking, his moment of weakness was my glory.

We came together with a fantastic amount of noise. Then I came again with him murmuring about what a sweet, dirty, pretty, slut I am.

I guess rules are meant to be broken.

(Previous posts in the series include B and E.)

Photograph of and by the sexy and talented MENSAsexual. This is the second in my series on past and present phone sex partners. I started here and am working my way backwards from the most recent.

E found me on Alt.com, since then I’ve given up on that site but I consider him to be a good find. I was immediately attracted to E for two reasons; he was very polite and incredibly honest. He told me immediately that he had a girlfriend and didn’t want to cheat on her but was sexually unfulfilled. I still consider myself a beginner with D/s but E was a complete novice. All he knew was that the had a deep fantasy of submitting to a woman and being used as a tool of her pleasure – something that his girlfriend would never do.

The first night that E and I met we ended up on the phone and talked literally all night. We spoke about sex but a lot of our conversation was just about books, philosophy, politics. We clicked and became fast friends. He also asked me to order him around on the phone that night. I’m certainly not an expert but I managed to please him. My favorite trick is orgasm denial and he responded to that quite nicely. I remember being in awe of his excitement. In turn he was completely in awe of me. E was the first submissive man I ever really got to know and playing with him on the phone was both frightening and empowering at once.

E and I actually ended up going on a sort of date a few days later. We met at a jazz bar down the street from my house and sat together for hours talking. Meeting E was the first time that I projected my sexually confident self into the real world. Here I was at a bar that all of my professors frequent, sitting with a man who reads this blog and desperately wants me to tie him up and do nasty things to him. It was a head rush to say the least and the chemistry between E and I was marked. By the end of the evening we were quite close together on the couch and my leg was touching his. The only thing I could focus on in that moment was the inch of our flesh that was in contact – this small thing rendered me conversationally useless.

E didn’t kiss me that night. Instead we both went our separate ways and when we were safely miles apart in our own homes he confessed how much he had wanted me but couldn’t cheat on his girlfriend, knowing it was the wrong thing to do. His ethics just made me want him more but I obviously respected his wishes. E and I spoke on the phone one more time after that. He loved the way I sound when I orgasm and heaped glowing praise upon me for it. He confessed how desperately tempted he was to cheat on his girlfriend and I reminded him that I only wanted to kiss him.

In the end, the temptation made him realize he had to reconcile his relationship. E spoke with his girlfriend and they happily decided to try to mend their relationship. I was happy for him of course but admittedly a bit disappointed. E was delicious to listen to and incredibly tempting not to mention the first guy that my boyfriend had declared he was willing to meet and consider me sleeping with.

I know for a fact that had I kissed E that night at the bar, he would have kissed back. Do I regret not going for it? That is a difficult question in many ways – I think I would have had immense guilt for putting him in that situation. But I would be a liar to say that I don’t still wonder what his lips taste like.

I started a chronicle of my past and current phone sex partners yesterday. This morning I noticed that two other bloggers were writing about phone sex and saying very smart and sexy things. So, in honor of the theme I had to comment on them.

A Polite Boy writes about his youthful forays into phone sex party lines. I didn’t think that anyone could make the prospect of them sound sexy, but he takes the cake.

Somewhere inside that, I heard a buzzing, and her muffled voice say, “Please tell me that again.”

The next thing I knew, she was moaning into my ear and my wrist and stomach were coated with cum.

I bet you want to know what he said to her? Well it is fucking hot, I tell you. I’m thinking of trying to get him to say it to me. . .

The Virgin Slut also got me hot and bothered today with her post on a video made for her.

A sound escapes from his core, “Ahh!” Later, his body will smother his words and allow him to just breathe. The force of the air he exhale slaps the microphone, hard. The speakers amplify and resonate his breath for me; the sounds strike in my cunt, hard. The air he blows out is hot, wet and hard, and it comes from a part of him that is also hot, wet and hard.

This one I can particularly relate to. There is a certain quality of sounds that resonates through one’s whole body. Anticipating the sounds that someone will make can be an incredibly suspenseful and sexy thing – it keeps you on the edge of fulfillment. I have found that hearing someone sharply inhale is like being teased, the exhale has to come eventually, it will be delicious, but when will it arrive? When it eventually hits, it arrives like a caress, or perhaps even something less tender.

He isn’t as kinky as M.

Or as sensual and articulate as D.

I don’t hate him, like I did J.

I don’t crave him, like I do with A.

He isn’t as in awe of me as E.

But the fact that B has made such an impression on me in a week that I compare him in my mind to every other man I have had phone sex with must mean something.

After the first time we spoke, I realized there was something different about what just happened. I also realize that “different” is a moot word because they have all been quite unique. But B weighs on my mind because he is the most recent. I find myself thinking about how he sounds at random moments in the day and becoming completely aroused.

I met B recently, he is an amateur photographer and takes lovely and sensitive nude self portraits. I see a lot of clinical looking cock shots on a day-to-day basis but his photos made me stop and hold my breath.

It is no secret that B has a beautiful body. Lithe but with strong-looking shoulders and legs. Tatoos that had clearly been carefully considered and placed. This man is an aesthete. I knew if I met him that I would feel completely inadequate – not beautiful enough at all.

But in our current dynamic, I make him dreadfully nervous. I can hear his arousal when we speak because his voice drops to a sheepish murmur. But something changes when he knows I am on the same page. He has a sincere longing in his voice that is truly sexy and he is one of the most vocal men I have ever spoken to. His moans and sighs are very clear, almost feminine. He whispers delicious words into my ears, sounding like he can barely pass them through his lips.

The best thing about B, though, is that he has made me contemplate those that came before. This is the first in a series.