Monday, 12 June 2006

Does football do it for you?

What is it with men, sports and sex? I actually remember giving my ex-boyfriend a blowjob once while he was watching an NBA game.

I found it mostly amusing but he seemed to really enjoy it.

Angola. Not the best place for football, or a peaceful life in general...
I have a few theories about this:

  1. Watching balls makes them think about their own balls, and therefore about sex
  2. Getting sexual favours while doing something that intrinsically irritates the person providing the favours (usually girlfriend) gives them a power trip
  3. They are all closeted gays and get turned on by watching men in skimpy shorts pile on top of each other (this is especially my theory for rugby and US football)
  4. The adrenalin rush makes them think they're horny
  5. They feel the need to have sex to drown out the feeling of failure they have over never becoming a sports star themselves

I don't know. But anyway.

J actually forsaked (forsook?) Iran/Mexico today to hang out with me, with which I was very pleased.

We went down to the park and threw a frisbee around instead; it was lovely as the sun was setting over the trees and you could smell the sweet illegality of weed being smoked by a bunch of teenagers further down the field.

I cooked a lovely marinated chicken dinner (no disasters today) and afterwards I read the family section of yesterday's Guardian whilst J watched Angola-Portugal (well done Angola for only conceding one goal; I thought the ITV commentators were being a bit harsh on them).

At half time I went and had a cool shower and then decided not to get dressed afterwards. Although the weather was slightly less hot today, it was still too sticky for my taste.

I positioned myself on a towel on the floor between the comfortably seated J's legs, and he seemed to gain worrying amounts of satisfaction from prodding my bum with his toes.

Despite the football still going on (and this is saying something when it comes to J), he leaned over and started groping my breasts in an uncharacteristically hungry manner.

He found it quite frustrating that he couldn't really lick my nipples from that position and was clearly torn between Angola's desperate efforts to score in the last 10 minutes and the buoyancy of my breasts. Very endearing.

As soon as the final whistle blew, he got up from the chair and said "sex?" with a commandeering/hopeful tone in his voice.

Who am I to argue. It was even hotter in the upstairs bedroom, and he pushed me dowo on the bed, ripped his clothes off, follwed me there and pulled me across his face while lying on his back.

He really, really likes to bury his face in my tummy (again, who am I to argue; I sometimes wonder if he imagines that it's a giant boob) and likes even more to nibble on that bony part where my pelvis reaches out for my venus mound.

It is bizarre. With clothes on, J is this quite shy and retiring person, always preoccupied with whether he's doing things right and whether he's being considerate and loving enough.

In bed, he's completely different. He likes to guide my head when I give him blowjobs, and to arrange me into different positions. Maybe that's why I really like sex with him; I don't have to be in charge and he just seems to instinctively know what to do.

Having masturbated only a few hours prior, I was actually too exhausted to receive any oral sex. Just the penetration alone made me completely dizzy.

I sucked J off; he was incredibly hard and came even harder; I did that thing where you spin your tongue around the shaft up and down, afterwards I was genuinely worried he was having a heat stroke.

I fanned him with a magazine while he was catching his breath, and he actually couldn't speak for several minutes. When he did, his first word was 'lick?'

I politely declined as I knew I would end up in an even worse state than him. He rolled over on his side away from me; I find it strange how he really, really likes cuddles, just not after sex. After sex he always needs a little while to himself to gather his thoughts or something.

It makes me into the kind of girl who wonders if sometimes he just uses me for sex.

Which is of course especially stupid since I know that most of the time he doesn't know what leg to stand on in order to please me.

But sometimes it makes me feel lonely.

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  1. At least it's not just me who worries that the no-cuddles-after-sex-phenomena has a deeper meaning.

    I highly doubt it does though, everybody has their little quirks, it's best just to accept them -something that I, myself, am utterly useless at.


  2. I've noticed that you're writing a lot about the sex you're having lately. Interesting.

    Anyway, aside from the fact that I like it when you do that, you made me think about a time maybe... 25 years ago. We used to hand out on a part of Hampstead Heath that's particularly posh - usually on a Sunday afternoon. We'd get stoned, play frisby, and then get more stoned.


  3. I'd guess a combo of 2 & 4 myself

    (clicked thru from mickey's)

  4. You know Dear, It's not the first time I've read of your oral prowess, where do you learn such a thing? I'm pretty sure I'm just awful at it, but I'm to embarressed to get the practice in. tips?


Thanks for not just lurking..

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