Tag: cyber sex.

Phone Sex

Every Friday I have lunch with the same girlfriend. We’re outrageous. We order prawns and lobster, drink champagne, get mildly drunk, talk about everything from lunch boxes to anal sex, and then go home to nap.

We reconnect on the Monday to discuss our dire credit card statements and how we have to stop doing this. Until the following Friday.

Today was no different. We hugged hello, admired one another’s shoes and clothing and sat at our regular table. The special was Crab, and our waiter insisted we had it. ‘Spectacular’, he said.

Yum. He gave us the claw cracker things and tied the bibs around our necks. We were prepared to get fabulously filthy.

Juice spilled down our chins as we cracked our crabs, split open the legs and sucked the claws. Crab was flying everywhere, and we were giggling and laughing, sucking, sipping and moaning in delight,
But then, I noticed that I was the only one moaning about the crab.

Sarah was delirious over something else. With glazed eyes and juicy fingers, she was leaning back in the chair and typing on her phone, fingers at a crazy speed. Reading, texting, reading, texting. It was definitely not about our meal.

Beep: Her whatsapp.

Crack: My crab.

Oh: Her pulse.

Jesus: Me.

I put down the pincers, wiped my hands, picked up my wine, and watched her. She’d dropped her nippers, her breathing had quickened, her face had flushed and there was a thin band of sweat on her brow.

My friend, my best girlfriend, was having phone sex. While I sat on the other side of the table, delicately drinking chardonnay, she was having sex.

And nothing was stopping her!

After a few minutes of this delicious display, she leaped to her feet and disappeared into the ladies. She returned a bit later, looking relieved and relaxed, grinned sheepishly, and got stuck back into the crab. So did I.

Lunch resumed.

But then BEEP and the whole process started again. She must have had 10 orgasms before I finished sucking on the left leg.

I looked around. Wine glasses were crashing. Claws were flying. Everyone was laughing.

I have no idea if any of this was about the crab, but I do think I’m missing out. I decided to order a second one – just in case.

phone sex

Cyber Sex

It’s as hard quitting scrabble as it is quitting heroin. I went back to playing and met Apoorva. From India. 

His profile pic was of his white underpants. Our game went like this: 

I’m here for sex, he says. Do you cyber?

It’s hot, the kids are playing monopoly, I’m lazing around in my underwear, and feel a slight tingle between my legs.

Me:  Sure. You start.

Apoorva: Pretend we’re in a hotel room, in Italy, getting ready to go out.

Me: K. I’m pulling a black dress over my head, putting on a pair of high heeled shoes, ready to leave.

Apoorva: You look really hot.  We’re walking along cobbled stoned streets, heading to the restaurant, hand in hand.  You’re not wearing any underwear.

Me: God, I’m feeling a little horny already.

Apoorva: I guide you to the table. We sit.  Order. Your dress rides up your legs, I can see your thighs. I look you in the eye, and ask you to sit closer to me. Come. Sit closer.

Me: God. Okay. Shit, this is nice. I’m going to take off my underwear.

Apoorva: Cool. Our food arrives. You drop your fork and lean over to get it. Your ass is almost in my face. I grab it under the table.

Me: What about the other people in the restaurant? I don’t want them to see my ass.

Apoorva: They watch. I like them watching.

Me: K. Um. Can we move from the table. Let’s run up to a hotel room. Get on to the be

Apoorva: You have a great ass. I feel it while you’re under the table, it’s big, firm, I like that. You stay under the table, turn around, your mouth…

Me: Wait. Shit. No. I can’t have cyber sex under a table. Please, let’s leave the restaurant.

Apoorva: I want you to blow me under the table.

Me: No. It feels too rough. I prefer it to be romantic. No.

Apoorva: Okay. We’re leaving. We’re running quickly along a dark alley, towards our room. We can’t wait. I push you against a wall…

Me: No Apoorva. Wait. I don’t want to have sex with you outdoors. Let’s get to the hotel.

Apoorva: Jesus, woman, this is just cybersex, stop being so difficult.

Me: I’m not being difficult, I mean, I’m trying not to be, but i like to be wined and dined, have some romance, not so clinical you know. Let’s leave the alley. Or at least, choose a street that’s romantic, beautiful lamps posts, the ocean nearby. Maybe we can run, through this street, arm in arm, to the hotel, romantic.

Apoorva: Fine. We’re back at the hotel. Drink a glass of wine for God’s sake, then take off your clothes, lie back, open your legs.

Me: Slow down. Kiss me first, hard, on the lips, hard. My dress is falling off my shoulder, kiss my shoulder too…

Apoorva: Kiss kiss. Can we move on to fucking yet?

Me: No. I need foreplay. Come on. Run your lips over my shoulder. Gently drop my dress to the floor. Admire my French hand stitched underwear. Tell me I’m beautiful. Pick up a bottle of oil. Rub it on me, slowly, beautifully, gently…

The chat light on my laptop has gone.

He disappears. 

I go play monopoly with the kids…

Here are some things you should know about cyber sex:
-

Everyone is doing it.
-

It can be fun.

It should only be done when teenage kids are out the house.

And their friends.
-It should be kept to the chat box only.

Film is not pretty.
-And if you call it cybersex, you are over the age of 50.

Should we all have cyber sex?

At least once.
-Twice.
-Okay, daily.

What should we do if our children start having cyber sex?
  Phone their father.

cyber sex

Single and drinking.

My husband had moved out, my dating life was a disaster, I had no money, and as all newly single people do, I began to drink.

 I had never been a big drinker before, but I started having a whisky (or two) every night.  

It felt good. Me: a woman, on my own, strong, independent, age 50 drinking single malt.

Whisky does things to you that nothing else can. It warms the chest. It makes you feel okay for dumping someone. It increases your libido. 

It makes everything glow. And glisten. I liked it, a lot.

I drank too much.

I drank too much when I thought about what I had done to my ex-husband.

 I drank too much when I thought about that fat ex-friend who had been so nasty to me.

 I drank far too much when I thought about the lover that I really wanted that I knew I would never have.

 And then I drank so much, I noticed I had put on 4 kilos.

And so I stopped. I did not want to be FAT.  

I could be anything. I could be a terrible mother, a dumper of husbands, a home wrecker, a cyber-sexer, a whore. I could even be an alcoholic.

 But I could not be fat. 

I loved my whisky. It had made me feel good.  

I thought about options. 

Cocaine could work, but it’s far too expensive.

 Bath Salts apparently brilliant, but I didn’t really want to eat someone’s face.

 Meditation. Boring.

 Masturbation?

Masturbation.

Of course.

So instead of drinking, I masturbated. It was a hellova lot cheaper. Great exercise. Good cardio.

 And I never woke up with a headache.

Advice to newly single people

The first year sucks, no matter who has done the leaving. 

Drink, definitely, but not too much.

 Date, definitely, but not too much.

Do not drink and date at the same time.

Do not get fat. Never get fat.

 Try therapy.

 Only buy single malt. 

Masturbate.

 And above all, keep your sense of humour.

whisky