Talking Dirty

Talking Dirty

Fantasies. We all have them, we might not talk about them but there’s something we all fall back on when we disappear into a world of sexiness… oh, diary, I don’t need to be shy with you. Masturbation, that’s what I mean. I know I have my favourite scenarios that get me off every time and I’m sure every man and woman has theirs too.

In the warm days of summer my favourite fantasy is one that happens outside in the heat of the sun. Just me and a hunky man in a field of tall grass (hay fever doesn’t exist in dreams) indulging our voracious need for each other. Sometimes I’ll imagine the run up, the way we’re walking down a country path swinging a picnic basket between us when a pause for a kiss turns into a cheeky look at a farmer’s field, corn so high we could easily hide in it. Other times I’m already there, in the depths of the field, surrounded by rustling grass, the sun beating down on my back as I rip open his trousers and hitch up my skirt.

Mr Divine loves the fantasy too. Sometimes we’re too tired to have full blown sex but as we lie together in bed, often skin to skin in the summer when it’s just too hot for nightwear, our minds get to imagining and our bodies get to longing for some pleasure. So we whisper things, dirty things and use our hands to bring us off. It’s hot, it’s sexy and it’s just the kind of pressure relief you sometimes need to sleep when it’s so hot.

I love whispering the fantasy into his ear, to hear the catch of his breath, to feel the rhythm of his hand moving up and down his shaft, it’s so erotic. Sometimes he takes over, carrying on the story after he’s reached his climax until I reach mine. It’s fabulous fun but sometimes we still get the giggles.

The first time I tried to talk dirty to Mr D it didn’t go so well. I was too embarrassed to use any colourful language so I ended up whispering more purple prose than you find in the average Barbara Cartland novel and when I got to the now infamous ‘sweating bud of rosy pleasure’ we just broke down in a gale of laughter. I learnt from there that the art of dirty talk is being uninhibited, able to say anything at all in order to turn on your partner. I know I blushed the first time I used some of the hardest, naughtiest sex words but that added to the pleasure. I overcame my embarrassment and we both appreciated that a lot. Still do in fact.

So, dear diary, I might not swear in the office, but I will swear all I like in bed because it is appropriate language for getting off. Tonight I think I’m going to take Mr Divine for a walk down memory lane and into our favourite fantasy cornfield.