The Joy of Text Sex

Recently, I was having a text exchange with the girl I was seeing, discussing what we’d do at the weekend. Just boring stuff with the odd innuendo thrown in. But then things started to get a little, err, fruity, and a bit more specific. And she switched to the present tense. Suddenly we were apparently going at it. I was ready to fck u wit my hrd cok.

I’m not skilled in the whole SMS thing. Cursed with stubby fat textless thumbs. Digital obesity. But there, lying on the sofa, I had to give it a go.

In SMS land, we were in her room so desperate that we were up against her door grabbing at each other tearing our clothes off. In reality I’m trying to push down my pants with one hand.

Another problem I have is that I’m very right handed, I’ve got no coordination with my left at all. I struggle to smoke and drink at the same time. What we’re doing seems to need two right hands. Typing on a little phone keypad whilst wanking is not the easiest thing. Fuck patting your head whilst rubbing your belly, THIS is dexterity training.

I’m trying to swap hands whilst maintaining momentum. It’s just not working. But hang on, I only really need my thumb to text. So I try grabbing my cock in my fingers whilst holding my phone against it, along the vein with the base nestled in my gingery curls. Using my thumb to type but still using the full skills of my talented right hand fingers. Genius.



But I haven’t thought this through. My phone has a sliding action. And it’s got a hair trigger. This may not be a problem for everyone but my knob end is, err, fluted. SNAP. The phone snaps back closed catching the ‘rim’ in it. HOLY SHIT THAT HURTS. I’m in agony, my cock is swelling (not in a good way) with a massive and purple looking end (again, really not in a good way). But there’s no way I’m stopping now, this is a whole new arena in our relationship and I’m not going to blow it now.

There’s a bigger problem though. Yes, my bruised throbbing bell end is bad but there’s worse. When the phone snapped closed I was working on a particularly impressive message. I look at the screen and see ‘Saved to drafts’. Fuck.

I’m desperately trying to dig through four menus to find the bloody ‘drafts’, whilst struggling to left handed maintain an erection in my now reluctant cock. I’m half wondering whether I should just stop, after all she’d never know. Then thoughts start to creep into my head, never a good move even during hypothetical sex. I’d assumed she was in a similar position to me. Sorting herself out. But how would I know. She could be doing some light dusting (not euphemistically). Or worse, sitting round her mum’s for tea. It puts me off for a moment, but I quickly come to the conclusion: well, a wank’s a wank.

Anyway, I find the draft. But it’s nearly blank. I can’t remember exactly where we were. I definitely had something up her. Fingers? But was it just a couple or the full KitKat? Or maybe my cock. Sorry, my ‘huge hard throbbing cock’?

I go with fingers. All the while trying to keep up momentum cackhandedly while avoiding the phone-snap bite.

My phone buzzes. A new message. She must have got bored waiting.

Now there’s a question. Should I read her text first? Fuck it. This took to much time and pain to type. Send.

Read.

Bollocks.

My cock’s in her! She’s on top (though I have no idea when that happened). I shouldn’t have gone with the fingers. Right. I’ll go with this anyway. Pushing my hard cock into her, meeting her as she rides me. Send.

(separately, it occurred to me that all the words I could think of for what my knob was doing seemed a little aggressive – push, thrust, force, ram - never wiggle)

At the exact moment that one’s sending a new one arrives. She’s replied to my fingers. I’m back out with a hand up her. Apparently I’m caressing her while my other hand grasps at a breast as I suck a nipple. Fine. I’m squeezing away. Send.

Next reply: and yes, of course we’re fucking again.

We’re having two separate conversations. I suddenly realise I’m in a foursome with myself. And I’ve got really different approaches going on. One of me is all hard fast fucking while the other of me is still strokingly foreplaying. I’m going to have to cum twice here and I’m not sure I can physically do that.

There’s something else really worrying me. Any minute now, I could get a text from myself asking, “Have you ever been a little curious? After all, the inside of a man’s mouth is basically the same as a woman’s.”

Luckily, she’s pulled it together and only replies to the harder version. Which I’m thankful for. Not only because it means I won’t have to face turning down gay sex with myself (although, I would have let myself down gently), but also because I think the foreplay I’d painted probably required three arms.

So now we’re just going for it. All ramming and thrusting. And in the real world, on my sofa, I’ve really mastered my technique.

Which brings up yet another question. What is the etiquette for ejaculation? Should I try to hold off to match the text version? If I do cum, should I pretend I haven’t and carry on going (not something I can usually do convincingly)? Or should I just be honest and whatever message she sends reply with “Uh, uh, aah. Sorry. G’night.”?

But. Best thing ever. She beats me to it!

I’m a gentleman though:

I fake it – just to make her feel good.

And it’s all over.

The trouble is, I’m now left on my own,with cock in hand, wanking into a sock. Ultimately, despite the initial excitement the night just finished just like every other evening.