Denim Appreciation

I usually wear a skirt when I'm logged in for phone sex for easier access in case I want to masturbate.

Screen shot of Galiana's idea of soft porn

But the other day, I'd been out running errands before logging on, and was still wearing jeans when "Evanston Crush" called. He asked what I was wearing, and as I described them to him, I had flashbacks of many happy hours of rubbing and grinding while wearing denim.

If the definition of a true fetish is "something you need in order to experience sexual pleasure", then I don't have any fetishes. Well, orgasms. I need orgasms. I don't even need an erect penis (don't get me wrong, I love erect penises a lot, but I don't need them to get off). Two scenes can have zero elements in common, and I can be breathlessly satisfied by either.

So that feeling of denim on denim isn't technically a fetish. But it is an insta-trigger for me. Two jeans-clad legs intertwining, feeling a hard cock behind a zipper, a strong hand squeezing my ass through my five-point back pocket... Wow. My pussy is literally throbbing.

It's so irrational. It would be amusing or laughable if I weren't having such strong sensory memories of making out in the back seat of a 10-year-old '78 Lincoln Continental listening to Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians. Oh hi, high school sweetheart who I still dream about all the time, how are you?

Or after my divorce, when I flew to Europe to try BDSM for the first time with an experienced Dom I'd grown to trust online. He stuffed a vibrating egg -- a quiet one with a controller attached with a cord -- between my panties and my jeans, then hog-tied me and played with the controller during a conference call. Being quiet isn't a strong point of mine. You may have noticed that. I managed to remain silent, barely, but I remember the sweat running down my neck from the strain of it.

So back to Evanston Crush - he started our relationship saying he wanted to sneak me under the bleachers at my college football stadium, so he has strong connections to my whole late-teen vibe. Then he responded to my denim appreciation with the most deliciously lustful groan. So I kept the jeans on, pressed a vibrator against them, and we played. His normal 20-30-minute ramp-up evaporated by minute 6 when he interrupted me to say "You got me already. Whew."

So. Irrationally. Happy. That outcome totally fed the part of me that wants to make my boyfriend happy with a perfectionistic co-dependence that has been mostly resolved by therapy. My Inner Business Woman was pissed off that I didn't drag out to 20 minutes, but we give her spreadsheets to track things and she was fine.

I like being 40, but the visit back to my relative youth was super fun.

P.S. Why yes, I would like a picture of you in jeans! Thanks!