My Sex Journal
Copyright© 2023 by Anna Capricorn
Chapter 4
True Sex Story: Chapter 4 - In November 2019, shortly before my twentieth birthday, I started a journal... a masturbation journal... a sex journal. For the last four years, I've captured everything that contributed to my sexual development: my fantasies, my friends, my sister, the Covid lockdowns, my wedding, and all of my sexual experiences and fetishes. This is my journal.
Caution: This True Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa ft/ft ft Rape Romantic BiSexual True Story Vignettes Sister Rough First Masturbation Petting Small Breasts
Prim and Proper?
21 November 2019
Never show your underwear. Sit with your knees together. Never be rude. Dress appropriately.
And so it starts from puberty onwards ... which is what makes a bit of rudeness all the more attractive.
I snogged a boy yesterday. (I briefly thought of the man on the train whilst his tongue was in my mouth.) He kissed his way up to my ear and whispered, “God, I’d love to finger your cunt.” Of course, I didn’t let him, but the mere use of that word – cunt – oh wow.
Last night, I played with myself in bed, running the boy’s words over and over in my mind. “Cunt ... finger your cunt...” I lay on top of the sheets with my legs open. How rude is that? Showing my ‘cunt’, letting it be seen, emerging from its hiding place between my legs. I think sex for a girl is a statement in vulnerability. We have something inside us, invading us; oh, but it’s a welcome invader to be sure.
My masturbatory fantasies are not usually fuelled by porn (I feel like most of it is staged anyway and has nothing to do with the real world) but by what I would like to happen to me. And believe me, I have very varied fantasies. I get very horny every time a group of my girlfriends and I have sex talks. I love hearing about what others have done, either to themselves or with someone else.
Confession time: two years ago, I asked my best friend if I could watch her masturbate. Not to join in, not even to play with myself, but just to watch. My heart pounded when she agreed. She stripped totally naked and lay on her bed, while I sat in her armchair in a growing puddle of my own making. I adored watching her make love to herself: each tiny movement; each caress; each tender touch. And I loved the transition when tenderness gave way to urgency, and almost to roughness.
No, not almost roughness. She was rough, finger-fucking herself violently.
After she had come, I asked her what was in her mind. She told me it started with her imagining that she was being gently caressed by her boyfriend, but that as she got closer her fantasy had changed to her “lying on a bed in a large room full of people all watching. A man stepped out of the audience and forcibly fucked me.”