Another photo I’m quite pleased with. I hope you’ll enjoy the sight of my hand, and that you’ll think of all the places it might go, on my body or yours. All the ways it might touch and stroke and caress.

When I touch myself like this it feels relaxed and sensuous, and I imagine how it would feel if it were someone else’s hand slipping inside my shirt to enjoy the touch. Skin against skin . . . A slender female hand, and a bare arm which needs to be kissed right the way up to the shoulder . . . And I’m touching you too, my hand inside your clothes, savouring your soft skin as the relaxed sensuousness gradually becomes growing arousal which itself becomes burning need as our now naked bodies entwine to satisfy that need.

. . . Or it may go quite differently: maybe the sensousness becomes a pleasantly sexy haze which we simply enjoy for its own sake for a while. Or it leads to a deep relaxation followed by a contented sleep.

At the moment, I’m enjoying the idea that it would lead to  the two-entwined-bodies-satisfying-their-burning-need option.

Of course, the thoughts the photo gives you may be entirely different from mine . . . Please feel free to share them.

Black and white photo of my hand slipping inside my shirt

Touch me like this. Then touch me some more . . .

Warning: this post is rather more explicit than previous ones. (Probably the warning is unnecessary really, but I just thought I’d say in case you’re expecting something else.)

This post is a bit of an experiment: I’m writing about reality (my situation while I write, or not long before writing) as well as the fantasy of you, the reader, joining in with me. Just a sharing of an intimate moment.

I’ve made a special effort to be in bed “early”. Which for me means that it’s just after midnight . . . I’m sleepy, but don’t feel ready to sleep. This happens a lot. And I’m naked, because that’s how I usually am when I sleep. I’m propped up in bed, typing this on my netbook.

I’m quite warm. I didn’t judge the heater setting quite right, so it’s a little warmer in my bedroom than I usually aim for. Another good reason to be naked.

The warmth means my scrotum is very relaxed. My balls hanging low and free. Very comfortable. A moment ago I had to get out of bed to turn the heater down another notch; they swung pleasantly as I moved. I enjoy that feeling. It can feel sexy, or just comforting. At the moment it’s a bit of both. In fact I often wear the pouch in this photo (it’s made of knitted silk, which is amazingly comfortable) precisely because it allows that free feeling while cradling them just a little bit. It’s the closest thing to being naked under my clothes.

Knitted silk pouch supporting my bits

Comfort of silk

But I’m digressing. No pouch at the moment. Just my naked, comfortable body in bed. (There will now be a little writer’s licence in terms of tenses, since some of the following happened before I got into bed.)

The relaxed feeling is good. The feeling of my balls hanging low is good. It’s hard to resist the temptation to let my hand move down and feel them. Not that I think of it as a temptation; more a part of enjoying my sleepy, relaxed state. I stroke the skin of my scrotum with my fingers. My nakedness means the air is free to circulate and there’s no feeling of sweatiness; the skin is surprisingly smooth to my touch. It’s about a week since I last shaved them, so the hair has grown past the stubble stage to something more like a layer of down. The hairs tingle as my fingers move over them. It feels good.

My hand moves lower, supporting them with my fingers for a moment then letting them roll free. Curling my fingers under them again, and letting the same happen . . . and then cupping them in my hand. Letting the fingers of my other hand stroke the soft hairs.

At some point in this, my mind wanders and it’s no longer my fingers which are touching me like this. You are next to me, also naked. I imagine your hand cradling my balls, gently massaging them, rolling them around, feeling their weight, stroking and exploring. (Yes I do mean you, the reader.) A soft female hand, warm and comforting. The feeling hints at how it might feel later if your warm lips were to close around them, drawing them into your mouth and making me melt into the sensuousness and the blood rush to my hardening shaft . . . How you would tease me until I could hold back no more . . . Or maybe first you would let your tongue trail over and around them, teasing me with its tip. And my hand would be buried in your hair, stroking and massaging the back of your neck as the soft wet warmth of your mouth engulfed me . . .

And so as I type, I imagine you here in bed with me, your body warm against mine as you roll my balls in the palm of your hand and trace your fingers through the thin layer of hairs. Maybe your eyes are on the screen, watching what I type as you tease me. Or maybe you’re watching my face, or focused on what’s happening between your fingers . . . But either way it’s clear from the way my cock is hardening and my concentration diminishing that I’ll have to stop typing any moment. Until then, I do my best to continue my description. Losing myself in the erotic haze . . . Closing my eyes and letting the sensations take over as your other hand closes around my shaft . . . We both know that my arousal is unstoppable now, and that I have no real choice in the matter: my arousal is in your hands, and even though things are just beginning, it’s clear that you will lead me on inexorably on to a hard, straining erection and then to an explosive orgasm.

I’m sleepy now. It took longer to write this than I expected. So rather than more words, here is a photo. I took it a few weeks ago, just after shaving.

My balls, held in my hand, in black and white

Just after shaving. Ready for your fingers, or your lips and tongue . . .