On your marks, get wet, go!
On your marks, get wet, go! From sexy time to finish line, featuring various flavours of antidepressants, several tortured metaphors, and the wisdom of the ages. Possibly.
A story of people too pretty to Do It Themselves, personal highlight reels, and remembering to stop and smell the rosebuds along the way.
Stories of queer life and even queer-er sex.
The repeatedly award-winning, slightly filthy storytelling project tackling LGBTQ issues in a fun and engaging way. Created to remind all of our queer siblings that we are none of us alone.
Much like its creator, it’s a smutty-but-charming collection of personal misadventures working to make the world a better place, one silly, sexy story at a time.
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Some fool on Twitter: @ScottFlashheart
I was messaging with a super hot guy a while ago. The really hot kind. The kind who’s a bit TOO hot. Like, you’re surprised they’re actually interested in you. I had my suspicions from the beginning, but we chatted and flirted, and the sexy pics he sent didn’t look OBVIOUSLY photoshopped, which is always a mark of quality. I have a certain amount of respect for someone who will spend hours putting their face on a hot body to impress you with a photo rather than, say, spending that same time doing things to make themselves actually hotter. I’m still not going to shag them, but there’s a delicious contradiction in the amount of time and effort spent to fake something, rather than just using that time to make it happen properly. I love it.
Anyway. Hot guy.
He invites me over, and it turns out they’re his real photos. And he’s hot and wants to get jiggy. And really it would be rude not to at that point. So we do.
And while we’re at it, I’m doing my best to remember all of it in as much detail as possible, for future reminiscing, like when you’re having a moment to yourself and decide to go through your personal highlight reel. And I kinda want to impress him, because if it’s good this time, he might want to do it again in the future, and maybe he’ll recommend me to his hot friends (because hot people only have hot friends) and I’ll be their go-to great sex person. Like how you’re supposed to make sure you’re friends with a doctor, a lawyer, and a plumber so that you can call on them in an emergency, should you ever need to. A horribly transactional way of thinking, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve never structured my social circles like that. I usually go for a much simpler “who doesn’t annoy me right now” sort of a vibe, which explains why I only have three friends, all of whom are useless.
Anyway. I think maybe this is my way into some new social circles. I’m not a doctor or a lawyer, but maybe I can be the one who can help you repaint your bedroom ceiling, if you very much know what I mean.
So we’re going at it, and I’m doing my best to be impressive. Putting the moves on, giving him the ol razzle dazzle. And as I’m trying to get him to shift his weight so we can move seamlessly into a new position, he says “Nah, don’t worry about it. Keep going like this - I just want to cum.” And I’m like Oh. Right. Here I am, trying to enjoy myself and make sure he’s having a good time, wasting a thoroughly adequate dicking on this dude who just didn’t fancy having a wank. Like, “Oh, no, I never masturbate. I’m far too pretty. I just get someone round to do it to me. Mhur.”
At that point I was tempted to give it to him good and hard until he was almost there, and then stop and kick him out, but I was raised with MANNERS, so I finished him off with a smile, just like my mum taught me, and THEN kicked him out.
Nothing quite as dehumanising, or disappointing generally, as shagging someone who’s just there because they want a more responsive version of a dildo, without any thought of enjoying the moment or appreciating the other person in the transaction. It reminds me most of a teenage boy who doesn’t want to enjoy the wank, but just wants to grit his teeth and get it over with so he can get back to watching YouTube videos about becoming an Alpha Male, or whatever.
Anyway. I don’t want this to become me complaining about all the bad sex I’ve had. Mostly because I’ve got an appointment next week and I doubt I’d be done in time if I got going.
Mostly it got me thinking about approaches to sex.
There have definitely been times when I’ve just been ready for it to be over, despite being nowhere near my own phyical moment of it being over, but I like to think of those as the outliers. The anomalies. The opportunities to flex my acting muscles and fake an ending so I can go home. Not to brag, but II got an A* at GCSE Drama, so I know how to make it convincing. The key is not overselling it.
The thing I’ve found, over the course of my sexual career, is that the orgasm shouldn’t be the goal. Don’t get me wrong, they’re LOVELY, and we should all have more of them, preferably in the company of another person or persons we find attractive, but if sex is just a sprint to the finish line (finish puddle?) then it feels like you’re missing out on a lot of the good stuff that happens along the way. The physical sensations of touch, and smell, and the sounds and movements of the other person as you do nice things to them, and they respond in ways that are also pleasing, and the two or three or however many of you moving in a sensuous dance of sweaty, moaning, reciprocal pleasure. Not two minutes of frantic humping like a randy terrier on a cushion.
It’s a bit like, if you were invited to a party, and the host said “It’s going to be great, everyone will be really drunk, it’s gonna get messy” and you arrived as the party was in full swing, everyone was pleased to see you as you walked in, but then you downed all of the booze you could find in five minutes flat, vomited all over the sofa and fell asleep in the garden. The key elements are right, but there’s generally more to it than treating it like a to do list to be ticked off as quickly as possible.
The parts what make it fun are the other things that happen along the way, is m’point. The socialising, chatting with strangers, going through the host’s bathroom cupboards and googling any medicines you find to see what specific things are wrong with them, stuff like that. And the sofa won’t appreciate having to sleep in the wet patch.
Alright, I think I’ve tortured that metaphor quite enough. You get my drift.
It can actually be a lot of fun to try and do the opposite and prolong things as long as you can. I don’t mean by thinking about Boris Johnson doing naked jumping jacks or anything like that, but just by shifting your thinking a little. See how long you can keep things going without anyone reaching their destination. Keep circling the block, as it were. Switch the GPS off and just wander around a bit, see what happens. Any time anyone seems to be looking for a parking spot, as it were, take a detour and change what you’re doing entirely. Maybe don’t do that for too long, or they might rip your head off and finish themselves off on your neck stump. But for a while at least, it should be fun. And the whole thing is a lot more satisfying with plenty of buildup. It elevates the whole thing above being just a bodily function. And just getting it done is fine for some things, of course. You realise you want a big poo, you find a toilet and do a poo. You feel relieved, wash your hands and get on with your day. It doesn’t have to be like that with sex. Although you should still wash your hands. And I’m not saying that every sexual encounter should be a long, drawn out affair where you need to water the plants before you get started so they don’t shrivel up before you do. That’s not practical. Sometimes it needs to be quick, for various reasons that we don’t need to go into until after my upcoming ‘public indecency’ lawsuit has been settled, but it doesn’t hurt to treat it more like a fun and playful interaction between two (or more) people, rather than “hurry up and make me cum, ffs”.
The idea of not focusing on the orgasm as the end goal is probably fairly familiar to anyone who’s taken antidepressants. There are several flavours that have different effects on your sexy bits.
One just kills all interest. Those people tend to go and build model train sets or start investing in crypto.
One lets you keep your sexual desires, but stops the memo getting below your waist, as it were, and those people tend to take up interesting new hobbies like cocaine and owning all those beta cucks on various gross little corners of the internet.
The one I ended up on for the longest was the one that kept everything working fine, but just wouldn’t authorise your little sniper take the shot, no matter how well he could see the target, or how much this laser scope was throbbing.
It can be very frustrating and difficult to deal with until you stop focusing on the orgasm part of it. Yes, that’s a pain, but all of the other stuff is lovely, so stop being so set on the end goal and enjoy the bits you can do, such as furtling, canoodling, and tickling the woolly badger.
To be honest, I find that, even though I’m not on those pills any more, I still enjoy having a nice long wank - it can be fun to play without actually finishing yourself off. Just a nice long edging session. It took me a while to get my head around this. I remember when I was younger asking someone what they thought about when they wanked and they said “Nothing really, I just enjoy how it feels” and I was like “Pffft. Hippy. Watch porn like everyone else, ya weirdo.” But now I kinda get it. I can sometimes lose an afternoon to a good long edging session. And that can be equally good fun with another person involved.
Be careful, though - as an old sex problems column once advised: “If your notice your lover has started smoking after sex, use more lube.