Spectator tots.

Disclaimer: This one will get sexual. If that’s not your thing, leave now.

It might’ve been the music throwing me off. Upbeat and peppy mixes of general pop ephemera. I had no issue with them, but my brain kept trying to catalogue the songs being rotated. It could’ve been the lighting. Ambiance is one thing, but roaming blue and red disco dots have a habit of catching my attention. I guess the quiet murmurs weren’t helping as I lay there trying to focus on the task at hand. Maybe I was overthinking things, trying to engage with the right mindframe but being pulled away each time. Stay with her I thought. Wait, what do I look like right now? I’d adjust, flex muscles ever so slightly in an attempt to maintain a confident appearance. What’s she thinking? How’s she reacting to this? I grinned and slapped her ass cheekily. Do I seem confident? I hope I’m evoking some kind of competency here. She shuddered and smiled back. Still I failed to stir, nerves firing all around my body. I darted my eyes to the left and saw a collection of people reclining, watching. This really would be easier without all of them staringAt least they’re watching. I wonder what they think.

Lying back on a soft mattress while a room full of people watched my girlfriend and I fucking was an experience. It’s no secret that both of us have attention seeking qualities, so the idea had merit. She’s stunning, sensual and in every way intoxicating. Seeing her in the throes of passion is something else. I have a litany of body confidence issues and in an attempt to overcome them, have thrown myself at an array of challenges. There was Hysterical Literature, where my girlfriend and I took turns reading passages to a room full of people while the other went down on us. The Body Pride documentary saw myself and several others sit in a circle. Microphones sat in front of us while cameras watched us discuss our experiences dealing with sex and body image throughout our lives. Spectator Sex seemed like a good plateau to reach for.

I don’t know how often we talk about the damaging effects that toxic masculinity has on male sexuality, but I can tell you it’s a headfuck. Pun obviously intended. Being nervous, excited and a little stressed in a room full of people is a nightmare scenario when you’re trying to get it up. Even worse when you feel society demands that you go from zero to one hung dude in two seconds. If you don’t there’s clearly something off with you. A gorgeous woman is working her hands down your chest towards your cock, yet you’re doughy down there. She’s gonna work her tongue around your most sensitive areas and the idea of that isn’t exciting enough for you to budge? What’s wrong with you dude? You should be hard as a diamond. Your dick should be so rigid it could cut through glass, but you’re little more than limp. Jesus fuck. She noticed and worked in some descriptive dirty talk, saying just what she wanted to do to me, how much she wanted it. In most circumstances that would’ve been enough, but the stress of having to literally perform was dampening my desire. Worse, the fact that it wasn’t doing enough compounded any insecurities I already had. She took things slowly and caressed me, gently squeezing and whispering naughtiness. I pushed everything else into the background and focused on her. I begun to stir. She fostered my growth and gripped me eagerly. She turned her body and straddled my face while we worked away at one another. I’ve gotta admit, I was kind of getting into it.

It was touch and go, with my hardness wavering. I wanted to be on top. My own inability to go full alpha male had me craving some modicum of control or status. I lifted her hips and sat up. I picked her up and pressed her back into the mattress. I grinned slyly and begun to work my way down her body. If people wanted a real show they weren’t gonna get it from me. I glided across her legs, biting, licking and kissing as I went. A little teasing as I got close and pulled away, but I couldn’t resist diving in for too long. While I made a meal out of her, my cock retracted between my legs, hanging limp away from the action. While I drenched my fingers in her saliva I cast my thoughts around the room. I thought about my girlfriend and how amazing she looked with her hips thrusting, breath alternating between moans and short gasps. I wondered what the older couples thought of us, were we perky and adorable or childish and small? Were we sexy and desirable or sad to watch? Did that young foxy black couple think we were lame? Was anyone associating our intimacy with Justin Bieber’s Sorry, playing out through the house speakers?

I felt her getting close and forgot about everyone else. I was getting nervous, rushing. She brought me back. “Slow down” she told me, “watch how you’re working my clit”, “hook your fingers a bit more”. Things I knew implicitly, but found it tough to keep in mind in the situation. We locked eyes, I took a breath and slowed down. Responses started to come in waves. Short cries of pleasure, one after another. My hands were sopping. I continued to work my fingers while I took care of her clit with my tongue. Her back arched. Her volume increased and despite my tongue going at it, my cheeks strained with a wide involuntary grin. I looked up and she was spent. I pulled my fingers out slowly and came up to kiss her. Not sexually, but lovingly. I pulled back to look at her. Her eyes welled up and we kissed again. I whispered “so what happens now? Do we bow or something? She hugged me close. We turned to the crowd and smiled.

My mind chirped back up again. I know I just ate, but I could sure use a drink.

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