Hiya!

I squirt like I'm being described by a male erotica author. It's something I've always been able to do, but only recently has it gotten to the point where I need to put down a sheet before I start going at myself. It used to be only if I was super aroused, like that time my then-best friend was nibbling on my tit; now all it takes is one errant thought about cock and whoops, there go another pair of panties.

But now that I live by myself, the benefits of squirting far outweigh the detriments. For example, I've probably had more standing orgasms than ready-meals in my tiled kitchen, whether that's grinding on the counter (see a previous post) or juicing up a cucumber before making a distinctly sticky salad. If I really can't be bothered to clear up after myself, I'll just grab the showerhead and push it between my legs until I'm screaming and clawing at the loofah as my brain exits my body through my pussy.

This combines itself in interesting ways with my exhibitionism, yielding what a pretentious nerd might call "emergent behaviour" or "procedural kink-generation". Since I telegraph my orgasms like a Dark Souls boss, I need to either find subtle ways to turn myself on without reaching climax, or find some way to hide my sudden loss of biomass. Or the third option: give less of a shit than a constipated tardigrade.

It's this third option that has reliably given me the most pleasure. I recall once, on a trip to France, I found myself in the bathroom of a public swimming pool with ten minutes to spare, and proceeded to frigg myself until I burst... over the wall of the cubicle. Luckily there was nobody on that side, or else I'd have had to deal with an either very upset or very aroused Frenchie.

Or how about the time I did exactly the same thing in a public bathroom in my own city? This time I made sure I was alone, by virtue of it being 3am (and finding the one public bathroom I guess they'd forgotten to lock), and angled myself up to get as much of it over the barrier as possible. Call me Michael Jordan, because I made that shot, and proceeded to wobble hornily all the way home.

A last detail is that having a horny-activated water cannon positioned perfectly above two erogenous zones means that nobody enjoys squirting quite like a foot fetishist. One time, I was trying to see how many times I could cum in a day, and after about orgasm number four I realised my feet were absolutely drenched in my own cum. Amazingly, that revelation on its own was enough to trigger orgasm number five, and I think that's probably the closest I've ever been to seeing the face of God.

But enough. I'm not here to talk about me (at least, not only me), I want to hear about you. Ladies, bring your own squirting stories if you have any, or if you don't then bring whatever you feel like. Men... give me more than a "hi you sound sexy", please, and try to treat me like a human being rather than a button-activated orgasm dispenser. I only enjoy it when women treat me that way.

I have more stories, only some of which are fictional! If it bothers you to know that I do lie about my experiences, you can kindly fuck off - one of the great joys of roleplay is indulging in verisimilitudinous wish-fulfilment of opportunities not taken. With that in mind, you're also welcome to lie, and if you're a good enough writer I will not care in the slightest.

I look forward to hearing from you! I can hardly look back on it, not yet at least. And the only way to ensure I can is to reach out.