I hate hot cum.
You know the kind I mean – it’s everywhere in erotica and porn. ‘Ropes of hot cum,’ men who ‘spurt hotly,’ ‘semen […] so thick I struggled to swallow.’ (These last two are taken from a bestseller … no, not that one).
Real life come isn’t glamorous. It’s not hot, it’s lukewarm (and, as someone pointed out the other day, it cools on the skin remarkably quickly), and ‘thick’ isn’t a word I’d use to describe it either. Attempts in fiction to eroticise the substance itself fall flat, because the substance itself isn’t erotic.
What’s erotic is what it represents.
I love a good souvenir. Aged 11, I kept my unofficial Take That helium balloon tied to my bed long after it had gone flat. This year, I bought beautiful underwear to mark a fantastic trip to New York. For me, semen is a souvenir from a great fuck.
On my way to work there’s a deli that serves great hot lunches. Even before 10am, the smell of garlic hangs in the air. I kind of feel that before breakfast, it should turn my stomach, but it doesn’t – to me, the smell of garlic cooking symbolises warmth, nourishment, comfort, even. And I’ve been thinking about how much that contrasts with the dates I’ve been on recently (bear with me) – dates that have essentially been cold, restrained, polite affairs, the kind that would follow the ‘Don’t eat garlic if you’re planning to kiss somebody’ rule. And I don’t want that. I want warmth, spontaneity, affection.
And when a guy comes inside me, I have a sense of all those things.
The great Cammies on the Floor wrote a post recently about semen as evidence of pleasure, and I share this view entirely. Just as I’ll revisit bruises time and time again, there’s nothing I love more than the wet patch on the bed, white marks on my knickers – that sense, essentially, that even if a guy walks out of the door after sex, it was real, it happened.
Semen makes me throw caution to the wind. When one guy and I had been seeing each other a few months, I went on the pill. There was a whole conversation I intended to have with him: ‘I’m sick of condoms, let’s get tested*, I want you to come inside me.’
That conversation never happened. I can still remember the exact fuck. It was this one, in fact. It was another first for me, sex without a condom. When he mentioned contraception, I was already bent over the sofa, knickers and tights round my ankles. I didn’t want to kill the moment by moving to the bedroom to find the Durex. Being able to say: ‘It’s ok, I’m on the pill’?
Best. Thing. Ever.
*For the record, we did both subsequently get tested.
Sex blog (of sorts) 
Reblogged this on SteneAnker.
I love the evidence too, the smell, the taste, the look…. for me sex is best when it is messy. And you are right “warmth, spontaneity, affection.2 totally wins
Mollyxxx
Thanks for writing about this… as a writer of erotica and romance, I’m always curious to hear about various perspectives on sex. I don’t include graphic phrases in my stories like “ropes of hot come.” I think some readers may like those phrases, but I wonder if most readers would not. I prefer to keep with the sensual mood of the story, with two people connecting on an intimate and emotional level.
Thank you for referencing the post, I wasn’t really sure about how to write about it considering I know others have a love of it that I don’t quite extend out to.
I agree with you completely on this post. If I were to read the hot ropes of come, it would turn me off.
Birth control is so sexy, especially because repercussions of semen are more absent and a man could find his release with less fear. Glad to hear you both got tested, and yay for that hot, sexy moment.
I couldn’t agree more about having it within me. So special. I hated condoms, absolutely hated them. The feeling of his final thrust and the penal dance inside me is to die for. Trying to stay connected as long as possible and enjoying its slow release onto the sheets or briefs or whereever it happened. So good. So magnificent.
Give me condom free sex anytime.
‘Ropes of hot cum’ has always confused me too but then splatters of luke warm cum probably doesn’t have the same ring *laughs
Pingback: Condoms: fictional contraceptive of choice | Sex blog (of sorts)
The apposition (versus opposition) of the smell of garlic and cum is really great, viscerally and narratively. Er, hot stuff!
Ohhh – now you’ve made me want to try writing fiction that combines those two!
Just do it. Your writing is awesome. Just don’t think about it. Just do it. It’ll come out perfect, just as it is.
ok sick or healthy but when eating healthy mine tastes so good I want to try others admitted it anyone turned on breakfast time after my workout , masturbation
I concur on this. Great post. Some recent erotica has way too much hot cum around…. I also much prefer it inside me , condom free as you mention it makes the whole thing real somehow. I also love Canmies on the floor comment about the pill/birth co trip being sexy and the reasons why. This sort of thing is just what needs changing in attitudes. Imagine if SexEd taught our young folk just that….
The only reason I have tasted it was a few ladies got turned on by this and many others wanted to have me start masturbating for them as it was an arousal like singing or riding wild horses wish I was not so transparent and descriptive but your open and deep articles on a vast number of sexual erotic and sensual discourse motivated me along with being very open minded sexually explicit and again to much information but time to get nude and educate myself with your great topics don’t plan on doing much more than cleaning it up but that salty and creamy solution might be thick the first go around anyone else masturbates or has sex for hours