Knitted Acrylic: Deep Origins

I've been a solo orgasm chaser since my first conscious memory.

My mother even dragged me to the doctor once, just to check if I was "normal." Turns out? I just had a super healthy sexual appetite.

I've grown up since then--had my fair share of guys, toys, a few ladies. Long-term relationship. Kids (having them, raising them, nothing else, not that kind of confession, folks). Life.

But through it all, one thing remains: my steadfast, pure pleasure.

Knitted acrylic.

The scratchy, awful, cheap kind. The kind that serrates your skin, leaves you itching like a poison oak bath. That polyester hell-stretch yarn from clearance bins or your nan's couch throw.

That's the one.

I've rubbed against all kinds of fabric: canvas, pillow corners, terry cloth towels, sheets in a desperate pinch--anything to chase that orgasmic release.

But it's never the same. Too smooth. Too soft. Too limp.

But bunch up a good solid wedge of nasty cheap acrylic, press it tight against my clit and G-spot, add one good fantasy?

Shred my flesh raw, ribs rattling, hips jerking like a rabid chipmunk on a caffeine binge--no mercy, no shame, just pure desperate need.

Fireworks. In under five minutes.

And I'm ready for a repeat performance.

I swear I owe both my pregnancies to a few good solid orgasmic highs over pilled acrylic knit after the spunk filled roll in the hay with the guy.

As my body changes, my obsession with pressin' against the hessian only gets stronger. Well, to be fair, I haven't tried hessian. Would I cheat on my acrylic blanket lover?

What I've fantasised about has changed as I've grown too. I mean, when I was younger, I had absolutely no idea about sex. I knew about rabbits, but humans? Not a single idea.

A friend had this little hand held film player that showed short animated cartoons without sound. I remember one that stuck with me, because I couldn't figure it out. But I knew it meant something.

Goofy, that quasi-what-the-fuck-are-they character, has a fall and gets tangled up in a three drawer dresser. At one point, their head sticks out of the top with the law-breaking physics of an animator on LSD, while a mystery thing sticks out of the middle drawer. Goofy has no idea what it is, and is dead set threatened by the bulbous blue twin bump blob looming up from that second drawer down.

Goofy wiggles up higher out of the top drawer, and the offending blob recedes. But, it calls to them. Taunts them. A literal siren Goofy can't ignore. But something about the creature makes Goofy angry. Every time they try to play with it, engage or touch, the creature disappears into that second drawer.

Goofy gets a plan: to trap it. Punish it for being such a tease. A long pin is found on top of the dresser. Goofy hunkers down in that top drawer and waits, hunting.

That beautiful, taunting, elusive twin-mounted blue creature slowly sneaks out, appears. Begins to loom higher than the upper drawer as if to finally release itself into the world, unashamed.

That's when Goofy pounces. They stab the blue creature with that long pin, full on the mounded fleshy blue surface.

Only--plot twist! Goofy's just impaled their own buttcheek with that very sharp object. Cue the classic slapstick chaos: eyes bug out, limbs flail, and Goofy's animated world spins sideways as they scramble in a dizzy, frantic dance to extract the pin.

The poor creature escapes, laughing, teasing, while Goofy's left hopping mad (and hopping off the dresser) in a spectacular cartoon mishap conjured up by a wildly jacked-up animator on a serious great high.

But at that time, I rewound that image in my mind. Played those few seconds uber slow as Goofy hunkers deep in the top drawer, spying, watching, perving.

I know Goofy's perving. I know Goofy's hungry for that elusive creature. I know Goofy covets that gorgeous butt. Because I do, too.

And then, I get worked up. Hot and bothered. Suspending that moment as the massive blue ass hangs there, waiting for something spectacular to occur.

And I have no fucking idea what it is.

That's when my hand would curl around my blanket. I'd tie the corner into a tight knot. Bigger this time, because I'd just discovered that part of me could accommodate more.

I lie on my back, thighs wide as I open my vagina up. Filling it with the blanket corner, getting slicker as the scratchy knitted acrylic teases my clit, pressing it deeper in a scratchy-painful raw pleasure. As soon as I'm as full as I can make myself, I roll over onto my stomach.

I'm all lady, but I've never been able to jack off on my back. Always on my stomach. Always on top of my lover.

I'm the fucking king in my bed.

I bunch more of the blanket between my legs, pinning the pile upward with my thighs. Mashing my sensitive flesh into the knit. Relishing every sensuous, painful scratch.

Then, I play the film slowly. That moment right before the pin descends. Just before it punctures the flesh. It rises up again, then teasingly taunts the creature: threatening, promising the pain.

I thrash against the rest of the blanket under me. Rubbing my clit raw against the cheap bumps, knots of bulky yarn twisted just for my pleasure.

My heart pounds in my ears--

my breath races, shallow, unyielding as my body begins to tighten. Screaming for oxygen, but I can't keep up.

As I rock, I drive that knot hard against my G-spot. I rock my hips to the point it begins to slip out of my slit--the point when pleasure becomes pain.

I shiver as I cry out, pushing my hips back down, mangling my clit with fierce pressure into the rough fabric. Relishing every brutal rub.

My whole body tenses. I can't breathe, so I don't. I give in to the dizziness in my head, surrender to the needs of my instincts. Yield to the demands of my primal urges.

Mashed pressure, rock back, pulling pain deep in. Mashing, pulling, rocking on that blanket as I keep it pinned between my thighs.

I begin to see flashes behind my eyes. My breath hitches as my body burns--from the rawness of the flesh, from the rawness of the lust.

That pin drives closer as I feel my orgasm growing. Blooming deep within my groin. I hold my breath. Somehow, this makes it so much stronger.

I'm at the cusp: that moment when one small distraction would require a whole reset. Do I delay? Or do I ride the crest?

I have no willpower by this point. My hips push hard against the blanket, forcing the knot as deep into me as possible, driving rawness against my sensitive spaces, spiking my desire.

That pin finally penetrates the blue mound. Thrusts in with confidence, owning that blue creature in the fullest sense. Invading its flesh. Completes the threat, the cycle, the need I cannot name yet.

And then--

The fire releases throughout me. My muscles tense, around my blanket, around me, in my spirit.

I can't breathe. All I can do is feel the glorious pleasure overwhelming me. The euphoria as my sight disappears beneath the flashes of light stealing my vision away. The pulsing pump of my vaginal muscles around the knotted blanket, pain, pleasure, need.

I cease to exist for that brief moment. I touch the gods with my release as I fall back down to the ground.

My hips pulse, instinctual, beyond my control, in time with my racing heartbeat until I relax. I remain tense for as long as possible, milking out as many aftershock convulsions as possible, until I have to breathe.

I breathe in. Air rushes into my lungs. Oxygen flows swiftly to starved muscles, and I crash back down to this plane. Spent. Sweaty. Exhausted. Heaving as I struggle to soothe demanding muscles.

The scratchy acrylic that felt magical now hurts. Burns. But my body relaxes with the swirl of endorphins coursing through me, post-orgasm.

If I could stay in that moment, everything would be perfect.

But I have to remove my blanket.

My knitted lover.

While I still have the feel-good chemicals swamping my senses.

I roll back, pulling the blanket out from under me. The knot slips out, leaving behind raw skin that stings against the cold, exposed air.

My clit pulses as the blanket kisses it goodbye.

I bury my face into the fabric. Breathing in. Breathing out. Breathing life and gratitude into my blanket for the wonderful moment we shared.

Smelling myself--my musky scent--I've marked this blanket as mine.

Territorial-like.

I finally roll onto my back, shoving the blanket into the corner of my bed.

Exhausted and sweaty.

Relaxed, as sleepiness crashes through me.

My slit throbs, raw.

I was extra fierce tonight.

I'll have to wait--let myself heal a little.

But then... I think about that pin again.

Awwww, fuck it.