For me, backs are without a doubt the sexiest body part. Poets write longingly of a radiant smile, cherry lips, shining eyes, perfect skin; those things are lovely, but none of them catch my eye like a clear-cut scapula or beautiful lats, especially in women. I love the roundness of breasts as much as the next guy; nice abs can make me sweat, and I appreciate dynamite gams… but when I see a woman with an open-backed shirt or dress, I stop in my tracks.
Muscular backs on men are hot*, but to me, muscular backs on women are a thousand times hotter. Maybe it’s because most of our strongest muscles are in our legs, so we have to work for it. Maybe it’s that women’s backs aren’t overtly sexualized by the media the way other body parts are, so there’s something tantalizing about them. Maybe it’s waking up next to my lover and seeing the way the sun lights up the hills of her shoulders and the graceful slope into her lower back; or maybe it’s that I’m a dancer and I associate intimacy with strangers with having a hand placed squarely in the middle of my back, or mine in theirs. These hands control my movements, subtly guiding my direction.
My strong back allows me to pick up partners who wrap their legs around me, and I love nothing more than being picked up myself (which is quite easy – I’m a small lady) and pinned against a wall. The way a tongue feels gliding all the way down my spine makes me squirm in the best way possible, and I relish the feeling of a thuddy flogger hitting the space between my shoulders and the middle of my back over and over and over again until I’m sweating and breathing it all in in a heady subspace – then touched light as can be with a feather or run over with a wartenberg wheel ‘til I’m shivering and soaking wet. I try to imagine what my partners see when they’re fucking me from behind, holding onto a shoulder with one hand and a hip with the other, and I love pressing down into the small of someone’s back as I’m pegging him or thrusting slowly into her with a strap-on. Watching the ripples of someone’s back muscles as we move together makes me want to keep going past the point of exhaustion. Most of all, I love how tiny my own back feels in the care of someone with big hands. I feel secure. Falling asleep with someone’s hand filling the small of my back feels reassuring. It says: I’ll be here next to you when the sun comes up, and we’ll start our day together.
*To a point; I’m turned off by the huge muscles of bodybuilders.