Sunday, 24 July 2016

Study

Much as I enjoy it - all the sexual contact (don't we all enjoy it? it's why we're here...) - much as I do enjoy it, my most recent exploits have been, for want of a better explanation, more about fascination than anything else.

I will attempt to explain. I haven't had full penetrative sex for a while. Having sex at the moment is focused mostly on trying to re-familiarise ourselves with my girlfriend's body (both of us, for our own reasons, are trying to reconnect with it). I've been spending a lot of time squatting between her legs, gently bringing her to orgasm with my fingers. Sometimes it's quick, sometime it isn't; sometimes it's easy, sometimes it isn't. Sometimes she flutters her eyes closed and screams like a banshee and comes all over my hand; sometimes we have to stop for a while, get some water, apply some more lube, take some space to breathe.

And then sometimes it's more natural. Last night I dripped lube onto her clit and slowly worked a finger in a circle around her vulva - over the labia majora, down to the perineum (with an occasional flick of that), back up the other side to quickly rub her clitoral hood a few times. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. A calming experience for her - a low throb of pleasure, without being too much - and for me, a continuous action which I can perfect with every circle.

The vagina is fascinating. It really is. If I hold it open with two fingers, I can see it throb and pulse. When it's aroused, the lips engorge and it flushes red. The clit grows in size as it becomes erect and I can feel it hardening up underneath the pads of my fingers. The sticky, messy, wetness I can lift and drip off my fingers mixes with the lube I spread and the coating of my tongue as I lick and suck and kiss. The way it dilates and contracts as she orgasms, and how quickly it vanishes from sight as she claps her thighs together when she shudders to a climax.

I can still taste its tang on my fingers later, once we've finished and watching stuff on YouTube or I'm reading Robert Galbraith's latest book or discussing the relative merits of Natasja Vermeer as Emmanuelle. If I'm eating Hula Hoops and then licking the salt off my fingers, her taste is still there. Sometimes there's a residue on the back on my hand or my palm: a stain, a mark of honour, a reminder of the wonders of orgasm and how fascinated I am, once again, by the vagina.

She says it turns her on when I talk about it. So here I am... talking about it.

No comments: