He Couldn’t Contain his Excitement (part 4)

Stop X

Stop X (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He knew that anything he said would incriminate him.  Yet he knew that everything rested on what he said next. I picked up where I had left off. “And that’s why I’ve tried to maintain my distance from you: I know you are faithful to your girl and I’d feel like crap if I attempted to interfere with that. I know you’re not the kind to would even consider such things anyway…”

“Oh, sweetie,” he half-moaned.  “Don’t look so sad. I can’t stand to see you with that expression,” he said, taking my face in his hand. I knew this was the beginning of the end.  He was resolved about what he would do, how far he would go.  He groaned, stroking my cheek with his thumb, “What can I do to take away that sad face, huh?”

“Stay with me,” I said plainly.  No need to mince words anymore; it was time to cross over together.

“Stay?” he repeated like he was in a daze.

I nodded like a little girl, not sure yet which character he most liked.

He chuckled faintly.  “How long?”

“As long as you want,” I said, instead of what I really wanted to say: forever.

He made a final brave effort to go. He stood up from the sofa so abruptly that I felt disoriented and humiliated.  My cheeks burned from embarrassment at having been so confident that he couldn’t resist me. “Uh, I better—“

“Yeah, I know,” I said, looking down at the floor.

“Well,” he sighed awkwardly. “Come here.” I guess he wanted to hug me goodbye. I couldn’t. Defeat had me glued to the sofa. I shook my head no.

“Don’t worry,” I said.  “I understand why you have to go.”

“Oh alright then,” he fake-grumbled, feigning gentle exasperation with me and with the situation. “Even if it’s just a little hug…” he said, almost to himself; as if he was explaining to someone like his absent girlfriend or whatever god, or whatever principle may be listening.

He sat back down on the sofa, scooping my unresisting body up into his arms.


He Couldn’t Contain his Excitement (part 1)

English: Cropped version of a photo taken from...

English: Cropped version of a photo taken from http://www.flickr.com of a woman wearing a blue bra. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Have you ever made a guy ejaculate without touching him? I mean just by looking at you? If you have, then welcome to the prestigious circle with me. I didn’t even know I possessed such power, but apparently I do. Or at least that’s how it seemed…

A few years ago I met this guy, Haven, almost completely by accident because I needed a new tire and the shop where I usually go didn’t have what I needed. And now I ask you, “Why do I always only want the ONE guy that I cannot have?” Why am I doomed to never meet this guy first, before he is already obligated? I’m not exactly proud of what I did, and I would really be an emotional wreck if I didn’t have such a sturdy and resistant conscious. But since I do then I’m frequently able to keep things in perspective when other women start that insipid self-loathing and self-deprecation.

I mean, no one can say I literally seduced the man. He is a grown man after all, accustomed to operating in a man’s world—which is more than I can confidently say for a couple of my sexual partners (or victims, based on whose viewpoint you ascribe to). He accepted my invitation to lunch with his own motives even if it was only ostensibly to allow me to properly thank him for pulling some strings to get his friend to pass my car through the inspection this year, if you know what I mean.

However I am mature enough to admit that meeting him at the door with a see-through black tank-top that didn’t even pretend to cover the fuchsia lace push-up bra that lifted, separated and left bare almost half of my breast would have put him into the strange predicament of having to either pretend that he had suddenly gone legally blind, or that he simply was not truly a member of the male sex.

And really I don’t hold it against him for his premature ejaculation. Under normal circumstances that would have been downright unforgiveable. But when I think about it, there was not a lot going on in his favor at that moment when he arrived at my house:

Just in case the sight of my upper body wasn’t enough for him, I’d also donned low-rise body-hugging, highly stressed jeans that strategically allowed the tip of the satin and lace fuchsia panties to show. The sparkling, dangling earrings that were a perfect color match to my should-be-hidden undergarments, the nearly 30 pounds gone from my body since I’d first met Haven 6 months ago, the knowledge that he was alone with a beautiful, discreet woman who is head-over heels for him in spite of the fact that he’s happily living with someone…well, I suppose all those things working together would be enough to bring any man to his senses about what inevitably must be done in this moment…


Oh, Come Now! (No, really; I mean NOW!!) -part 3

The Facts - Sex Education DVD for parents of 1...

The Facts – Sex Education DVD for parents of 15-17 year olds (Photo credit: crisispregnancyprogramme)

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Do it, Daddy, f*^& that P^$$%. Yeah, like that, like that!” You know, all the stupid lines the porn princesses yell out on the dirty movies. I felt trapped in the middle of my worst nightmare. After 30 minutes, I knew he was never going to ejaculate.

When nothing I did availed anything, I was afraid that this disaster was never going to end. I had faked so many climaxes and orgasms by now that even I was sick of the pretense.  I started begging him to Come, baby, come! Which to my utter shock only succeeded in totally frustrating him!! He yelled at me not to rush him. Rush? Is 42 minutes of sex rushing?? I mean literal in-and-out for 40 minutes!

He said he was trying to concentrate. CONCENTRATE?! Who the hell has to concentrate to cum?

No, no I don’t mean that at all. Forgive me. What I mean is, what man has to concentrate in order to ejaculate? I thought they had to concentrate in order to hold off and NOT ejaculate. For heaven’s sake, they can even ejaculate in their sleep; how difficult can it be when one is awake? Good grief, just look at the story of Lot in the Bible. According to that, a man can even be made to ejaculate when he is in a sleep caused by a drunken stupor. TWICE! (Read it for yourself if you don’t believe me.)

I must be so ignorant.  I swear I thought that ejaculation was nothing more than the not-only-predictable, but inevitable result of constantly building friction and tension.  How could I have ended up with the one man on the face of the whole earth who was the exception to this rule? I mean, IS there such a thing as an ejaculation disorder?  Are there men who can get hard and yet are unable to cum? I swear I’m almost afraid to google it. If I go to Wikipedia I just know they will describe the disorder and post Tony’s picture right there as the sole victim of this infirmity in the entire UNIVERSE.

Oh, Come Now! (No, really; I mean NOW!!) -Part 1

I know I am not alone among women when I say that sometimes my greatest pleasure in sex is feeling the complete release of joy of another person in me. Well, that’s the prosaic way of saying I totally trip off of a guy ejaculating. When something goes wrong in that realm it really screws up everything for me.  Let me explain.

I was once very in love with this guy, as far a “being in love” goes, and man he was everything to me.  And just as I knew he would, Tony asked me to marry him. In spite of the train wreck that was my previous marriage, I was willing to put aside all my ambivalence and jump the broom. I don’t need you to tell me, I know that it was really shallow on my part, but I always felt so proud to be seen with him; to all appearances we made the absolute perfect couple. It’s really childish to agree to marry a guy just because you look great together and people think you are happy, but I know I’m not alone in my near mistake. He fawned over me both in public and in private and was completely infatuated with every single detail about me from my kinky hair to the hue of my skin to the smell of my body. He couldn’t keep his hands off me. And I swore to myself and to him that I felt the same way about him.

Dang it, he was so ridiculously beautiful, his chiseled features, dark eyes and curly hair that he was entirely too vain about.  Forgive me while I repeat that on the outside, he was nearly perfect in every way. Part of my greatest joy in being with him was the knowledge that women were dying with envy, wishing they could land a man like him.

Oh, and his kisses were a study in divinity. He would kiss me as though he were taking little bites of me, savoring every morsel. Oral sex with him was the same way, only he would grab my hands and our fingers would be locked as he lost himself…oh, why couldn’t regular sex have been so wonderful with him?  If it had been, we probably would have gotten married after all!