I wake needing to pee a few hours later. PLEASE DEAR GOD do not let me have a urinary tract infection. Because, that seems to be the cost sometimes for having really great sex. WTH is up with that anyway? Not sure, but I get up from the cozy Tempurpedic bed with its very stiff and uncomfortable pillows to find the toilet. I hear a jingle of... what is that? Keys? Oh yeah, he has a dog who sleeps in the closet. It's Woofy's dog tags rattling in the dark.
In the bathroom I have no problem peeing thank goodness. What in the world is that pressure though? Seriously, it's like air up in my vagina. Is that the side effect of getting re-calibrated? Of clearing out the cobwebs? It's a little uncomfortable but I return to bed knowing I'll be better come morning. I just need to relax.
Unfortunately, sleep is elusive and I toss and turn all night. It's been more than a decade since I slept in another man's room other than my ex-husband's. Maybe it's the looking-good-naked thing, or maybe it's the not-knowing-but-wondering-what-R-will-think-in-the-morning thing. Either way I feel pressure on my chest and catching a deep breath is difficult. I seem to spend most of the night sighing, but is it that so much as it is just trying to get a good, full, cleansing breath?
The ceiling fan turns, lending it's hypnotic sound to that of my mind's endless chatter which eventually quiets. In the absence of a clock, I fall asleep sometime before dawn and wake to the smell of coffee as R walks a mug of espresso roast to me. Light pouring in the bathroom suggests to me that it's 7 or an hour after sunrise.
"Good morning," R says, voice deep and a bit gravelly.
"Hi," I reply.
"You sleep okay?"
"Hmm, no not really. Sorry."
"Why not?"
"I'm guessing it was just being in a new place," I leave out the whole insecurity part. He crawls into bed and we lay there drinking coffee as if it's the most normal thing in the world, like we've done it a hundred times before or more. True to his word, nothing indicates a need for me to hastily depart.
"I'm going to go take a shower and rinse off," he says. Wait, he's leaving me? I mildly panic for reasons only a shrink can unlock.
"How about if I join you?" I reply.
"Okay, let's go." I follow him into the bathroom. My goodness his ass is fine. It's like the ass of a twenty-five year old, concave on the sides. Wow, it's hot... almost as hot as his cock. We wait for hot water to reach the second floor and after what seems like forever we get in the shower. I keep waiting for it to feel uncomfortable, to feel awkward with him. It doesn't happen. "Turn around," he says. He grabs the shower gel, pouring it in his hands and lathering it up and down my back. It feels good to receive. It feels great giving myself permission to receive.
We rinse and he grabs towels for us. As I reach for mine I lose my footing and the moment of affection and intimacy vanquishes as I fall to the floor. With all the grace I can muster bare-ass naked in the daylight I stand quickly, eyes wide open in shock - HIS and MINE!
"Are you okay?"
Shaking it off as if it were nothing, "Gosh, wow... uhm. I'll be fine. Might be a little bruised here on my arms come morning. Not a big deal though." He comes over to look at my arms. Having hit the metal threshold of the shower door, there are two thin red lines on both forearms. Great. I'm really hoping these marks don't escalate into a situation I have to explain, but I'll manage it if I do I guess. "That was just a little embarrassing."
He laughs somewhat teasingly, "yeah, well it happens I guess." He's probably thinking, please don't sue me. Like there'd be something to sue over other than my clumsiness. Or he's thinking, what the hell just happened. Or he's not thinking any of that. He helps me dry off and we return to bed. What time is it? 8am, maybe 9?
Back in bed he leans against the bed and I find myself nestled between his legs on my stomach, looking up at him. He really just looks soooo magnificent. He admits to having "man-scaped" and suddenly I wish I would have instructed Rebeca to remove everything including the landing strip. Oh, well. Here we are now, his neatly trimmed garden to my mildly unruly bush.
He grabs my coffee to place it on the night stand. From a drawer he grabs something white and long. "Turn over," he instructs. Is that a vibrator? It doesn't look like either of the two back at my house. It seems to be missing that classic, phallic shape. Instead, at its tip it possesses at least a 3" diameter ball. This toy requires more power than a couple of double AAs or a C battery. Holy cow. It requires a power cord. Oh boy. What does he have in mind?
He pushes my legs apart and the hum of the Hitachi Magic Wand makes my eyes widen with apprehension. Connecting it to my clitoris I attempt to push back quickly only to bump into the headboard. Twelve years with the Tarzan have not prepared me for the intensity of this moment with the Magic Wand.
"It's okay," he reassures.
"No it's not. That's like a 1000 times more powerful than what I'm used to."
He smiles devilishly, pinning my legs down with his own. I'm unable to escape, not that I really want to. "We'll work our way up to it," he tells me while down-shifting from high to low. Low is still a 100 times more intense than Tarzan, but I take a deep breath and relax. He puts it there, down there... oh Christ just say it: on my pussy. Phew, was that so hard?
I clench my butt cheeks in the absence of an escape route. "Relax just a little." The dutiful student, I obey. "Here, you guide it," he says handing it over to me. With a 180-degree turn I take control to position it such that he now has complete access.
Just as he did the night before he plunges his middle fingers to that sweetest of spots, my G-spot. I toss my head back in ecstasy as my breathing hastens and my mouth starts to dry as I pant. In my history I've experienced most of what I imagine women my age (and many who are younger) have experienced. I've done the fingering thing, the dildo thing, the porn-watching thing, the straight-laced screwing thing and the wild, multiple-positions sex thing.
The one thing I've never experienced is the orgasm-during-intercourse thing. Recent erotic literature has me thinking I'm inadequate without an orgasm during sex. Certainly that douche bag from Starbucks thought I was inadequate, not that there weren't a dozen other circumstances surrounding that night. That is in the past now, though. I'm with R this morning and this sensation building down there is something I've only ever been able to manifest when alone by myself.
R removes his hand and brings his cock to me in all of its glorious beauty. The intensity of his stare deepens and I am turned on like never before. "Keep the vibrator on your clit," he coaches. Like a wave distant in the ocean it approaches and will not stop. Kegel muscles pull up in sweet contractions and for the first time in my 42 years I shutter with an orgasmic release, tingling all the way down to my toes. I look up at him to see a smile of satisfaction on his face. "Again," he tells me. No it's not possible, I think.
He sees the doubt in my eyes and reassuringly says, "again." I surrender to the notion and the wave gains momentum as it returns. Crashing moments later I count my second orgasm. How do you not fall in love with the person who holds the space for something so beautiful to occur? For someone who unlocks a hidden truth for you? We stare at each other, making love as another orgasm works its way up from the depths below. As I come for the third and final time a flood of warmth escapes from between us. What in the world is that?
"I think we're going to have to change the sheets," he suggests. "That's not your normal wet spot." I'm about to offer up that I peed the bed when he says, "honey, I think you might have just done something I've only ever heard about... I think you just had the woman's version of an ejaculation."
Shut the front door. Me? I am shocked, stunned even. Oddly, I am not embarrassed. R has done this for me. He has opened a door through which I never want to return. He leaves and returns after a moment with fresh sheets. I just keep chuckling in a mild state of disbelief and residual aftershocks of pleasure. I may even be in a mild trance.
"Hungry?" he asks. Most definitely. And we leave to find migas at the Galaxy Cafe, buzzing in the afterglow of the most amazing to date!
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