The contrast between our making love after doing it so far 6-7000 times over 15 years and a new boyfriend’s making love with us the first, second or even third times - is utterly startling.
It's like he's playing tinkle, tinkle little star... and we're a jazz group who've been improvising for years, hitting ever higher notes, generating complexities in our music. So why the boy toy?
Because we began moving to this level after we decided to have inexperienced young men like him in our lives - playing with us 2 + 1. Anything we know now and practice in our own couplesex came from experiencing the inexperienced, learning by teaching, by being asked the question we'd never asked before.
That's how we began to realize our couplesex is all about who we are and less about what we do - and even less about what we have to work with.
But the proof of the pudding is in the eating: here's how we made love throughout all last night.
It may start with a fingertip grazing a nipple, or a hand loping over at the side and ending up grazing the cock head or better yet missing the genitals then wandering aimlessly in the forest of pubic hair.
Then when the recipient least suspects it, or has fallen asleep, the advancing hand may grab the cock, then the balls, massage the cock head - where all the sensation is, work the nips - which in one of us are hardwired to the dick, touching ass cheeks.
By this time the recipient has both arms crossed like a Pharaoh and his tweaking his nips over an equally wide spectrum of touch, pressure, tweaking, and twirling. Sometimes it seems comparable - like the givers fingers - to a master pianist tackling a great Russian piano work with fingers flying and a melody just beginning to form – then soaring.
While this is happening my husbands torpedo Dick comes to life and simply makes its presence known by nestling through his pajamas and through mine into the valley of pleasure leading to my hole. This is like introducing a second type of musical instrument - another line in this sexual orchestral work.
My body then becomes the third instrument, writhing, then moving slowly, powerfully changing position now almost constantly - now utterly responsive to the finger play, the nip play, the puckering up of my ass, and a growing awareness of our intertwining links – plus hot breath on my neck.
Quickly PJs are shed and now Bigus Dickus begins disgorging pre-cum, first few drops smeared around on my ass cheeks, adding them as instruments to this increasingly complex work of art. Then riding on a stream, and ever larger, steady stream of pre-cum that by now has trickled down to my asshole which has in turn puckered up to receive its hoped-for visitor.
At that point the actual entry is usually without fanfare and a simple sliding in, a visitor graciously and eagerly awaited. And indeed my husband’s cock will linger in that sacred space, the double anal ring crammed with sensation sensors, broadcasting pleasure throughout my body. If he only fucked me in that "stargate" I’d be transported easily into hyper states of pleasure.
My cock is at that penultimate point of near explosion – for I can cum simply by working my nips and I can also cum by him working the entry of my ass. Since he is not only extra thick but also extra long he can bring me to orgasm by deep plunging – but that requires hours of practice since contrary to popular opinion only a very long cock can reach that point in the anal canal where pleasure can be generated to such a level that orgasm results. It must have something to do with the frequency of the thrusts, their power, how long the cock lingers in that special spot – we’ve never figured it out – and who cares as long as it works? And it does work enough times to make the effort worth it.
Now his cock is playing about in my pleasure canal very much like his fingers played about my cock and balls before. Shifting his hips he hits the sides of my canal in ways that are never the same. The unpredictability of touch - when it happens, its force, where the spread - is key. Once he slides in totally he seems to know 1001 ways to very the speed, angle, power, and gentleness – and at this point words simply fail us.
We've spent 1 to 2 hours exploring these many points of pleasure – and may in fact have switched so that I am doing my version of this orchestral work and he is receiving. But to describe that would duplicate much and extend far more this already lengthy account.
And at times we fall asleep only to awake and recall what we were in the middle of doing.
Doing? that’s not the right word at all. Because at this point in our love making and pleasure creation doing is of minor consequence. For we are there. We have arrived. We are in a state few people reach - for most take the exit signs on the sides when embarking on this sexual journey. Spurt, and leave. Wham bam thank you m’am.
This is key when it comes to sexual pleasure – or in fact pleasure of any kind. Why? Nirvana is never produced. It is discovered. What we can do is be ready - and responsive. Work with what comes down the line. Readiness - and a total suppression of wishes & wants, expectations, assumptions, hopes - and of course fears. We center in, and hunker down. We are all subs, bottoms, recipients when it comes to pleasure. Because pleasure appears like a sun that comes out from behind a cloud. If we've readied the terrain, if we're ready - totally ready to get into what's presented - then we have pleasure. Because we have at this point achieved a state of being similar to that phase of an orchestral work, the one just before the end, where the composer seems to simply loll about and wallow in the complex pleasures he has brought into being so far. And there is no thought of any ending.
We have different ways of moving from this quiet space - this eternal space - to completion.
My husband for historical reasons too complex to spell out here usually goes directly to the final movement, the climax of our work. (Another post contrasts the influence of his history and my history on our love making). But even though he’s slaloming down a steady steep slope because so many points of pleasure that have been awakened, their discharge is like all the lights of the city gradually going out in a power surge and resulting blackout.
For me having been a practitioner of tantra and edging for so many years it’s often my idea of fun to continue the uncertainty (willy cum or won’t he? will I cum? does it make any difference?) up to the final moment – like the final pages of a mystery novel.
For though I have been working my nips and dick and balls, ever hard throughout, most of all I have been wallowing in the gift of all this pleasure from him. That’s what it means to receive. At times I have held off doing anything and simply experienced the work he is creating – like you would watch a fantastic fireworks celebration, catching your breath and living in utter awe.
But the pleasure of having his cock in me, having shot its wad, yet still rock hard permits me to have the thrill of riding his dick in the same way a supremely well-designed roller coaster after having achieved its summit reserves its greater thrills and most supreme pleasures for the running out of all that energy generated in getting to the top.
And this of course is what many people miss! it’s as if they get off the roller coaster at the peak and stumble down a back stairway, looking for paper towels to wipe themselves off with and quickly succumbing to meditating on their shopping and to do lists once again – rapidly forgetting the incredible gift that they have just left unwrapped under the tree
For me, and for any recipient who really understands and gets into receiving, what have been powerful and sophisticated pleasures at the beginning now can be worked into even more subtle pleasures – which may or may not result in orgasm. But to enter this magical state of pleasure I a recipient must be utterly willing to allow the experience itself to choose what manner it wishes to complete itself. Tis the best way I can come up with of describing the mental state and spiritual center of this harvest of pleasure. I can linger in this phase nearly as long as the love making - the getting there - took - up to 1-2 hours.
For love making liberates me, and can liberate anyone, from the world of doing. Its gift is being able to dwell in an utterly secure state of being. Yes, mystically, of feeling a union - certainly with him - but also of being reunited with myself. A bringing of my disparate selves together into one experiencer, one observer, one who is simply grateful for the magic of what skin on skin can achieve.
I, for one, and happily my husband – no matter how powerful his explosion of cum has been into me – we linger and then realize we have discovered the true Shangri-La of making love. It is in fact like hiking a steep rock slope with all the ecstasies of rock climbing and increasingly clear, distant and powerful vistas - and discovering a lush verdant welcoming scene of total serenity, where everyday details have been left behind, back over the ridge.
The closest thing to this is what happens within us at the end of our meditation sessions - when we continue meditating in utter formlessness and with no calendar and no timer and no notion as to when it ends.
And like that roller coaster spending its gathered energies in loop the loops and a gradual running the slope down, the end does come, of course.
- Sometimes I simply cum as if a stream had hit a delta, a flooding out from my cockhead, steady, without the tightening of the ass muscles that accompanies the traditional orgasm. The final letting go.
- Sometimes the gathered energies from this roller coaster ride simply fan out into my body and I have a tsunami of pleasure racing through every particle of myself - a full body orgasm.
- Sometimes the gentleness and peace of the experience, its true fruit, are not only enuf - the word hardly suffices - but are a basin of pleasure, pleasure unspent, undistributed, but a glowing campfire - still hot, still warming - and lasting the longest of all possible endings.
But like all supreme pleasures whatever form its completion takes, in this manner, it is truly a gift - far beyond any human engineering or manufacture.