Sex – the unwritten (and fairly fluid) contract.

It occurred to me the other day that we enter into a sexual relationship with very little idea of what lies ahead of us. For the guys, their hope is for a thoroughly satisfying orgasm.  For ladies, the same would be nice, but add to that some respect, tenderness and hopefully a dash of fun too. Sex doesn’t have to be serious…

No, when we close the door (in most cases, but not all) we cross mental fingers and fervently hope that the evening won’t be a total disaster. Orgasms and fun would be nice. Erectile dysfunction, puking and unsanitary messes are not on the list, thank you.

That’s all expected – and sometimes it goes almost to plan. But what of the route to that final, satisfying sigh? What of the methods used to bring each other to that happy non-faked place?

If we’re assuming two complete strangers at this tryst, then only fumbling, trial and error will establish each other’s roles and preferences. But what if the guy is on the submissive side? What if the dark-haired, black-outfitted woman who agreed to come home with him isn’t the handcuff-packing dominatrix he visualised, but a meek librarian (no disrespect to librarians) who only wants a father figure to seduce and use her? Can you picture the scene where both await the touches of the other – but nothing happens? Such a let-down.

And even once the clothes do come off, who agrees on the oral fun? Who goes first? Foreheads could bruise if both parties drop to their knees at the same time.

Have you ever had one of those encounters where the guy just won’t go down on you, no matter how much pressure you apply to the top of his head? Or where he’s determined that missionary is best, even though you desperately need to be taken doggy-style?

I know that many of you will say that communication is the key here, but unless you are the assertive sort, it may be felt that to insist (i.e. hint strongly by tweaking your lover’s ears – or genitals!) on something will upset the other party. Gentle ushering, begging, making doe eyes and saying ‘please lick me…for at least eight to ten minutes and only then may you enter me using position B’ is one way, but it’s a tad clinical, wouldn’t you say?

Another useful method is to coo into his ear that you are loving what he is doing (still trying to get his socks off), but it would just be so HOT if he would just do one little thing (get on the same side of the sheets as you / insert favourite pleasure here).

It’s obvious that working everything out beforehand isn’t feasible (or sexy – unless you’re an accountant or a quantity surveyor) but we stumble into new clinches with very little idea of what we’re doing – or how the other person is wired up.

Anything could happen!

But, then, isn’t the thrill of the unknown all part of the fun? 😀

What IS IT with sex?

Exhausted

I don’t know if it’s just me, or if anyone else can relate to the unfairness of sex. I spent last night in the pleasant company of two bisexual guys and we all had a great deal of fun – three ways.

This experience was partly research for a new short story idea, and partly to ease an ache to be filled (you know what I mean, right ladies?). No-one can say that I’m not committed to my art. 😀

I wanted to get the low-down on how guys fuck (each other) and I was surprised by a couple of things that I thought I knew – but clearly didn’t!

At some point during their demonstration I found that I was so turned on by their fucking that I couldn’t help but gravitate towards the bed – and found myself getting fully involved with both of them.

Anyway, to get to the point, I was appalled to find that an hour or after having had a thoroughly pleasant time with these guys (and reaching the point where I had to wheeze ‘stop – please!’) that I retained no sensation of the evening’s activities at all.

Nothing. Even the warm glow in my tummy had faded.

Sure, this morning my thighs and my butt cheeks ached (I was trying to be uncharacteristically flexible in order to try out ALL the positions), but if last night had been a drunken haze, then this morning I could NOT have been certain that anything other than some light gymnastics or some over-enthusiastic dancing had taken place.

What the hell?  Where’s the lasting afterglow?  Where’s the week-long ‘ahhhh’ that should follow sex? It’s as if my body has just shrugged and said ‘right, now let’s get on with the day.’

What am I doing wrong?  Am I being too vanilla  (Hello…threesome?  Bi-guys in all three…ahem…too much info)?

No, I’m sorry, it’s just not good enough.  Mother Nature, I want a word with you! I want a memento of last night’s undignified hammering where I got nailed…um…damn it, I can’t even remember how many times!

*sigh*

STOP PRESS; I was showering a couple of hours later and realised that my nipples were unusually tender from the rough treatment they’d received.

BIG DEAL! I could’ve gotten the same sensation from jogging round the park in a cheap bra…