A Weekend of Fun and Intimacy

A weekend of fun and intimacy.

When does the weekend truly start? Well I suppose for those in employment, it probably finishes when the computer or pickaxe or whatever is put down on a Friday evening, or Thursday, if you are lucky enough to work a four day week that excludes Friday.

So if we take this as the definition, then my weekend started rather well.

I got up on Friday morning and wrote a couple of responses to articles that I had recently read. Then I spoke to my lovely man about the potential of traipsing through the snow to see him. Having had a luxurious, hot bath, I jumped in the car and headed north.

Even the usual nightmare of traffic had dissipated, leaving me calm and collected as I arrived at his house, even more so when I noticed two figures leaving his house which meant that even for a short time, we were going to be alone.

I think everyone’s weekend should start in the peaceful and pleasant manner. I think everyone’s weekend should continue with the next phase – a glorious orgasmic fuck.

No sooner had I got into the house that my knickers were down and his hands were firmly up my cunt. Now, I am in the delightful position of being able to read my body rather well these days, and so knew that a wet and gushy cum was fairly imminent.

Without knowing how long we were going to be alone in the house, it was not feasible to rush off to bed, mores the pity, so I simply removed my trousers, sat down on the toilet seat, enabling him to finger fuck me to his heart’s content until I gushed into the loo.

Satisfied of course, with such a release of sexual excitement, I still needed more, and the sight of his utterly wonderful cock in front of me simply begged for my lips to encircle it.

I adore the taste of his cock. I love sliding my tongue along his shaft and feeling it tremor at my touch.

And so often, those magnificent balls get missed. I think some women are far too interested in the cock that they forget that there is a bundle of sensuality underneath that equally and deservedly needs some special attention. Grasping his balls, either directly or when they are in his jeans, is a blissful pleasure. I love to feel them tighten and move as I squeeze them as tightly as I dare. I adore having his cock in my mouth whilst I am gladly and enthusiastically clenching his bollocks in my hands.

Foreplay is so exciting. Even when there is little time available, this touching and licking and arousal is so important, at least as far as I am concerned. But of course, the real joy of foreplay is that it does what it says on the box. It is the forerunner to the very best thing in life – penetrative sex. My salvation! My joy!

On this particular occasion, I turned around and leant my hands on the toilet seat, ready for my lover to enter me from behind and give me a right good seeing to. Firmly and comfortingly, he entered into me and fucked me right, simultaneously gentle and energetically. On realising he was about to cum, I turned around so that he could wank his stuff onto my awaiting tits. They utmost pleasure of feeling his spunk slipping down my cleavage is indescribable, and sitting here writing it makes my pussy spring to life.

More sex was required after yet more stimulation and a decent soaking of a towel ensued in the bathroom. By this point, I was totally blissed out, in my other world where only I can be. My satori. As I came again, I was screeching at the wonderment of the moment that was utterly engulfing me. Such sexual bliss is so life-giving.

But funnily enough, all of this is not really the point of my writing.

It is merely an account of what happened in its full and glorious moment.

It is the intimacy that I want to talk about.

One could argue that there is nothing more intimate than sharing bodily juices with someone that you care about, and indeed this is the case. But you could have the most fantastic sex in the world, and it would somehow be less significant if you couldn’t also be totally yourself in the company of your lover before, during and after sex.

It is this ease of friendship, the camaraderie of shared humour, the lack of concern when there is silence, the ability to just babble away on a range of themes that makes the intimacy that more intense, and bizarrely makes the sexual act more meaningful.

A friend of mine, a very close one, came around to my house one day. I hadn’t seen her for some time, and she had been out the night before, returning home in the early hours.

We sat and had a meal together and then listened to some music whilst reading the Sunday papers. Both lying down on the two settees in the room, we simply drifted off into our own little worlds. She fell fast asleep whilst I got on with some more reading.

On awaking, she was almost horrified at what she deemed to be the rudeness of falling asleep. I told her instantly that I rather interpreted it as a complement, i.e. that she felt comfortable enough with my company and in my house to drift off into the Land of Nod.

Subsequent times at my house have also resorted to her falling asleep, as have others before and since. But I have to say, it never bother me. I do indeed take this as an acknowledgement of the closeness that I share with the few people who have nodded off in my company. Of course, it could be interpreted differently – that they are simply bored of my droning on!

Anyway, I still prefer the former rationale, and certainly, I was not too perturbed about falling asleep at my lover’s house. I have done so on plenty of occasions before; post coital. But this was slightly different. I just felt a need to doze, listening to music whilst he got on with something else.

And I am so grateful that he too saw this as a complement, that I was indeed comfortable and relaxed enough to simply feel at ease, be myself and not have any inhibitions or worries about how I ought to behave. Intimacy in this context means simply being yourself. And for me, this, coupled with sensual and meaningful sex is the epitome of intimacy.

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I suspect that there is a slight possibility that this is what other people may see when we are together. There is no need for overt displays of affection to give an impression of intimacy. There is a possibility that it is implicit and almost unbeknown to either of us that we are in some way demonstrating or displaying our intimacy. And possibly it is this that was noticed and interpreted as we sat together in the restaurant on Friday evening.

I’m not bothered by this, and I certainly don’t want to worry about it. I suspect that only people who are really searching for this may actually find it, or people who are naturally intuitive. They might notice it too. I suspect that my lover’s friend noticed it as he sat in his kitchen a few weeks ago, pouring himself a glass of something and quizzing me about my feelings for his friend. I think this man understood and had grasped a flavour of the intimacy. Who knows?

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On Saturday evening, a group of us went out to a very decent Indian restaurant about five minutes away from my house. I’d never been to this place before but will certainly consider going there again.

The evening had been arranged by a friend who thought it was about time that we all met a mutual friend’s new man. En masse, we gathered in what I would consider to be a relatively intimidating manner, all ready to find out who this man was, and whether he was going to provide the thought and affection that our friend so desperately craved.

Unabashed by three dominant women, who are so very different from his new woman, he graciously answered our questions and conversed in a polite and thoughtful way. He expressed his knowledge of each of us. He referred to my friend at every opportunity possible, and held her hand throughout the entire evening, pausing only to raise his fork to his mouth.

My friend is not a very spirited person. She lacks emotional intelligence and fundamentally believes in a “happy ever after” way of life. She expects everything to fall into place and is reluctant to consider alternatives or ways around confronting issues.

She hasn’t had sex for eons, despite only recently being divorced. In fact, she probably hasn’t had sex for an entire epoch, possibly two. I think I could count on my hand the amount of times she has had sex with her ex husband during the last decade.

She has never owned a vibrator and our frequent attempts at getting her down to the local Ann Summers shop have been declined, yet she still wants to have sex.

This new man of hers has been single for ten years. He hasn’t had that much intimacy in those years as he was so bereft following on from his own divorce. He now purports to be ‘in love’ with my friend. He has bought her a “promise” ring (oh deary me!), and has told her that he wants to take care of her and share the rest of his life with her.

I couldn’t say whether she is “in love” with this man or not. I suspect that what she really would have liked in life, is to have this sort of affection and puppy dog devotion from her husband; a man that I love dearly but was and still is totally incapable of expressing his feelings to anyone, with the possible exception of yours truly.

Anyhow, they displayed what some might consider a strong affection and intimacy. When they weren’t holding hands, they were gazing into each other’s eyes like some young love dream. He happily shared his account of their first meeting, and they kissed whenever it was feasible.

Just as a small aside, they haven’t slept together yet. Well, they’ve slept together but they haven’t made love. He’s finding it a little tricky! Possibly needs some help from a small blue pill, but being a couple who are unlikely to discuss such issues, and with my friend being so incapable of thinking out of the box, I surmise that they haven’t discussed the alternatives. I mean, even if he couldn’t get an erection, he could still give her a damn good finger fuck, and she could at least hold his cock to see if it has any effect.

Others around us, both within our party and within the restaurant itself would have looked at this couple and decided that they were indeed very intimate, and yet, this public display of affection is not what intimacy is about. I daresay there is a possibility that they are intimate, or they could be. I daresay that there will come a time when they grow into one another and feel the sort of comfort with one another than means that they don’t need to demonstrate their love to others in this clichéd and slightly crass manner.

Now I know that I am sounding like a cynic. I also know that you can absolutely have intimacy together with great overt displays of affection. And don’t get me wrong, if I had the opportunity to be intimate with my lover in the company of others, I wouldn’t hold back but I wouldn’t do it just to prove something either. That is not necessary.

Intimacy and the desire to hold one another, kiss one another, fuck one another should be instinctual and not contrived. It should be stimulated by an urge and a passion, a need and a hunger, not as a demonstration or an expectation from others.

What I am trying to say is that open displays of so-called intimacy are far from the real thing.

I am definitely not saying that kissing in public and holding hands with your man is wrong. I am more than happy to do this IF it feels right to do so at the time.

But real intimacy, just like real friendships, just like a real love and affection is something that is inherent and unspoken. It is an amalgamation of many, varied aspects.

Intimacy with a lover is different from intimacy with a friend, and you can have both.

With a lover it is good, adorable, wonderful sex. It is being able to acknowledge one another’s moments of bliss without having to smother them, it is about sitting in a quiet room and not fearing or even feeling the tension of silence, for there is no tension in such stillness. It is about the unspoken words and the understanding of thought. It is about knowing one another and respecting each others needs and indeed foibles.

It is an essence of a relationship, and I really hope that my friend, immune so frequently from thought, bereft so often from sexual stimulation will learn to appreciate with her new man.

From Both Sides Now

It was Helen who had told me about this particular place; just outside Bristol, on the edge of the river, overlooking the suspension bridge. Quite an attractive redbrick building, in keeping with its neighbouring houses with wonderful deep, curved bay windows.
You got the impression that they could see you approaching but no figures could be seen from the street.

If you want a truly special and unique massage that is the place to go, she had said.

I wondered.

I suspected that my idea of a unique and special massage did not quite synergise with Helen's. But to be honest, I genuinely wasn't expecting anything other than an hour of relaxation, a time when I could drift away to unknown lands and undiscovered thoughts.
That is all I needed.

I was greeted by the ubiquitous over caked dollybird with more than a hint of tedium and false delight in her welcome.
I must be getting old. These young women would look so much fresher, more attractive if only they let their pores breathe, if only they'd scrape the heavily tinged gunk from their faces.

I was directed to the changing room where I undressed, apart from my lacy thongs, and reclothed myself in the customer uniform of the heavy towelling robe. It felt snug, and already I felt the release of walking around in a house full of people without my bra on. Liberation from bras is something that I can understand. There's such joy in whipping off a bra and just feeling no need to comply with anything.
Sod the world, sod everything, let the tits hang loose, no-one is looking.

I walked along the golden lit corridor to the relaxation room and waited for my name to be called. A tiny blond with a twenty inch waist poked her head around the door and asked for Caroline.
Not me! I was glad.
Her fingers were smooth and delicate and I had a feeling her touch would have been insipid.

Natalie then came in and called my name. Follow me, she said as she directed me into the chamber.
She was tallish, just over five and a half foot with the most beautiful, silky hair tipping into soft curls as they bounced on her shoulder. Brunette.
She was a good size; not puny, not overweight but well-made, and voluptuous in all the right places. She smiled as she explained the process, verifying that I was here for a full body massage and telling me the oils she was going to use.

She left me to de-robe and I slid impatiently and in anticipation under the provided covers.

Listen to the music and drift away, she said, as she slid back the covers and started to stroke my back in strong and determined motions.

Nice panties, she had said. Strange comment but appreciated nonetheless. Was it a come on? I doubt it. What on earth would a beautiful, very clearly heterosexual woman, ten years my junior see in me? Not that I even wanted her. Not that she was clearly heterosexual. I'm ‘clearly’ heterosexual but it doesn't stop me thinking, doesn't stop me looking or wondering.

Her touch was good and I told her. It was perfect; neither too harsh nor soft, just perfect pressure. I could feel myself drifting and worked hard on ensuring she knew I was relaxed. I untensed my muscles and flopped in response to her hand movements.

Further down my back she travelled in deep, swirling motions, tentatively clipping the waistband with her thumb by accident.
By accident. By reason? By purpose?

It happened again and as her hands switched direction to work their way horizontally over my eased back, I felt her fingers linger a little too long, tracing the line of my thongs with her thumb, catching the edge and ever so slightly flickering underneath.

I wonder if they are taught to do that, to arouse and relax the client in one fell swoop. Taught or not, it was working. The sensation of gentle, knowing fingers simulating the line of my panties always does something for me.
Anticipation is an astounding aphrodisiac; frustrating but astounding nonetheless.

I waited and enjoyed as she swooped once more from my coccyx right the way to my shoulders, pressing firmly to confirm my back massage was complete.
Untucking the towel from my panties, she pulled the cover over my back and walked towards the bottom of the couch.

Legs now. She moved the cover to reveal one of my legs and gently smoothed the oils into my calves.
I tentatively moved my legs apart; an unnoticeable move but one done to prevent them sticking together, should I accidentally emit some slight juices from my pussy.
I don’t think she noticed but as she moved from calf to thigh, I was immensely conscious of her hand going to my inner thigh, and I know that I was almost certainly moistening up should she have accidentally touched the lower part of my thongs.

I was beginning to feel the familiar feeling of juices building up when I get aroused. I tried to relax and not worry about them. Surely masseurs are used to people being turned on by their actions? They must be used to hard ons. Just not sure they are used to hard ons in a woman, but I certainly had one now. I was pulsating and desperate to feel the juice of my own pussy on my fingers. I’d have to have a wank after she had finished, before I left this room.

I must have been imagining everything for once she had travelled comfortably and confidently up and down my thighs, she simply stopped, held the cover high above her face and asked me to move over onto my back.
It wasn’t done in a harsh or clinical way, but was professional and evidently, she was not interested in seeing my body.

I moved and closed my eyes as she explained that she was now going to manipulate my neck and chest, working down to the arms and then it would be over.

I lay there as she swooped her beautiful hands over my neck and down to the start of my breasts.
I wasn’t exactly willing her to drive her hands under the cover that she had expertly placed an inch above my nipples, but I was hoping that her fingers would surreptitiously find their way beneath, just as they had with my panties.

She kept on swooping down, in deep circular motions that mocked me, drawing boobs with her hand on my chest, clipping the side of my tits with her forearm.

The cover was in the way and she carefully suggested that she might pull it down a little. There was nothing sexual in this statement. It was just a practicality. I said I’d prefer that anyway.
Maybe that was a little too forward, but she removed it anyway, and I hoped my nipples wouldn’t reveal my obvious arousal. They could just have been responding to the freshness of the air.

Although my eyes were closed I could feel her gaze as she moved her hands over my tits, carefully avoiding the nipples. It felt incredible, and I desperately wanted to finger myself as she further manipulated my tits.

And then, her hands cupped my boobs and remained there a second too long. She drew her circle again, driving her fingers down my cleavage and allowed her fingers to drift over my nipples. And then she stopped and squeezed and carefully put some pressure onto her palms which were directly over my now protruding nipples.

I opened my eyes and raised my chin towards her, still laying as still as possible, and as I did, without any warning whatsoever, she simply leaned forward and kissed my nose at the same time, squeezing my tits in a very sexual and needy way.

I smiled.

Still clasping my bosom, she moved to the side and then took both hands over to my left tit and held it, releasing my nipple to the coldness of the air. With gentle and stimulating caresses she smoothed it over and over again, and then she leant over and took a mouthful of my tit in her warm and comforting mouth.
It was sensational. I could feel her hot saliva as it trickled from her kiss as she circled my nipple with her tongue and sucked gently on its tip.

Her hand moved to my other tit as she continued to massage my nipple with her tongue.

Enough! I needed to control this. I could wait no longer.
Either my hand or hers had to get under those covers and inside my pussy. I’d parted my legs as she had sucked my tit and I am sure she had noticed this movement. This time it was intentional, deliberate, the affirmation of which I hope she approved.

I held my hand over hers, and dramatically grabbed it and slid it down the length of my body towards my white, lacy thongs.
Lingering a mere second at the edge of my panties, I pushed her hand invitingly towards my pubes.

She needed no further invitation, and without any pleas from me she traced the most natural line of my body, inserting her fingers past my labia and deep into my cunt, and for the first time in our session, her fingers moved vigorously and passionately as she finger fucked me, clearly delighted in the fuck juices she found within.

I undid her tunic and fumbled around to push my hand into her bra. Her nipple were as erect as my own and I clung onto it as she continued to find her way through the folds of my pussy, deeper and deeper toward my passion.

I was going to cum, and I feared my copious emissions might alarm her. She expertly curled her two fingers deep inside me, clipping against my G-spot, and once found pushed hard in a dramatic and familiar way.
I felt my release and I silently wailed as I erupted in a monumental gush, and as I did she released herself from my clutches and dived down to capture the juices in her mouth, licking her way around my pubes and sliding her tongue into the place where her fingers had done their tidy work seconds before.

She crouched down and placed her hands on my thighs and I fucking came again, splashing her face and moistening that beautiful hair as I did.
She moved from left to right, carefully tickling my labia with her tongue and then sliding once more into my fanny with her strong and capable tongue.

I clutched my boobs as she did this, feeling the remnants of oil to ease my journey.

She moved away and stood upright, smiling, dripping with my juices, and as she wiped them from her chin, she reinserted her fingers back into my cunt and simply rested them there as she moved around the other side of the couch, bent over and kissed me.

It's in the hands

Hello. Would you like to follow me please? This way, and through that door. My name is Natalie and I'm going to try and put you in a beautifully relaxed state of mind.

If you'd like to take your robe off, just leaving your pants on. I'll just wait the other side of the door whilst you do that. As soon as you're undressed, just climb onto the bed and cover yourself with the towel and bedsheet. Lie on your tummy with your face down in the hole. And relax!

Okay in there? Are you ready?
Good. I'm going to use a range of oils to smother into your body which will relax and stimulate you at the same time. It is a full body massage today, isn't it? Good.

I'm just going to pull the sheet down and tuck the towel into the top of your knickers. Lovely - oh they're pretty.

Let me know if the pressure is too much or too soft.
Happy with that? Good.

I'm going to work down your back, then your legs and then work on your neck. Once we have done your shoulders, I'll ask you to turn over and I'll massage your neck, chest, arms and the front of your legs.

Now just close your eyes and float away with the music.
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She has very smooth skin. I like that in a woman, especially older ones. A well defined spine. Mmmm, that feels good. She's already beginning to relax. Maybe she likes my touch. I'm just going to smooth her hair away from her shoulders, brushing it over to the left. Silky - maybe I'll just spend a little time stroking her head to relax her further.
Mmmm, she likes that.

My hands are pressing firmly over her back as I swish up and down in long, sensual moves. Each movement, each stroke dashes an extra centimetre towards the base of her spine, edging nearer to those fine lacey knickers.
They look startlingly white and pure.
The next stroke I'll just gently rub against the panties, just surreptitiously lead my finger just inside. See what happens.
Ooh yes! She liked that.

Don't rush it though.

Back around the shoulders. Wow, this woman is really responding to my touches. I wonder if she's responding all over. I wonder if.......
I'll try the lingering, lengthy stroke and take my thumb towards the top of her arse.

Yes! She let me do that without a murmer. She liked me doing that.
I'm going to brush across her body horizantally now, starting at the top, moving down. I'm now hovering over the lacy hem, digging deep, stroking my finger across the lace, not lifting it, just lingering, giving the idea I want to go in.
..............................................................

I'm just going to pull the towel over your back. We'll work on your legs now. Okay? Good. Stay relaxed for me.
...........................................................

Stay very relaxed. Wow! These legs look like they can be firmly wrapped round someone. Those thighs have seen some action!
I'll start with the calves. She's got strong calves; firm, powerful, beautiful.
And sweet feet! Gentle feet! Sensitive feet! She likes the movement of my hands cupping them.

Outer thighs now in deep, rotating movements. Still relaxed, good. Moving to the inner thigh.
Yes! Warm, almost moist before the oil has got there. Oh boy, is she responding that positively to my fingers? Does she know? Did I sense a slight shifting of her legs? Did they ease apart a little? Is she inviting me in?

My pussy is trickling. I wonder if she knows.

Yes! A definite movement. She's willing me in. I can feel it, sense it.....

.............................................................
If you'd like to turn over, I'll hold the towel so you can move with ease and place it back over you, to cover you?
Are you on your back? Excellent!

I'm now going to do your shoulders and upper chest. Place your arms by your side. Lovely.
Are you comfortable?
Wonderful.
............................................................
She's peaceful, relaxed and waiting.

I move my hands across her neck, sweeping into her face, then travelling back down, circling the top of her chest. Her tits seem big. I want to feel them. I want to taste them. Does she want that too?

I circle again, taking my thumbs towards her cleavage.
She likes that. She lets out a satisfied breath.
I repeat the action, and again, deep into her sizeable valley. I tantalizingly rub my thumb across the inner section of her left boob. Her facial muscles ease.
................................................................
Everything okay? Excellent. I'm glad you're relaxing. It feels good? Invigorating?
I'm just going to move the towel down to below your chest. Okay with that? You'd prefer that? Fantastic!
...........................................................
She is a responsive one! Thank goodness. I need this as much as she does.
Beautiful breasts. Big and comfortable.
I work my way around avoiding the nipples in great swathing motions; out to the side, inwards, around the base, feeling the weight of those fabulous tits in my hand.

I place both palms over her nipples and gently squeeze her excited boobs.
She opens her eyes and gazes at me, not alarmed, not smiling, just accepting, and then she raises her chin in invitation and I lean forward and kiss her nose. She smiles as I squeeze her tits a little tighter.

I come around the side of the couch with my hand still fondling her left tit. I take both hands to her one breast and I cup it and hold it as she smiles. I tweak her nipple until there is a mountain of erectness ready to lick and I open my mouth in anticipation.

She looks up and nods as I fall forth and take a mouthful of utter joy.
......................................................

Are you okay with this? You are! Good!
I wanted you the minute I saw you.
I hoped!

I hoped too, she said as she took my hand and led it underneath the towel and thrust it into her shimmering, White lacy panties.

I accepted the invitation, and as I sucked on her tit, I reached inside her knickers to feel the excitement that I had created between her legs.

She eagerly parted them now and flung the irrelevant covers to the floor.
I finger fucked her vigorously as she unbuttoned my tunic and took out my tits.

I manipulated myself as I reached in for more juicy satisfaction, and as I did, she exploded a gush of hot steamy cum, all over my fingers as they waggled away.

I bent over and licked her sticky pubes and I thought what a fucking marvellous job I have!

Where are we with female sexuality?

I have to do some more research into the workings of the female orgasm. I wonder if I could get a research grant. The problem is that I am not very scientifically minded, though I have to admit that if anything could get me interested in science, it is probably this subject.

How and why? There are plenty of how why questions.

Whilst many of the ‘how’ and ‘why’ questions are scientific in nature, there are as many that are more anthropological in focus. Here are just a few that spring to mind as I write.

Why do I cum so vociferously on some occasions and not at all on others?

How come I can finger myself in exactly the same spot as my lover, in more or less the same way, yet I do not ejaculate or cum as quickly and as thoroughly as when he does it?

Why are people so dismissive of a vaginal orgasm when I know it happens?

Why have there been no scientific studies into the phenomenon of the female orgasm that has once and for all dismissed the doubters and acknowledged the power of the pussy?

Why don’t people talk about this yet are relatively prepared to discuss the male orgasm and male masturbation with less anxiety or embarrassment?

These are just a few that are springing to mind at the moment, but there are many others. What actually happens to my body that causes the great gushes that I sometimes experience? Who else has experienced this?

Of course, in my humble and mostly unscientific mind, I am fascinated by the connection between the physical, the spiritual, the intellect and the emotional.

If you consider my second bullet point, I think it is a very good example of how sexuality is essentially about the amalgam of intelligences working simultaneously to create the most sensual state of being.
I lie in bed and I gently stroke my pubes, smoothing them and straightening my hairs in a downward direction before gently rubbing the head of my clitoris until I can feel its bony-like growth that directs my brain to direct my fingers further towards my labia and enter into my pussy to feel the great mounds of body parts that are extending and pushing at my touch. I stretch into my pussy with two or three fingers and feel how excited I am becoming. I rub deep inside and feel a growing pressure of liquid and arousal. I rub hard and I can feel myself beginning to cum.
I cum.

It happens and it is wonderful. Sexual arousal is available to anyone who chooses to masturbate in this way. It is a physical act that reminds the mind of previous occasions of arousal. It is a physical act that can be initiated by a thought or a picture or a piece of writing. So of course, even with masturbation, there are other intelligences coming into play.
However, thoroughly mind-blowing sex, the type that sends you into a sartorial state of wonderment and bliss, the type that almost disables you from any cognitive or physical functioning, the type that overwhelms you so that the only single thing that you can think about is the totality of sexual climax happens when all of those intelligences are working simultaneously to transport you into a world that every person has a right to find themselves in.

And this, for me, cannot happen with masturbation. Well, you can be overwhelmed, subsumed by an orgasm, you can feel washed out and delighted by such an orgasm but it is not the same as when there is a concentration of these intelligences working together in the company of another.
As I said, I am no scientist but surely it would be an extremely interesting experiment to see what precisely happens in these differing circumstances.

I could be wrong, I could be naïve but whilst I accept that it is perfectly possible to have a divine orgasm through masturbation or by having sex with someone that you are not emotionally involved with, I am totally convinced that you cannot reach the heights of completeness and utter fulfilment without that connection, without each of the intelligences urging one another on, working collaboratively, intertwining to get the absolute out of mind, body and soul.

Returning to my second bullet point, I can physically get myself to orgasm. I can do it readily and regularly and it is a delight. Yet it takes time. I have to concentrate on the stimulus to transfer the initial thought or trigger into an actual orgasm. Conversely, when he pushes his fingers into my cunt and touches me in exactly the same place, in exactly the same way as I have learned to touch myself, it has a dramatically different effect. It can’t just be down to the physical difference in the size of our fingers or the fact that he has more experience of doing this, although I do not deny that he is more adept at this than me. What actually happens though is that my mind takes me to a different place. My mind is being fucked simultaneously with his fingers sliding further inside me, so that by the time he reaches the special place that triggers a release of sexual juices, I am already thinking, remembering, feeling, adoring, anticipating, desiring, wanting, needing, hoping. And this in turn, with its engagement of all intelligences makes me spunk like nothing on earth. The gushing of the juices is a physical indication of how incredibly aroused I am. I look up and see the utter joy in his eyes and I look down and see what all of this is doing to his awaiting cock and I am fulfilled.
By the time he holds his cock in hand ready to push it inside me, I am so far gone in my sexual arousal that even thinking about him entering me spirals my mind into more excitement, more eager anticipation, so that as soon as he is inside me, I can cum all over his shaft pretty quickly, and feel more juices throbbing out of me, soaking his hard, aroused balls.

Yes, someone really has to do some research on total, fulfilled sex. Maybe it is only when there is a complete acknowledgement of this pinnacle of sexuality that we can persuade people not to settle for second best. I really think people should be far more aspirational about their sexuality but how can they be aspirational if that have no idea as to what they are aspiring to?

This is what we should be telling young people, and we really need people to be far more honest about this link between mind and body fucks. Though of course, this is assuming a few things. Firstly, that people are actually experiencing this glorious sex, and secondly that they have any understanding of the three dimensions of intelligence. Thirdly, there is an assumption that people have the ability to convey this message in a clear and precise way, and one could argue that how can you really convey the uniqueness and the totality of sartorial sex. It truly is indescribable. You have to feel it, experience it, believe in it.

As I said there are plenty of other questions. What makes me more cummy on some days than others? How can I produce more liquid on one day than another when my state of arousal and excitement appear to me to be constant? I simply do not know the answer to this, though I do think that the mere enjoyment of seeing oneself spunk in such quantities seems to trigger a greater arousal, and consequently more spunk – again, an example of where the mind is working hard to ensure you have the very best sexual experience.

And then there’s the vaginal orgasm. Many people believe that is not physically possible to have a vaginal orgasm and that in actual fact, what people think is a vaginal orgasm is in fact a stimulation of the clitoris. I am not knowledgeable enough to know precisely how the clit and vagina connect to answer that one but I do know that there are significant differences in the feeling that overwhelms your body when you have a clitty cum compared with a vaginal cum. Both are wonderful, yet ever so slightly different in the intensity.

However, that is for another piece of research. The point is, dear world, that there is such a thing as a vaginal cum and I had about seven of them consecutively yesterday – or was it just one, long, ongoing orgasm – another piece of research.

And now onto my final point.

I am totally convinced that male dominance is the cause of the inept amount of detailed study into the phenomenon of female sexuality. If only men could open their eyes and realise that having sex with a sexually fulfilled woman would enhance male sexuality beyond their wildest imaginations. Oligarchs, professors, doctors, scientists, powerful people of the world, think about this one. What single act of goodness could the world engage in to make it a better place? When do people feel most satisfied, most natural, most appeased? The answer for most is sex.
Sex as a pacifist tool? Worth thinking about.

If sex can be the calming influence on the world that I think it has the potential of being, then really there should be a very considered approach to looking at it more intently. If males are pacified and absorbed by sex, then surely exploring female sexuality can only make this abundantly better? It really is not a question of either or.
I think that there are some people who are so concerned that telling the truth about the female orgasm would result in a major growth in sexual tools and the man’s dick would not be as needed.
How wrong can you be? Personally, I would have a cock in me whenever possible. I would throw that purple thing away if I could have continual access to a cock and a finger that sends me into oblivion whenever I wanted.

I am being slightly flippant but I do think this is something that should be considered. I believe that people are a little frightened of female sexuality which is why we do not know enough about ejaculations. A fear of the unknown can create all sorts of urban myths and misunderstanding. It can make a woman who cums feel abnormal and a woman who doesn’t cum unsure of what she should be seeking.

Equality in sexuality can make the experience for all so much more rewarding and enjoyable, and we really need to understand female sexuality to enable this to happen.
And here is a little theory. The male orgasm is functional. Without it, we would not be able to procreate. We need that spurt of cum to make us. That is why there are more studies on men’s cum, more acceptance of male masturbation, more understanding of its function. Women’s cum is deemed not to be functional to the same extent. I am now arguing that in a world where we as human beings evolve and continue to do so, then we should look at the function of the female orgasm in a different, evolving way.

It may not have the physical function of procreation. We know that. This is an intellectual fact. But in our recognition of the differing and equal functions of intelligence, surely the female orgasm has an equal place in the world. It may not procreate but it has the potential to be a major participant in the development of human spirituality. Intellect is required. Biological knowledge is necessary but if sex is going to be fulfilling and divine, the mind and soul as well as the body need to function. I would argue that an acknowledgement and understanding of the female orgasm could be a real breakthrough into the development of spiritual intelligence that would deem it to have as much significance as the procreation potential of male sperm.
Okay, I know this needs some work, but it is a starting point for a discussion.

Last night, I was watching Gavin and Stacey, and bizarrely, it gave me a little hope.
There was a section where the two main characters were out house-hunting and they bumped into a couple of lads, one of whom was the glorious and clever James Corbin – whose character is called Smithy.
They were shouting from street level up to a block of flats, and the mate was saying that Smithy was so desperate for sex that he had managed to knock four out in a single evening. Gavin responded to say that he knew because Smithy had text him to say he’d had his fourth productive wank of the evening. Smithy apologised to Stacey, saying that these were not the type of conversations that were appropriate to the ears of a young woman.
Dear Stacey replied. “Don’t worry Smithy, I’m so bored at the moment that I knocked three out just whilst watching ‘Cash in the Attic’”.

Wonderful, The shock and horror on the faces of the three males on the television screen was mirrored by the shock and horror on the faces of the males who were watching it with me!
Admittedly, one of them might not have thoroughly understood what was going on but the others were just a little nonplussed. Meanwhile, I am rolling about in complete hysteria at the delightfulness of this young girl’s frankness about her sexuality.

And it is this that gives me hope. It was delivered in such a matter of fact manner that maybe the younger people of the world are more acknowledging and appreciative of the female orgasm.
Thank goodness that there are the likes of Ruth Jones and James Corbin, writers of distinction, that are prepared to be upfront in a prime slot television programme. And thank goodness the BBC still have people who are not as prudish as some of their recent behaviour has suggested.
It is through normalisation in programmes such as these, that the world can begin to see, begin to question and begin to desire more information about what precisely young Stacey was talking about.

As ever, all of this talk about sex has made me very moist.
Re-reading certain sections has made me extremely aroused. I just hope it does the same for the reader as well as allow a careful consideration and more thought about that very important subject of female sexuality.