Warning: This post contains adult themes that might not be safe for your work environment.
There were definite limits to our relationship. She never wanted me to ask detailed questions about her family. She hated ordering food over the phone and taking her car in for maintenance — so if those things needed to be done, I had to do them. And she didn’t mind if I found other women attractive, but she always wanted to be the one to raise the topic first.
Yet one thing in our relationship was always unlimited: She would let me go down on her at absolutely any time I wanted to.
I was careful not to abuse this extraordinary privilege. When we were simply driving somewhere or standing in line for a movie, I usually managed to keep my bubbling desire down to a simmer. But whenever we were at home or just alone, if lusty feelings began to overwhelm me, she was always happy to let me wrap my hands around her hips and start kissing between her legs.
In the rest of our relationship, there was plenty of communication. In fact she was an outstanding talker; I miss that quite a bit too. But in this one area of our relationship, I liked the fact that there was almost no talking. No negotiation, no halfheartedness. Just her pushing those full hips up to me, and her gentle guiding hand on my head. Immediate, shared, tacit understanding. And desire. Always desire.
The thing about this act is, it’s so incomparably intimate. You want so desperately to go slowly, because there’s so much going on and there’s no way for her to hide anything from you. Every shudder and tremor of her body becomes available to you. And all of those delicious quiverings get communicated to you through the highly sensitive tissues of your own mouth and tongue and lips. It might start for her as something that’s just happening in one spot — but soon her whole body begins to respond to the resulting sensations. Those sensations quickly expand to envelop her, threatening to overwhelm her altogether. Her hands clutch a pillow or the bedframe or your own hand; her knuckles whiten; her gasps begin to sound like music — rough, rhythmic, powerful music. Urgent music. The beautiful crescendo: mezzo-forte… forte… fortissimo… SFORZANDO!
She gave me extensive hints. In fact she gave me outright instructions sometimes, about how to proceed. Afterwards, I mean. No matter how strongly she responded to my efforts, there was always more I could possibly try. More humming; more gentleness; a caress; more variable suction; another caress. It was all worth trying. A single trick might wind up unlocking vast new fields of sensation for her. I would have tried anything. Enthusiastically. With pleasure.
If you’re a man, then ejaculating with your partner is nice, all right — there’s no doubt about that. But you can also find semi-close substitutes for that activity, and some of them can be nearly adequate: Stroking yourself off, to porn if necessary, or cavorting with skilled sex workers. However, nothing can come close to replacing that tremendous feeling of giving, when you’re going down on your partner. When I was with her in that way, I always felt powerful, unstoppable, unlimited — like nothing could possibly exhaust all the love I had to give her. That’s the feeling I miss most of all.
Photo by Sarah Braun via Flickr.
