Monday, May 21, 2012

The Multi-Orgasmic Man

The environment was impressively well-curated with tasteful prints, a small, respectable library of vintage hardcover volumes by Foucault and Vonnegut among others, curious accoutrements such as brass knuckles, motorcycle mufflers, animal skulls, attractive yet masculine jewelry, and an antique Turkish throw woven from goat hair. However, I wasn't paying attention to any of this as his low growls drove me wild.
"Oh, I'm so... yeah... I'm reaching... orgasm..." 
My hand slick with spit was working hard as I writhed and purred from the reciprocation of his hands.
"Yes, cum..."
Following were a series of grunts that sounded something like:
"No, I'm not cumming, I'm orgasming..." 
A deep moan, a slight spasm, barely a second of rest, then he flipped me onto my back and kissed me deeply as he continued to pet my body. His hands and his lips were searching insatiably across me and he was somehow still hard.
"Are you... do you... practice tantra?" 
He couldn't possibly... The man reeked of cooked bacon.
"I've already orgasmed four times."
He was still ready for more. Love drunk, I stroked his beard as he grinned widely.
"You know, I think within the last fifteen minutes we've done six different positions..."
I smiled as I pushed him back and climbed on top.
"Variety is the spice of life." 

I hadn't planned on staying over that night. It was only our third date and I had counted on leaving him wanting more, of being a "lady." Bacon was a gentleman indeed, treating me very sweetly and promenading me around the Mission district arm in arm.  As my friend put it when I recounted the tale to her:
"He gentleman'd his way right into your pants." 

I sat on his lap as we smooched, my tiny shorts revealing the entirety of my legs. He pet them softly and kissed me tenderly. After what seemed to be an eternity of sweetly innocent making out, I stood, wavering in my heels and I picked up my purse.
"I should get going."
The man stood tall at 6'4" but he looked me straight in the eyes as he slowly took the purse out of my hand and laid it on the ground. With the slow assurance of a man seven years my senior, he carefully picked me up and gently laid me on his large bed. I felt like a precious thing, a fragile bird: he had been so careful not to hurt me. Then he placed a hand around my neck with gentle but firm pressure. He ordered me softly:
"You're not going anywhere. Are you?"

Like it spicy? Then you'll love this post set in Istanbul: Snapshots.
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  1. Like a princess.

    That's copyright.

    Damn SF.

    1. Princesses were not mentioned, sweet thang, that can be yours.
      But why don't you come here and teach me a lesson anyway?

  2. Bacon is delicious.

    I'm very confused.

    1. Bacon IS delicious. I suppose I normally associate tantra with chai spice. So I guess I've got to *open my mind* to the sexual qualities of pork belly...