Is it true that the most erotic organ in the human body is the brain? Some pundit must have arrived at this revelation decades, if not a century, ago, and perhaps it's a valid conclusion. Yet, it appears as though researchers in psychology have spent so much time investigating and decomposing data that they have somehow precluded the innate ability we all should have to appreciate the excitement, the pleasure and the simple enjoyment of sex itself. Whatever happened to fantasy and the fulfillment thereof?
These heavy and heady thoughts were circling my brain like airplanes in a holding pattern as I was enjoying coaxing a cock to deliver its cherished cargo to the landing strip of my tongue. (Granted, an obtuse metaphor, but it is truly amazing how one's actions can so dissociate with one's thoughts.)
I had not had a relationship with a man in months, perhaps a longer stretch in my life than ever before. Here though, I was not in a relationship with this man, just having relations. Besides, he was half my age. What was I doing?
Clearly, I knew exactly what I was doing: I was slowly and forcefully making firm ovals with my tongue just underneath his balls, getting tickled by their hair, separating them with the bridge of my nose. It was a pleasure to be doing this and I was really looking forward to him coming in my mouth for the second time that afternoon. Admittedly, that didn't happen the way I had expected, but what did was even more entertaining and enjoyable.
Three things surprised me that afternoon: First was the information I discovered about this young man's sexual fantasies. Second and even more thrilling, given his quite average appearance, was his possession of an extraordinary sexual gift. Third, like an internal swat upside the head, I could not figure out how I could have gone without sex for so long.
Come One
But I'm getting ahead of myself, so let me provide some background. My name is Carol. This past summer I began taking college classes, something I'd begun regularly over the years but rarely completed. Now, at the age of, well... I know it's a poor attempt at self-deception, but it's easier for me to say simply that I was born in 1955. I'm height-weight proportionate. I work out every day diligently and rigorously. (What is this? I sound like I'm writing an on-line dating ad. Sheesh.) And, if I may say so myself, I know that many assume I'm in my mid, all right, late thirties. Personally, I'm flattered when it's assumed I'm still forty-something. A little neurotic? OK. But, bottom line: I'm not unattractive. (I'm proud to say that I have already learned in my Speech class that that's an example of "litotes." And I haven't even completed my first semester!)
For years it's been clear that I needed to get a college degree, but somehow it was never possible. Recently I made it a personal mandate and enrolled in a local college. I just finished my first semester, my grades were good, and I feel much more self-confident than I did when I began.
Murphy, the fellow whose hair was tickling my nose, was in one of my classes. He and I, as well as some other students have been studying together in the library. Today, after an early morning test he asked me if I'd like to join him for a cup of coffee.
It was a pleasant surprise, but a bit of a shock in light of our generational disparity. (This was more comfortable to tell myself this than, "What are you? Nuts? You're old enough to be his mother!") Nevertheless, I was quite flattered by this young man's invitation. He's in his mid-twenties and, while neither handsome nor terribly well built, he was appealing and, from my experience in this class, pretty sharp. He was always supportive of other students and had a warmth about him that summoned me.
After the exam I needed to track down and speak to another professor, though. He told me he wanted to go work out to relieve some stress and we decided to hook up in a few hours at a coffee shop a block from campus.
When I arrived he'd actually set a table near the fireplace with a tablecloth and candles. It looked so incongruous in a Starbucks, but I was delighted. He got up when I came in and helped me into my seat. For a twenty-five year-old, or actually for any man, all of this was a generous and appreciated gesture.
"So, Murphy, do you do this for all of your dates?" I kidded him, sipping my cappuccino, and, for the first time in several long days and nights of studying, feeling peaceful and enjoying myself.
"Can I be honest with you, Carol? I am more than a bit intimidated by you. I mean, I know I'm probably too young for you. And, you are a woman with such class I didn't even know if you simply 'had coffee,'" he replied.
"Well, I am flattered that you pulled out all the stops. I've never seen such an elegant table setting – in a Starbucks."
Fifteen minutes drifted into an hour. It began to storm outside and our cozy mid-day table by the fireplace was just the thing I needed to relax and forget about the pressures of school.
As I sat there enjoying this much younger man's attention I realized that I hadn't had sex in months, not since the spring, before I moved to this mid-sized town to focus on my education. As far as I knew Murphy was unattached and I began to wonder what it might be like to suck his cock.
Perhaps I should explain something: I'm a cockswoman. Without boring the reader with the details, I love cocks. I enjoy seeing them, touching them, playing with them, feeling them on my skin and inside of me. But even more exciting for me is when they come. And here, for me, it's the event itself. I get off on the male orgasm. Watching the cock of a man who hasn't come in days explode and shoot high up in the air is exciting, but so is simply watching a man who's already had a couple of orgasms in an evening create just a tad more of that lovely white juice for an encore.
You see, as much as I am fascinated by the male orgasm – so much so that I almost always climax watching a penis come – I think it's the semen that has the unique appeal. (The proof being in the product of the pounding of the pud. (Can anyone say, "The chalice from the palace has the brew that is true?")) Its unique smell, its oily texture, its shiny whiteness, and especially the slightly salty and tingly taste, are all part of my love affair with the male climax.
