Monica Geller would never allow, or tolerate, Chandler touching another woman. Kissing was cheating. Watching porn was borderline. Masturbation was disloyal, but forgivable. Monica made her parameters known over time as part of normal conversation. Chandler was saved the need to enquire whether there might be a threesome or swapping in their future.
Chandler was very male. He was a problem-solver. He approached cunnilingus as a skill he wished to become expert at. He found that reading on the subject, or watching porn, did not help him. All that mattered was what turned Monica Geller on. Anything else was a waste of time and energy.
Monica wanted rapid, yet soft, licking of her clitoris. That's it. He encouraged her to coach him, and her preference was so simple that he mastered it easily. Beyond that, the only improvement he could make would be to do it more frequently. There was no realistic limit to how often he might do it. He tried to maintain at least equality between her fellatio and his cunnilingus.
Chandler knew he was lucky to have Monica. He loved her. In addition, she was beautiful and sexy, a real trophy. Here, early in their relationship, it was difficult for Chandler to foresee a day when he would become bored of sex with Monica. He read and heard that boredom was inevitable, but he wasn't buying it, not yet.
Monica gave Chandler a very private, personal gift. A Kama Sutra. The version she gave Chandler had high quality photos of each position, a brief explanation of the position, and a checkbox to record accomplishment of the maneuver. Monica was anal retentive, driven, and competitive. The moment Chandler unwrapped the book, Monica seized control of it, determined to fill out every checkbox in record time. Chandler thought he had died and gone to heaven. He soon learned that his true destination was in the basement, and very hot.
Monica naturally wanted to do the 104 positions in order, and not repeat any until all had been completed. Chandler immediately saw trouble, "Honey, most of these positions are pretty exotic, or difficult. We would have to have sex 104 times, of which only a few times would be remotely normal sex. That would drive us crazy. Let's go through, and fill out the ones we've already done."
Monica was appalled, "That would be cheating, Chandler! We didn't have the book, then."
Chandler negotiated, "Well, if we choose carefully, we could probably knock out six or so in each session."
Monica looked at Chandler like he was insane, "Chandler, dear, you cannot come six or so times in one session, much less in every session."
"You mean, we have to complete the action for each position? This will take forever. So, I have to come for it to count? Do you?"
Monica thought that Chandler was being naïve, "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. It's bad luck to denigrate the Kama Sutra."
Chandler was pretty sure that there was no curse for bad-mouthing the book, but he needed to choose his battles. "Monica, let's make this fun. Pick one at random, and we'll do it right now. Maybe I can do two tonight."
Monica closed her eyes and selected number 14, "The Cross." It looked pretty simple. They got naked, climbed into bed, and referred to the book. Monica lays on her back and folds up one leg, knee pointing up. Chandler straddles the extended leg, and holds the folded leg.
Monica had little difficulty assuming the position. Chandler found that the folded leg was between him and his target zone. Her foot sought to occupy the position on his body that he customarily reserved for his cock and balls. Not wishing to displace them, Chandler referred back to the photo and description in the book.
For one thing, Monica could not fold her leg up like the teen acrobat in the photographs. He had another dilemma that he didn't want Monica to know about. With her hips positioned in this way, and him keeling, and her leg in between, he estimated that his cock would have to be 12 inches long just to hit paydirt.
Chandler pleaded, "Monica, we can't do this one. Let's do them in order of difficulty. That way, we can build up to the hardest ones." He flipped through the book. "Here, number 17, 'The Toad.' It's just the missionary position. Open your receiving department, and I'll deliver the goods."
Monica had become inured to Chandler's jokes. A year ago, she would have thrown him out for saying that. Monica fell onto her back, knees comfortably bent, and legs spread. All Chandler had to do was hit the bullseye with his arrow and come inside. Chandler's aim was true.
Soon, Chandler was inside, laying on top of her. He happily pumped in and out. She accelerated his march to orgasm with her dirty talk. She whispered in his ear, "You're fucking me! You're fucking me! I can feel you inside me. You're pumping it in and out. Oh, my God. Bang me! Fuck me! Pound me! Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!"
