A Slap in Frustration

My Dearest Marita:

I hope you don't think it obsessive that I write these chronologies of the budding of our relationship. The human memory will dull over time and I want to recreate as accurately as possible the memories that I have always regarded as some of the most special and tender moments of my life. Please read the following and see if it comports with your memory of that Saturday night we spent together in New Haven.

First, there was Lighthouse Park on the western tip of New Haven Bay that gave us a spectacular view of the Long Island Sound. I felt embarrassed by how unabashedly I let myself feel like a kid again. Goddamit I am 53 years old. I should be thinking about retirement homes and here I am letting my heart soar and tremble like some pimply faced teenager. You made me feel so special and I guess I wasn't sure that would ever happen again.

You read, or should I say tried to, read some you boring enviro books (biodiesel wasn't it) for class but I was such a bad influence and you were constantly distracted by the fact that I could not stop talking about your fingers. How can I find something so mundane so fascinating? I could not stop gently massaging the long sinewy extensions of your hand. A goddamn kid I tell you, what the hell is happening to me.

In any event, we went to dinner at Hot Tomatoes and had a delightful evening. I remember we had our first little tug of war. The Concert in Woolsey Hall was only 4 blocks from the restaurant and you said we could have dinner at 6:00 and still have plenty of time to make the concert at 8:00. The anal retentive side of me thought that that was cutting it too close. I let you win that one and you were of course right. Though I did feel that I was denied the right to gaze upon your lovely countenance as much as I wanted. I tried to make my brain act as one of those cameras in the cell phones. I just kept snapping each time you smiled or laughed or showed frustration that I talked over you and you could not get your point made in the fullness of your expectations.

You were also right about how I would feel walking through the restaurant with you on my arm. You were simply stunning. Though I thought that the waiter took a cheap shot by calling you my daughter. My most enduring memory of the restaurant are the white columns held the second floor up. I have not been to too many multi level restaurants but this one was exquisite.

I am not a classical music fan per se. I don't know a Tchaikovsky from a Bach from a Beethoven. But Mozart's, C Minor Mass is now surely my favorite. It was beautiful and I could not believe how emotional I felt. I wonder whether I am being pulled to reconnect with my Catholic roots.

I felt slightly nauseous as you put the key in the door to your apartment. My stomach was doing cartwheels in anticipation of the rest of the evening.

You put on some music and dimmed the lights. I made us each a screwdriver and we sat on the couch. We were both giddy with joy and anticipation of what the third night of our visit would bring. Tonight the ground rule allowed us to touch each other in any intimate way except that there could be no intercourse. Surprisingly, you gave me a hard time (no pun intended) and fought me for control but I prevailed. I knew that you could not make me do something I refused to do. Nonetheless, I was fascinated at your openness in frankly discussing your interest and your needs. I have never, never had such an honest discussion about sexual need with another human being. Now, here I was discussing it with a woman I lusted (sorry but that is the right word) for for over a decade. After tonight I can die since I have experienced more than one life should be granted.

Part of me did not want to start to undress you because I knew it would be the end of one the loveliest pictures of femininity I had ever witnessed. But your insistent interest in our physical relationship had consumed me with a white hot passion that I am sure my internist would advise against. After our discussion a week ago Saturday night, I vowed not to masturbate and to save myself for our time together. Under normal circumstances, that meant I forwent relieving myself at least twice. But given the frank erotic discussions we have had and the letters I have written I am quite sure I would have found it necessary to top off that pent up anxiety at least 8 or 10 times. Yes I know that would have been excessive but what can I say. You moved me like I had not been moved in years. Indeed, I have even started to wonder if I had ever been moved like this before. This forces me to think that I had been married to a wonderful woman for three decades, she must have moved me in the early years like this. Alas, either memory fails or tragically maybe it never happened.

I was starting to lose my sense of self control so perhaps I rushed through the kissing and hugging and denuding process but my hands were literally shaking in anticipation of giving you carnal pleasure. I congratulated myself on having the discipline to adhere to the ground rules for Thursday and Friday. Thursday no removal of clothes. This led as I hoped to both of us focusing on the art of the kiss and the hug and the caress. I was going to describe that evening but I gave up. Words fail me in describing that first kiss, the first time you lightly bit my bottom lip, or used your tongue to play with my ear lobe. I thought I would explode without any manipulation at all. If I were 25 I am sure I would have, but then maybe I am wrong. Could any 25 year old appreciate the rareness of what was happening? Kissing a woman for the first time after never having done so for 35 years. No, I am sure that the moment I kissed you for the first time could never be appreciated by a 25 year old. Thank God for maturity.

Friday, frankly went off as planned. You were struck by the uniqueness of having your eyes covered while I undressed you and made you feel parts of your body that you did not know existed or made them feel like they had never felt before. You were surprised that we were able to adhere to the ground rule that there could be no genital touching. You even admitted that this forced us to think more creatively about bringing pleasure to parts of the body we would usually not concentrate on. I was so happy that you were able to climax by having your breasts worshipped and tantalized. It made me feel less guilty for putting you though the misery of not being able to directly attend to the part of your body screaming for release.

I will chronicle these evenings at some point but today I want to focus on Saturday.

Finally, you said I think its time we went to the bedroom. You held my hand while you led me to the place where you carried out so many of life's mundane amenities. Yet tonight this room would be transformed into the most special place.

Lest this missive turn into a chapter I will gloss over the preliminaries and get to the most dramatic part of the evening. After completely covering your body in sweet tender kisses and nips and light massage I could tell you were eager to get to what you had long desired but had also been denied for the last two evenings.

I started at your feet and slowly pecked up your long legs. God I have never seen such long legs. I thought they would never end and in some ways I didn't want them to end. I stopped about half way and made love to your left knee. As much as you were enjoying it I could tell that you wanted me to crawl higher. I almost lost it in your thighs. Frankly, I knew I would be with a quintagenarian and I knew I had let myself go and was now in the long process of taking care of myself again. So I had no right to expect taut firm flesh, flesh that any thirty year old would have been proud of. Again I am struck at the fairy tale quality of all this. Did I ever in my wildest imagination believe I would be six inches from a treasure I had fantasized about for so long?

Perhaps I was rushing it but these ground rules had had their intended effect of building and building to a level of anticipation that neither us had ever before experienced. So perhaps I can be forgiven for being as eager to experience the most private of a woman's charms. As a guy we are supposed to be renowned for separating the emotional from the physical dimensions of sex. Pussy is pussy right? I guess I fail as a guy. Because this was not just another opportunity to get off. Perhaps it is sacrilegious so forgive me if I offend you, but this was closer to a religious experience than to a sex act. I knew you had been with other men but in my heart I knew you wanted in some way to give of yourself in a way that you had never given to another. I was brought to tears by your intent that we should share a specialness that you would promise never to give to another man. Thank you for that moment.

I am struck by how we were both caught up in a juxtaposition between the emotional and the physical. Yes we both wanted to get on to orgasm and pleasure but we both recognized that it was important to acknowledge and relish the dimension that did not want this to be about sex. Somehow in all our clumsy attempts, we succeeded. We created a night of passion and physicality but also entered each other's souls and took a piece of each other away from the encounter.

So I traveled those last six inches to nirvana. With all the staging that had been set both tonight and the last two nights, it was not surprising that you had aroused easily. Even before touching you, I could see a glisten on the outer edge. My first instinct was to lick it off, but I thought better of it. I first put my nose to within a millimeter of your seam and inhaled deeply. I know women can be self conscious about their smell but if they knew how instant the intoxication of the fragrance of sexual arousal was it would literally end the world as we know it. Injudiciously used by women, men would be reduced to worse than junkies and bums hanging out in alleys waiting for the next whiff. Thank God women are so much smarter and forward looking than we walking penises are. You use your power to inspire us to create, achieve, conquer, organize, manage, all to the betterment of the world.

I rested my head on your left thigh and just basked in the heat emanating from the place where you had given two people life. Time, Time, why is she such a jealous mistress. I could have waited days just smelling and being warmed by the radiation of your essence. But I knew we both wanted to get on with the show. You were eager enough that you gently caressed my head and started to introduce it to your entrance. I could feel the insistence in your fingers pulling me as I resisted your entreaties. You pulled harder and I resisted further. It became painful, you were pulling some hairs. But it was a most delicious sensation because it was borne of the knowledge that I was arousing you and creating desire that is oh so rare. I enjoy how much you are in touch with your physical needs. You demand that you be satisfied and you fight me for control. I love it.

Finally, I relent. I let the tip of my tongue drag from the bottom of your slit of your outer lips to the top as if climbing Everest. Again I can tell that you wish I just dive in and get the job done. But you know how important it is for me to be deliberate in making love to a woman I admire. I did not have the good sense to care the first time. He shoots, he scores. A blur. You know I want to savor it the first second time, realizing now the value of the extraordinary gift you are giving me. Thank you for being patient with me.

Eventually, I reach up with my fingers and gently pull your lips apart and it takes my breath away. You can see a thousand vaginas on the internet in all their glory. But there is nothing like gazing on the beauty of a woman that you are connecting with on so many different levels. Again I am moved to compare this moment to those rare moments when we think we can feel that maybe just maybe we have been in God's presence. We have felt the flood of emotion when for just a moment we think we can feel what all-encompassing unselfish love feels like. I have only felt that connection to God maybe three times in my life, but it is enough so that I can compare it to that first moment I was introduced to your petals.

I got to work. I sampled the taste of the internal folds of both outer lips. I am feeling feint from the sheer intoxication of your taste and smell. I want to just reach out immediately and introduce the tip of my tongue to the pearl peeking out at the top of your lips. I knew how exquisite and electric the moment would be and that it would bring you immense pleasure. Why do I find it so erotic to postpone giving you that pleasure? I can tell I am testing your patience. That's as it should be.

I allow myself the pleasure of tracing the architecture of the darker richer inner lips. Normally the guardians of the fort, they seem now to be telegraphing permission to enter, and quickly at that. Again you take my head in your hands and gently let me know that I have your consent to push further in my exploration. What a prick I am? I know I have been tormenting you and yet I continue to resist your invitation. We play tug of head for another minute and then I relent. I allow my tongue to challenge the liquid barrier it faces at the entrance to what makes you a woman. I taste and it is nectar. The finest juice flowing down my chin from the sweetest fruit I have ever tasted is like the taste of battery acid compared to what I now experience. Sweet, sour, salt, bitter, all the dimensions of taste in one concoction. How is it possible for the tongue to differentiate all these in a single lap of your flow?

I feel your vagina contract at the introduction of my tongue. I am not sure but you may have had a small climax but it might have just been an involuntary response to the invasion, gentle as it was. But I throw caution to the wind and extend my tongue as deeply as it can go. Please kill me now. This is how I want to die. No moment has ever felt so blissful. I continue to taste and probe at the lower regions for what seems like hours. Then I start the journey north. Again I pay attention to the inner guardians of the treasure and they are appreciative but dutifully signal that I must go farther and travel faster. The master is demanding attention. I acknowledge my obligation and bid the guardians adieu. Having only been intimate with one other vulva, I am surprised that the pearl is not quite where I expect it to be. For the second time in two days I marvel at the mystery of differences. I allow my tongue to rest just below its destination, finding the distance I must travel interesting.

I steel myself for the final attack. I lightly glide around the left edge and again I feel the jerk of contraction at the first touch of my tongue to the nub. But the touch is only fleeting and does not stimulate more that 1 % of the thousands of nerve endings that come together in an organ that has only one function. There is no other godly reason for the clitoris than to give sexual pleasure to a woman. How can we not believe God is a woman? Could any man invent so perfect a mechanism for transmitting pleasure? My only question is why did God hide it and hood it so some clumsy men go a lifetime without ever finding it. I thank God that he gave me enough brains and interest to learn everything I could about this little button. Get ready this is an important statement and I apologize for telegraphing it but this is how profound I think it is. There is no act more intimate to me than having my tongue fully engulf the clit. I can feel the electric impulse that courses through a woman's body and connects my soul to hers through my tongue. Why did God put so many nerve endings in man's penis? It preordains that he will concentrate on feeding the beast between his legs. I guess God's plan is that he will allow the disciplined, the curious, the committed, that special pleasure that comes at the moment when the tongue ignites the deepest passion in a woman by attending to the place where all the forces in the universe collide. I thank God I am one of the lucky ones.

But then why don't I just stab at the target and let you experience the deep pleasure of a mind blowing orgasm. I know I can take you there in the next half minute and yet I don't. I can feel the urgency in the way your thighs are squeezing my head, the way your finger are grasping the back of my head trying to pull me into your essence, the way your abdominal muscles are quivering in response to the increasing tightening of your torso as we climb the peak of exhilaration.

Finally, you try to speak but you realize your mouth is completely dry. You summon up some spittle so you can moisten your lips to speak your urgency. Shockingly, you use the form of my name that I consider the transition from the formal to the intimate, "Davey, please stop teasing me, bring me over the top, please." I am overcome with guilt. I have put you through the hell of building ecstasy and you have been more than reasonable in allowing me to play my games and live my fantasies. I know that you deserve the joy that I could bring you in just the next 15 seconds. But I am so self-centered. I want to deny myself that special feeling that will come at the culmination of my mission just a little longer. That means you must suffer on my account.

I feel your hands almost violently pulling me to your core, demanding relief. It now has nothing to do with experiencing sexual ecstasy. Now it has become the administration of pain relief. Fuck a climax, just give me my fix, I can hear you silently pleading. But I know this may be the most erotic moment of my life and I want it to last so I continue to withhold satisfaction. "Please David, I am serious please stop fooling around. I am twitching like a fucking cat caught on an electric wire, please finish me, finish me now." You are sure your pleading will be met with my willingness to end your suffering. I can feel your whole body relax in the knowledge that that moment that enriches life oh so infrequently is mere moments away. You close our eyes you release your hands from my head. You relax the tension in your thighs and you wait for that blessed moment. And you wait. Any you wait. I continue to play around the edges and then you can feel me start to move south. Though only a millimeter removed from your desire's center, it feels like I have moved a mile away. You realize that I am still playing my games and serving my own needs. I hear you call my name as if you want to ask me a question. I lift me head and look at you and I didn't even see it coming. I just felt its sting. Those long sensuous fingers that only hours ago I was caressing, are now the leading phalanx in the administration of justice. You slap me harder than I have ever been slapped. "You selfish bastard, how can you do this to me."

The moment is cathartic. I am shocked and mortified. But you are right. How could I have been so cruel? You start to weep both because you are frustrated beyond human endurance and because you feel terrible at the loss of control and the pain you have caused. I start to tear up at the seriousness of the moment. I crawl into your arms and hold you tighter than I have ever held another human being. We let the moment pass and we both calm down. I apologize for my insensitivity yet secretly I am gratified that I have pushed you to a limit that neither of us had known existed. But I privately promise to try never to do it again. I can tell that I am forgiven when I look in your eyes. You have already realized that I hold no grudge for giving me what I deserve. While a painful moment, we realize it marks a new milestone in our relationship. I kiss you deeply in appreciation for your understanding and forgiveness. I half expect a perfunctory kiss from you and indeed I feel your hesitation. But you quickly transition and I feel you relax and give yourself to the moment. I am delighted that we have reestablished our rhythm.