As a male, I've always found my orgasms to be largely disappointing for the fact that they are over quickly and are pretty much just a one-off.
Biologically, it makes sense, given that the purpose of sex is reproduction, and that all the pleasures involved exist to ensure animals actually bother to do it.
In the wild, engaging in sex puts you in a very vulnerable position, so the males typically needed to get in, deposit their seed, and get out so no one ended up dead.
It's unfortunate that a lot of men are in it just for the explosion, or worse, the conquest, but it's understandable.
I have long envied females for their ability to experience prolonged pleasure and repeated orgasms. I've heard men can do it as well, but I'm skeptical of what they are actually experiencing.
There have been times, when after the explosion, I have, for lack of a better description, lightly convulsed in smaller waves of sensory pleasure, but I don't consider that to be part of the orgasm.
Because of the general disappointment of even the best ones, masturbating has been largely utilitarian for me; usually as a relaxation technique to sleep better.
When it came to the prospects of sex in a relationship, I never really thought too much of what she would be doing to me, but instead about what I would be doing to her, or perhaps, more importantly, for her.
Even the individual porn videos that I liked best, regardless of type, were the ones where the woman was clearly very much enjoying it, and not just faking it.
In as much as I did long to feel Jennifer wrapped around my shaft, it was something that I could wait for. The physical pleasure would be relatively mild without my mind supporting it.
It needed purpose. It needed awareness. It needed to stand on the shoulders of her mental and physical pleasure in order to reach the heights of its potential.
I needed to know that she was enjoying whatever we were doing as much as I was, because, otherwise, I might as well just be alone, jerking off.
It was early fall and a very lazy weekend. We were both laying on my bed playing games on our phones. We were well into that stage where it didn't matter what we were individually doing, just as long as we were together.
As usual, she was on my side of the bed, but had her legs crossed and resting on my pillow. She wore sweatpants with a snug, cotton tank top.
I was laying a bit lower down the bed than one normally would. I wore a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that had never once seen the inside of a gym.
I think that on a subconscious level, we were wanting our heads to be as near each other as we could, while still being in the opposite positions. We were both on our backs with our biceps aligned.
I had apparently been engrossed in my game enough that, even out of my periphery, I did not notice that she had put her phone down.
What broke my concentration was the sound of a short, high moan, so I moved my arms enough to be able to see her face, to find out what was the matter.
She was looking at me with eyes that drifted in and out of focus. Her right arm was straight down, I could see its muscles in constant movement.
I realized that there was something wonderful happening beyond the top of my head, but I did not move to confirm my suspicions.
Instead, I just watched her face.
She tried to keep her focus on my eyes, but it was a futile objective.
It was a beautiful display of rolling eyes, fluttering lids, lips either parting or being delicately chewed, but her eyes always returned to mine in between.
I mindlessly set my phone aside, and she shifted her free arm over mine allowing our fingers to entwine.
Almost immediately, her intensity increased. I could feel her hips moving.
There was an orchestra of breaths and moans and little whines serving as a perfect soundtrack to her ever-changing expressions.
She pulled my hand to bite the knuckle of my middle finger, not quite hard enough to hurt.
She squeezed my fingers tighter as her breathing hastened further, gasping for air after moans, and her hips bobbed.
A single, shuddering exhalation carried a small yelp. She inhaled sharply then let out a prolonged moan that vibrated throughout my hand before she released her bite.
When everything inside her calmed, she looked into my eyes, and I almost wanted to cry. I don't know what could have been a greater gift.
She released my hand and reached across me, wrapping her fingers around the back of my head, and guided me to sit up with my face hovering over hers.
Her fingers on the back of my jaw, her thumb traced my lower lip once before gently tugging it downward. My mouth opened slightly.
Her eyes moved between mine and my mouth. Her own lips indicated apprehension. She wanted to kiss me, but it wasn't time.
A calm spread on her face, and then her other hand appeared.
Her wet fingers traced my lips once and then entered. The second her fingertip hit my tongue, I closed my mouth, gladly accepting her sweet offering. It was divine to me.
In that moment, she was a goddess who had just bestowed upon me her highest blessing.
She slowly withdrew her fingers, ensuring that I could retain as much of her as I could, and then her hand hovered off to the side.
There was no thought. My eyes closed, my head lowered, and my lips were pressing against hers for the first time.
We regretted nothing, but still we kissed as if we were making up for lost time. Every kind of kiss we'd ever seen or heard described, and maybe some that were new, we gave to each other.
Passion eventually turned to play, and for an hour all we cared about were lips, cheeks, eyelids, noses, chins, ears and foreheads, but then we began to sense passion's return.
She held my head few inches from hers and said, "We should probably drink some water," and she was right. I noticed that I was rather thirsty.
"Yeah," I said, "Climb on," I told her, then turned to let her wrap her arms and legs around me from behind. I stood up off the bed and carried her into the kitchen to refresh ourselves with a shared bottle of water.
She kissed my cheek from over my shoulder while I took a few swallows, and then hopped down to take some of her own.
I turned to face her and kissed her neck as she drank. Gripping her hips, I guided her to the fridge and put her back against it.
When she had as much water as she wanted, she screwed on the cap and returned to kissing, clumsily setting the bottle on the countertop nearby.
I moved my body closer, pressing into hers. I savored the roundness of her breasts against me. I slipped one of my legs between hers, applying pressure to both of our groins with each other's thigh.
I cupped her buttocks, massaging and squeezing, noticing that I felt no indication of panties.
I moved a hand up her back, feeling a bra clasp. I had to change that.
Still kissing, I pulled us away from the fridge, turned us around, and I guided her to the edge of the sink.
I slowed my kisses as I moved them down the side of her neck. As I reached her clavicle, I pulled the shoulder strap of her tank top off of her shoulder.
I kissed along her collarbone until I came to her bra strap, and then bit it between my teeth.
As I pulled the strap upward to make it taunt, I reached for the serrated pairing knife in the knife block.
Unable to see what I was doing, she let out a gasp at the sudden release of the tension after the thin strap was cut in a single motion.
I kissed my way over to the other side, pulled the tank top's shoulder off, and clench the other bra strap between my teeth.
I pulled my head back as far as I could, holding that position while looking her in the eyes. I calmly passed the knife between us, partly for caution, but also to give her a clear, deliberate view of my actions.
I sliced through the strap, waited a second, and then released it from my teeth.
I moved in for another kiss, setting the knife on the counter, and then ran the fingers of my right hand up her back, beneath her tank top and pinched the clasp of her bra.
