In the continual pursuit for it, I’ve realized that it’s all about letting it go. Letting it ALL go. When I can simply pull the plug on my thoughts, expectations and anticipation and let everything swirl down the drain – it happens. Chasing it down, having a goal and being success-driven misses the point entirely. It’s all about enjoying the process. And when it does come, it comes BIG. I am, of course, talking about the elusive female orgasm. The one that is not supposed to have a biological purpose but because women do, it has puzzled scientists (who must be all men). The elusivity of my own, however, has puzzled me in recent months. After a huge emotional break up seven months ago, I’ve been chasing the big O like some pursue double chocolate cheese cake. What I’ve discovered is that when my mind is not ready – my body is not ready either. One cannot act without consent from the other. A shame really, when men can so easily divide up the connection with ease. Jumping into bed with a stranger will never bring about the desired results for me…and I end up mentally chasing something that won’t physically exist until I let go the chase and bring my mind and body together for the event. Being in love, helps. So, finally, and with regularity, I am coming! Coming instead of chasing. After more than 15 years of being sexually active, I’ve figured out a little bit more about me.
Lying awake in bed at night, Friday night, alone and horny is the definition of what it means to be single. But at least I am able to take care of myself when I need to. It’s a gaurantee. LIving in an overpriced studio apartment, that’s another definition of single. Single serving meals, single “tax” on travel, single seats at the movie theatre. All of these define what it means to be a woman alone in the world. And most times I am happy to be that person. But last night my shower curtain fell down. And I couldn’t get it back up. It was then that I realized I need a man! I couldn’t fix the damn thing and I couldn’t take a shower. Arrg…the single life – this is when I need a man the most! Good for several reasons, men are the best at fixing things that fall, hauling up heavy groceries, cleaning out the gutters and maintaining the car. This is when I need a man most. It’s better to be two sometimes. It’s easier. And the cold November nights seem a little less lonely.
Over a boiling pot of oil and while making sure the samosas weren’t about to burn, IndiaLove and I had the most incredible sex. What is it about food and distraction that makes making love so much more delectable? It must have something to do with the urgency, the heat of the situation and the thought that you really should be concentrating your attention elsewhere. Sexing it up when you’re not suppose to is fun, dangerous and erotic – even when it’s in your own kitchen deep frying samosa! Somewhere between the passionate kissing, the turning over of the samosas and the pulling off of our clothes, we managed to make not only a dozen fantastic little snacks but also some spontaneous love.
Masturbating. It seems to be the only way to guarantee me an orgasm these days. I’m not entirely sure what is going on in bed with my partner but it doesn’t always figure me into the picture of orgasmic release. I’m enjoying the sex we have, but it always ends the same way – his orgasm and not mine. I’m not so sure he’s confident in the art of “being there” or even in the art of any kind of subtle seduction. He just “goes for it”. Hands and fingers right into the honey pot without even licking the lid first. Too direct. Not enough eroticism. For me, that is. For him – that’s all he needs. A whiff of potential and then it’s all over. I have to wonder what I am not communicating. “Slow down” seems to be fairly straightforward. He is like an eager little puppy that piddles at the first sight of the leash. I may be forced to take this Indian Retriever back to Listening to Commands 101. In the mean time, as he rolls over and sleeps my own fingers and fantasies go to work. Satisfaction 100% guaranteed.
Saturday night was supposed to be my night – the whole evening was promised to be dedicated to my sexual pleasure alone…and how I was looking forward to it! I was told I could use him has I wished – he would be my slave for the evening as he was going to take Viagra to guarantee everything would be up and ready. But after five glasses of red wine, not even the Viagra could cut through the vino buzz. I was ready to go, as five glasses of anything only serves to, well…, serve me but not so him. He came in about two seconds and fell asleep – without a smile, a hard-on, or a satisfied partner! The expectation of a great evening dissipated into great disappointment that not even medical science could have remedied.
I’ve never really understood why guys find coming all over their partner’s breasts such an incredible turn on, but it does seem to be quite a popular way to unload. When IndiaLove (aka my tall Indian lover) told me he wanted to B his L on my Ts (Bust his Load on my Tits), I wasn’t sure whether to be offended, flattered, turned on or grossed out. I’ve never really been propositioned in such a way, but that could be due to the fact the my As never garnered much sexual attention. My DoubleDs however, demand it (they turn me on for godsake!) Complying with his request because I’m adventurous and kind of kinky, I realized, as he straddled my chest and began to indulge in some seriously intense self-love, that as he was finding the whole experience totally erotic, I was, too. And what else to do when your lover is kneeling over top of you, cock in hand, completely engaged and engorged by the whole ordeal than to reach down and have a go at yourself! Hello, Mutual Masturbation! Sex is great in all of its wonderful diversions! Having my hands busy, made his own work harder, and just as I was getting warmed up – he sprinted ahead and crossed the finish line. Fuck! Isn’t that always the way? I wish I could just pull it out and orgasm within 30 seconds. This however, seems to be almost an entirely male trait. Perhaps if men grew a pair of tits, women might be so inclined to B their own Ls all over their man’s Ts!
After two months of hard core trying, it happened! And OMG – it was worth the wait (well, almost)! A combination of dirty talk, the right place, the right pressure and the fact that I finally admitted to myself how much I actually cared for my lover brought the religion out of me for the first time in a long while. Thinking back on my whole bank of sexual experiences (I’ve had a lot) I can’t seem to recall ever having an orgasm with a one night stand, a friend with benefits or somebody I didn’t really love. It took me two whole months to sort out my feelings for my tall Indian lover – coincidentally, it took the same amount of time to “reach my peak of desire”. But having climbed that fence once, I’m now running free in the field on the other side! Contrary to popular belief (mine included) my lover needn’t be hung like a water buffalo to satisfy his darling. Coming had more to do with how I felt about him rather than how he felt inside of me. The physically stuff is great – no misunderstandings, but the spiritual, the mental, the untouchable aspect of having sex, or in my case making love, is when the amazing things happen. And like just like anyone who has had a religious experience, I’m now a confirmed believer: size is not all that matters!
Apparently, not only vitamins run the length of the alphabet – cup sizes do, too! I was so happy to finally lose the 1950s-era support garment that I’d been given to wear after the surgery. And what better way to celebrate than to take my two beautiful new twins shopping for lingerie! Into my favourite bra and underwear store I strode. Excited at the prospect of being able to finally fill a proper bra! Anxious to see how they really looked under some sexy lace, I chose all the prettiest C cups I could find and sashayed into the heavily velveted change room. Off with the clothes, on with the first bra – a fun hot pink swirl. Sitting directly on the tops of my nipples and not much else, I quickly came to the conclusion that a C might be too small. I smirked with guilty pleasure and shouted (in my head) ,”I am the proud owner of Ds!” Second time into the damask room, but armed with the next size up – and the biggest the store sold. As I struggled to do up the clasp behind me, I realized that this cup didn’t quite fit properly, either. Since when was a bra supposed to resemble the Golden Gate Bridge spanning two mountains! I stared into the mirror in disbelief. What happens when you don’t fit the largest size the store makes? Does the brassiere alphabet stop at D? I whisked myself past all the cute little colourful pushups that I would never fit again and found the nearest salesgirl. “Where do you shop if you are larger than a D cup?”, I asked in desperation. She pointed across the street, “Over there, at the speciality shop.
One hour, 2 bras and 264CAD later, I was fully aware just how far down the alphabet bras sizes go. I will never regret the choice to “go big”, I will however, have to adjust my budget to accommodate my brand new Es!
5 weeks into a relationship shouldn’t see tears or hear phrases like, “I thought you loved me”. Yikes. 5 weeks into a relationship shouldn’t be about discussing the first name of a child, where you want to spend your retirement years or what it would be like if his mother came to live with us. I’m not sure when the fast forward was hit, but speeding along at Mach3 is making me anxious, tense and a wee bit nauseous. I like my tall Indian, but I’m not ready to jump into the marriage/kids/mortgage ring with this guy just yet. Call me crazy, but 5 weeks in is just a little too soon. I’m still figuring him out. And wondering if I like what I’m finding! I like that he cooks, is incredibly attentive and very affectionate. I’m not liking when he drinks too much wine and talks about politics in a very loud, opinionated manner, or the tiny missing detail that he hasn’t yet been there for me in bed, and last but certainly not least, the realization that I can’t handle, with any amount of dignity, the crying (on his part) that most often accompanies discussions beginning with, “What’s up with you tonight?”
5 weeks is too much too soon for a lot of things. 5 weeks is how long it takes to get an appointment with really good hairstylist, to get lab test results proclaiming you’re actually healthy, or to finalize real estate deals.
But is 5 weeks too late to give Gold Miner Greg a call?
A month of being exclusive later – I’m having second thoughts. My tall Indian lover has quickly turned into my tall Indian boyfriend – with all the demands and expectations of a regular relationship! And I’m not so sure I’m ready. In the last four months after the breakup, the move out, the getting sick with stress, the finding a new apartment, the new tits…and then a new relationship… I’m not so sure I’m dealing with the whole thing as gracefully as I should. Falling in love is easy, but staying in love and really committing to it – that’s the hard part as I’m sure the better half of the stats show with any modern day marriage! I’m struggling with wanting serious amounts of my own space, seeing other people and needing something a little more than just the occasional fuck. I’m not sure where a new relationship fits into all it. Perhaps nowhere. I tried to give my exclusivity rights back to him last night – but in that sexy London accent and with those chocolaty sweet brown eyes I was only able to articulate my need for space. I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I’ve been fantasizing about sex with my ex – a sure sign that I’m just not ready for another go round so soon! Does this mean that I have to give up the samosas?
