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How to Have the Best Sex You Could Ever Have — not for the faint of heart

Massage -- sex not allowed

Men want to have sex to feel loved. Women want to feel loved to have sex.

There is a formula for having the best sex, amazing sex, sex in which the conscious mind disappears and only the purest form of feeling is left. If you follow the instructions the method always works. It is used by sex therapists to help men or women with inhibitions, such as the inability to have an orgasm with a partner.

I say if you follow the instructions the method always works, but I should say if you can follow the instructions, for the method isn’t easy. It takes partners who are committed to opening themselves to the point of vulnerability. If you are willing to give up your self, your privacy, your hidden thoughts, you may be able to attain heaven on earth.

I met Evie, short for Evelyn, through her husband who is an engineer, as I am. I and they weren’t real close, but we’d get together for dinner every once in a while, and I was happy to go, mostly because Evie was so God awful cute. I had to be careful not to let my feelings show.

I hadn’t seen them for over a year when I met Evie in the local Whole Foods. It was summer, and she was underdressed, at least that’s the way it seemed to me, but it was probably just that I found her body so sexy.

We made small talk, and I asked how her husband was doing, and she told me they had divorced and that the final papers had just come through. She didn’t seem too happy about it. I smiled and jokingly asked, “Can I be the first to ask you out?” Then I added, “Just kidding.” I did want to ask her out, but I didn’t know how she felt about relationships at this point, and I didn’t want to alienate her. She smiled, but she did not directly respond to my jest.

We separated and did our shopping, and we met again at the checkout. I must confess, I kept half an eye on her and timed my exit to correspond with hers. Now that she was on her own I wanted to get to know her better, but I didn’t want to seem too obvious. She was lonely, I found out later, and she asked me if I wanted to go across the street to the Starbucks for a cappuccino. Of course I said yes.

We got our coffees and sat outside in the shade. “I don’t want to be inappropriate, but I’ve always been attracted to you,” I said and shrugged, being self deprecating as if I was admitting a sin.

“I’m not ready for that, yet,” she said. I took her to mean sex. “It’s not that I don’t like you,” she added, trying to soften the blow.

“No offense taken—we’re not kids,” I said. After a moment I said, “Still, I’d like to know you better, some time, if you’d like that.”

She nodded, and we moved on to less dangerous subjects, but the conversation came back around to sex, eventually, if obliquely.

“Was the divorce hard on you?” I asked.

“Yeah, pretty much,” she said. “Money, the house… we had a lot of stuff in common, and Joe wanted it all. He said he paid for it. His salary was a lot bigger than mine. You know, the usual stuff.”

“No, I don’t really know, not first hand. If I was married I’d be loyal as a dog.”

“Joe wasn’t.”

“Loyal? Oh?” I wanted her to know more, but she didn’t volunteer anything. “Did he cheat?”

“Yeah,” Evie said.

“I’m sorry,” I offered sincerely.

She shrugged as if it was water over the dam. Then she said, “It wouldn’t have been as bad if he’d have paid attention to me, too.”

I took her to mean that Joe hadn’t had sex with Evie for a long time. “Maybe it would have been worse,” I offered. “I mean, if he paid attention to you and cheated.”

Evie shrugged again. “Maybe,” she said.

I lowered my eyes, glanced at her body, and then raised my eyes again. “He’s a foolish man,” I said.

Evie gave me an angry look because of my inappropriate appraisal, as brief as it was. “It shouldn’t be about that,” she said. “That’s all Joe wanted… until he didn’t even want that, anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “You’re right. It shouldn’t be about that, though you’ve got to admit…” I briefly glanced down again.

She gave me a disgusted look. I sighed, sorry that I had taken the wrong approach, again, and didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. But then I figured, as long as she broached the subject of sex I might as well dive in. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. “I know a woman who’s a sex therapist,” I said. “Want to hear her approach to it shouldn’t be about that?

“Sure,” Evie said.

“Imagine two people who know each other pretty well. Not like us,” I qualified. “They’re having trouble with their sex lives. Maybe their interest has waned, or maybe one or the other of them has trouble having an orgasm.”

She nodded to tell me to go on.

“The classic therapy for this is to make a nice environment, light candles, pour a little wine, things like that, and go to bed together and talk. You have to be brave and open up to each other, tell each other what bothers you and what you want, sexually and otherwise. You have to be honest, even if it turns out your desires are not compatible. You are allowed to hug and kiss, but you’re not allowed to touch each other any more than that.

“The next time you go to bed together, maybe you take you shirts off, but you still aren’t allowed to touch intimately.

“The next time, maybe you don’t take off any more clothing, but you can touch bare skin but not breasts or anything overtly sexual. You still talk and open up to each other more and more, tell each other your fears and begin to talk about things like how often you each want to have sex, what kind of sexual experiences you want, the broad outlines the kinds of fantasies you like, and things like that. The idea is to build arousal, and arousal is not what goes on in your bodies. It’s what goes on in your minds. Being aroused but not being able to touch each other builds arousal further.”

“I can imagine,” Evie said.

“Then the next time, maybe you take your shirts and her bra off, and you trade massages, but you are still not allowed to touch breasts or buttocks or anything like that.

Then, the next session, maybe you undress down to your underwear, and you begin to touch intimate areas. But no matter how aroused you get you are absolutely not allowed to have intercourse. That’s the big No-No. It’s prohibited.”

“What if you can’t help yourselves?” Evie asked.

“I asked that, and the woman I know said that if you really, really can’t stop then go ahead, but you’ve got to try not to, or you might fail in your ultimate goal, which is to know each other, build arousal to a crescendo, and then and only then reward yourselves with sex.

“Eventually you decide that you are ready to go all the way, and you plan a special time and go ahead. It seems to me it’s got to be amazing.”

“It’s the getting to know each other that does it, not just the building arousal,” Evie said.

“True. I’ve never opened up to anyone to that extent,” I said. “It’s supposed to be scary, but I think I’d like it.”

It was obvious to Evie that I was imagining, maybe even suggesting, that she and I get to know each other in this intimate way. She said, “You may not like what you find.”

I nodded in agreement, but it seemed that she was considering the idea. I was thrilled. “We don’t know each other very well,” I said. “I expect I would find out things about you that I don’t care for and vice versa. But what I know I like. You’re hardworking and honest, and you seem to be open.”

I like you too,” she said. “ I always have.”

“Do you like me that way?” I asked.

“I never let myself consider it. I’m very repressed.”

“Do you like sex?” I asked.

“Sure, who doesn’t?”

“Some people don’t, I understand, or at least not much. Ideally, if you had your choice, how often would you have sex?”

“How often would you?”

“Mmm, yeah. This might not be so easy. Okay, I’ll go first. If I had my choice I’d have sex… at least once a day, two or three times a day on weekends. I shrugged apologetically.”

Evie didn’t say anything. I prompted her. “What about you?”

“Well… maybe once a week, or a couple of times a month,” she said. “Depends. I need someone to put me in the mood.”

I nodded again. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for being honest. I guess that means we shouldn’t get married, not that you’re in the market.”

“No, I’m not. Why, are you?”

I chuckled. “I want to have a committed relationship, but marriage scares me. It’s too hard to get out of.”

“You got that right,” she said and laughed. “Is the committed relationship you want monogamous? Or would you need to cheat to get your ten times a week.”

“Monogamous,” I answered without hesitation and sincerely. “It’s a sacrifice I might have to accept, not that I’m talking about you and me,” I added.

“No, of course not,” she said wryly.

We both smiled.

“I’m not ready for a relationship,” Evie said.

I nodded.

“But if you’re sincere about being honest with me…”

I waited.

“I like talking with you. You could come over to my house, late this afternoon or this evening, and we can talk some more. I’d like that.”

“Talk in bed?” I asked.

“No. At least not at first. And no touching.”

I was disappointed, and it showed.

“You can give me a friendly hug, but if you pressure me you’ll have to leave.”

“I won’t,” I said. “I’m not like that. Sure, let’s get together and talk, but not today.”

She looked disappointed. “Why, do you have a date or something?”

“I don’t know… maybe we should just wait awhile.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she agreed.

“But, on the other hand…” I said playfully.

We both laughed.

It was Saturday, and we agreed to get together at her house, but in the spirit of the technique we decided to wait one day and meet Sunday afternoon.

***

We sat on her couch, drinks in hand, Evie with Chardonnay and me with a wine glass of Joe’s vintage port. Ironic, I thought, drinking the port Joe used to hoard and maybe drinking in his wife too. Ex wife, I reminded myself.

“Can I put my arm around you?” I asked.

Evie nodded yes.

I put my arm around Evie’s shoulders, and when she put her drink down she put her arm behind my waist. It felt good, especially because we had tacitly agreed we were going to find out how much we might care for each other, and sex being off the table took the pressure off. We became more like friends than potential lovers, at least in the short term, and it freed us to show we cared without being afraid touching might be too suggestive.

We talked about concerns—hers about getting into another relationship that would turn sour—mine about maybe never being able to get into a relationship at all. We talked about how we felt about each other. I told her I found her physically attractive and that I thought that in many ways she would make an ideal partner, but I confessed I was worried that I might find her intellectually superior to me and that my fundamental nature was to want a woman over whom I could be master. I admitted that I understood this was not politically correct, but I wanted to be honest.

Evie accepted my admission and admitted she was concerned that men just wanted her for her looks, not her intelligence—she’s got a medical degree and is a researcher.

We discussed many other things—family, friends, finances—but I’ll just give the highlights.

***

We had to skip the next weekend, but the weekend after that we went to bed. We drank wine and port again, and we lay together and took turns reading Annie Proulx’s Brokeback Mountain to each other. It’s a great story, even better than the movie.

We put the book down and hugged. I rubbed her back, while we kissed, and she pressed her breasts against my chest, but we kept my penis, which was plump but not erect, from touching her. It felt wonderful having a friend to hug, and not having to have sex was more a relief than a frustration.

***

The next weekend we took our shirts off and went to bed. She ran her fingers over my chest, and I touched her bare skin but avoided her breasts that were teasingly inviting within her bra.

She took a deep breath, and then she said,“I was raped.”

I stopped touching her with my fingers, but I continued to hold her. “It was in college—a date rape in a guy’s room at a fraternity,” she said. “Maybe I could have gotten away. But I didn’t know how to say No. I was too ashamed to make a fuss, and I was scared that other guys might come into the room. So I let him do it. I hate myself.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I can understand how that can happen. Please try not to hate yourself. You were young and inexperienced… with men.”

Evie hugged me and buried her face against my neck. “I never told anyone that before. Not even Joe,” she said. I felt her tears.

“I’m honored. Thank you for confiding in me,” I responded. I took a deep breath. “When I was twelve…” I said. “I hadn’t reached puberty, but I had a friend who was a big kid who matured early. We used to go to the basement of our apartment building and look at ‘dirty’ magazines. He coerced me into giving him oral sex. I succumbed to peer pressure. It happened two or three times, before I wouldn’t go with him anymore.”

“How does that make you feel now?” she asked.

“I don’t know… like I let myself down. I was weak. A little of me died.”

“Me too,” she said.

***

The next weekend we took our shirts off, and Evie took off her bra. I tried not to stare, but her nipples were prominent, a blatant advertisement, and I had lust written all over my face. “Don’t look so smug,” she said.

“I’m not smug. I’m happy,” I replied with a huge grin.

“No touching,” she warned me.

“Oh, come on,” I begged and licked my lips. “Just a little taste?”

“Taste?” she said with horror. “You know what will happen if I let you touch my breasts, let alone taste them?”

“I wouldn’t let it happen.”

“Oh sure. Sorry, it’s not time for that, yet.”

“Yeah, right,” I said with disgust. “Who’s idea was this, anyway?”

“Yours,” she said with certainty and covered her breasts with her hands.

We got into bed together, and she let me look. After awhile I could breathe normally, and though my arousal was very high, after we began talking and time passed the shock of pure sexual stimulation abated, and I began to appreciate the intimacy of lying together with our arms around each other without having to fuck. Pardon my crudeness.

“When we go all the way, how do you want to do it?” I asked. “Would you like me to be on top? Would you like to be on top? Would you like oral sex first? I’m not experienced with that—I tried it once, and I wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t feel like I knew what I was doing. You’d have to teach me.”

“I’ve never had a man do that to me.”

“Really? Have you had a woman do it to you?”

“No, not a woman either. I guess I’m kind of inhibited about stuff like that. Do you want me to give you oral sex?”

“Not necessarily. Why? How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t really like it, though I’ve done it, at times, to please Joe.”

“That’s okay. It’s not a requirement.”

“I just want you to be nice to me—to be gentle and kind and considerate. That’s what turns me on. I don’t want to do anything kinky. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, you said you liked to be the master in a way that’s not politically correct. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to play those kinds of games.”

“Oh, maybe I wasn’t being clear. I think I was talking about what kind of woman I fantasized about. But that’s a boy’s dream—having a woman he can order about and have sex with whenever he wants.”

“You weren’t talking about fantasy. You said that’s what you want in a relationship.”

“I have those kinds of fantasies, but I know they aren’t realistic.”

“There are women like that. Maybe you should look for one.”

“I’d rather be with you,” I said.

Evie gave me a look of disbelief.

“It’s complicated,” I said. I thought for a moment. “In my fantasies, I want to control women and make them do what I want. Sometimes I punish them. I decided this might comes from sexual frustration I had as a youth, or maybe it’s nature rather than nurture. I don’t know. But that’s all fantasy. In real life I want to be nice to women. I like to make women feel good. I never abused a woman in real life, and I never wanted to. But my fantasies do translate to real life in an interesting way.”

“Do tell,” Evie said.

“What I like to do best is to have a woman be passive, not in the sense that she doesn’t respond to me, but in the sense that I get turned on by doing things to her. I don’t need her to touch me, not that that’s objectionable. It just doesn’t get me going the same way as me touching her. There would be nothing I’d like better than to have you lie passively while I undress you, while I turn you over, and while I rub your back with warm oil to make you feel good. Giving you pleasure is what I like and what will get me most hard. In a sense it’s a desire to control you, but it’s nice control.”

Evie’s face lit up. Her eyes opened wide. “That works for me,” she said.

***

We progressed to taking off all our clothes and trading massages, and we continued to confide in each other as intimately as we touched. On some level we fell in love, but that aside, there was no denying that our arousal and desire to culminate our experiment had reached a feverish pitch. Our massages went into sexual areas. I worked on her legs all the way to her vulva, and I would rub oil into her breasts. The only thing I didn’t dare do was linger on her vulva or enter within it, and she only brushed my penis in passing, but I knew she was plenty wet—I could smell her—and my erection was obvious.

I found it interesting that though arousal was high, frustration, both before and after we parted, was not. It was as if the reward of intimacy compensated for the lack of orgasms and ejaculation.

***

We decided it was time to go all the way, and we arranged a vacation together. We flew from Boston to San Francisco, touching side-to-side on the plane, excited in anticipation of what we were going to do. We picked up our rental car and drove to the Russian River area where we had reserved a hotel room on the river. It was off season, and the place was mostly empty, which suited us.

We had an early dinner and went to our room. It had a big bathroom with a huge tub, easily big enough for two, and we filled it with water and got in. We faced each other, one of us at each end of the tub, with one of my legs between hers and one of her legs between mine. She played with my erection with her foot, and then she washed my foot and put it between her thighs and clenched it tightly.

We washed each other with wash cloths, and we relaxed in the water, not saying much but knowing that soon we would go to bed together, and we would join, I inside her and she tightly around me.

We dried each other, and holding hands we walked to our bed and got in. We wrapped each other in our arms and snuggled. Then, as we had practiced many times, I turned her, face down, and with no need to rush I rubbed warm oil into her skin from her fingertips to the tips of her toes. I paid special attention to her neck and shoulders, the sides of her breasts, the dip at her waist, her hips, her buttocks, and her thighs, first behind and then between them up to her vulva.

Evie spread her legs to allow me access, and my fingers entered a little ways into her vagina. And then I took my fingers out and I pushed my hand deep beneath her and caressed her, repeatedly, from abdomen, over her mons, over her clitoral shaft and clitoris, and back to her vaginal opening. Her moans, soft and feminine, encouraged me.

After awhile Evie whispered, “You can turn me over now.” She sounded as if she was pleading.

I turned Evie over, poured more oil onto my palm, rubbed my hands together, and spread oil over her breasts. I touched them the way she taught me, being gentle, at first, when touching her overly sensitive nipples, and being firmer, later, as her breasts got used to being manhandled.

She spread her legs, and I kneeled between them, nudging them wider with my knees, because she told me she liked to have her legs spread wide. I placed my penis, rampant with permission to enter, at the opening to her vagina, ready to receive me, and I pushed on in. She took all of me.

It was hard to believe, after months of getting to know each other and denying ourselves orgasms until we really knew each other, how good it felt. The physical pleasure alone was exquisite to a degree I had never experienced, but our emotional coupling was greater. If I was a man who came easily I would have come right then, but now I must confess.

I had trouble making love, at times. I did not come easily, and sometimes, when with a partner, I could not come at all. I never had trouble when pleasuring myself, so my issue was psychological. If I did not have rapport, my ejaculations might be inhibited, as therapists term this condition. That is what led me to know the sex therapist who instructed me in the techniques of building intimacy, while denying orgasms, to create arousal. Until now I hadn’t had an opportunity to practice her lessons, but now, under ideal circumstances, my condition worked to my advantage.

Never have I been able to come quickly, and I find it easy to delay orgasm indefinitely. Evie knew this, neither of us felt rushed, and we shared pleasure, until, as we had planned, she was ready to turn over.

The myth of simultaneous multiple orgasms is just that—a myth. Sure, it can happen, but most of the time sex isn’t like that. We had decided that taking turns would work best for each of us, and now, Evie on top, in control, pleasuring herself on the hard penis within her, slowly but surely worked herself to the orgasm she wanted, needed, and surely earned. She came with moans, a brief crying out, and spasms of contractions followed by more moans, until she collapsed on my chest. I hugged her as she enjoyed her orgasm and follow on spasms of pleasure, until they abated.

When she was ready she told me so, and we turned over, I still hard within her. I had her close her legs, and I put mine outside hers and squeezed, a position we had also discussed and arranged in advance. This squeezed my penis delightfully, and I took my pleasure and had a powerful orgasm inside her.

Though we both had orgasms that were as satisfying as any we could ever imagine, I can’t emphasize enough that the pleasure we shared was more, much more than physical. We had attained rare intimacy, and that and mostly that is what rewarded us with the best sex anyone could ever had.

Men want to have sex to feel loved. Women want to feel loved to have sex.

 

There is a formula for having the best sex, amazing sex, sex in which the conscious mind disappears and only the purest form of feeling is left. If you follow the instructions the method always works. It is used by sex therapists to help men or women with inhibitions, such as the inability to have an orgasm with a partner.

 

I say if you follow the instructions the method always works, but I should say if you can follow the instructions, for the method isn’t easy. It takes partners who are committed to opening themselves to the point of vulnerability. If you are willing to give up your self, your privacy, your hidden thoughts, you may be able to attain heaven on earth.

 

I met Evie, short for Evelyn, through her husband who is an engineer, as I am. I and they weren’t real close, but we’d get together for dinner every once in a while, and I was happy to go, mostly because Evie was so God awful cute. I had to be careful not to let my feelings show.

 

I hadn’t seen them for over a year when I met Evie in the local Whole Foods. It was summer, and she was underdressed, at least that’s the way it seemed to me, but it was probably just that I found her body so sexy.

 

We made small talk, and I asked how her husband was doing, and she told me they had divorced and that the final papers had just come through. She didn’t seem too happy about it. I smiled and jokingly asked, “Can I be the first to ask you out?” Then I added, “Just kidding.” I did want to ask her out, but I didn’t know how she felt about relationships at this point, and I didn’t want to alienate her. She smiled, but she did not directly respond to my jest.

 

We separated and did our shopping, and we met again at the checkout. I must confess, I kept half an eye on her and timed my exit to correspond with hers. Now that she was on her own I wanted to get to know her better, but I didn’t want to seem too obvious. She was lonely, I found out later, and she asked me if I wanted to go across the street to the Starbucks for a cappuccino. Of course I said yes.

 

We got our coffees and sat outside in the shade. “I don’t want to be inappropriate, but I’ve always been attracted to you,” I said and shrugged, being self deprecating as if I was admitting a sin.

 

“I’m not ready for that, yet,” she said. I took her to mean sex. “It’s not that I don’t like you,” she added, trying to soften the blow.

 

“No offense taken—we’re not kids,” I said. After a moment I said, “Still, I’d like to know you better, some time, if you’d like that.”

 

She nodded, and we moved on to less dangerous subjects, but the conversation came back around to sex, eventually, if obliquely.

 

“Was the divorce hard on you?” I asked.

 

“Yeah, pretty much,” she said. “Money, the house… we had a lot of stuff in common, and Joe wanted it all. He said he paid for it. His salary was a lot bigger than mine. You know, the usual stuff.”

“No, I don’t really know, not first hand. If I was married I’d be loyal as a dog.”

 

“Joe wasn’t.”

 

“Loyal? Oh.” I wanted her to know more, but she didn’t volunteer anything. “Did he cheat?”

 

“Yeah,” Evie said.

 

“I’m sorry,” I offered sincerely.

 

She shrugged as if it was water over the dam. Then she said, “It wouldn’t have been as bad if he’d have paid attention to me, too.”

 

I took her to mean that Joe hadn’t had sex with Evie for a long time. “Maybe it would have been worse,” I offered. “I mean if he paid attention to you and cheated.”

 

Evie shrugged again. “Maybe,” she said.

 

I lowered my eyes, glanced at her body, and then raised my eyes again. “He’s a foolish man,” I said.

 

Evie gave me an angry look because of my inappropriate appraisal, as brief as it was. “It shouldn’t be about that,” she said. “That’s all Joe wanted… until he didn’t even want that, anymore.”

 

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “You’re right. It shouldn’t be about that, though you’ve got to admit…” I briefly glanced down again.

 

She gave me a disgusted look. I sighed, sorry that I had taken the wrong approach, again, and didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. But then I figured, as long as she broached the subject of sex I might as well dive in. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. “I know a woman who’s a sex therapist,” I said. “Want to hear her approach to it shouldn’t be about that?

 

“Sure,” Evie said.

 

“Imagine two people who know each other pretty well, not like us,” I qualified, “are having trouble with their sex lives. Maybe their interest has waned, or maybe one or the other of them has trouble having an orgasm.”

 

She nodded to tell me to go on.

 

“The classic therapy for this is to make a nice environment, like light candles, pour a little wine, and go to bed together and talk. You have to be brave and open up to each other, tell each other what bothers you and what you want, sexually and otherwise. You have to be honest, even if it turns out your desires are not compatible. You are allowed to hug and kiss, if you’re moved to, but you’re not allowed to touch each other any more than that.

 

“The next time you go to bed together, maybe you take you shirts off, but you still aren’t allowed to touch intimately.

 

“The next time maybe you don’t take off any more clothing, but you can touch bare skin, but not breasts or anything overtly sexual. You still talk and open up to each other more and more, tell each other your fears and begin to talk about things like how often you each want to have sex, what kind of sexual experiences you want, the broad outlines the kinds of fantasies you like, and things like that. The idea is to build arousal, and arousal is not what goes on in your bodies. It’s what goes on in your minds. Being aroused but not being able to touch each other builds arousal further.”

“I can imagine,” Evie said.

 

“Then, the next time, maybe you take your shirts and her bra off, and you trade back massages, but you are still not allowed to touch breasts or buttocks or anything like that.

 

Then, the next session, maybe you undress down to your underwear, and you begin to touch intimate areas. But no matter how aroused you get you are absolutely not allowed to have intercourse. That’s the big No-No. It’s prohibited.”

 

“What if you can’t help yourselves?” Evie asked.

 

“I asked the woman I know that, and she said that if you really, really can’t stop then go ahead, but you’ve got to try not to, or you might fail in your ultimate goal, which is to know each other, build arousal to a peak, and then reward yourselves with sex.

 

“Eventually you decide that you are ready to go all the way, and you plan a special time and go ahead. It seems to me it’s got to be amazing.”

 

“It’s the getting to know each other that does it, not just the building arousal,” Evie said.

 

“True. I’ve never opened up to anyone to that extent,” I said. “It’s supposed to be scary, but I think I’d like it.”

 

It was obvious to Evie that I was imagining, maybe even suggesting, that she and I get to know each other in this intimate way: she said, “You may not like what you find.”

 

I nodded in agreement, but it seemed that she was considering the idea, and I was thrilled. “We don’t know each other very well,” I said. “I expect I would find out things about you that I don’t care for and vice versa. But what I know I like. You’re hardworking and honest, and you seem to be open.”

 

I like you too,” she said. “And I always have.”

 

“Do you like me that way?” I asked.

 

“I never let myself consider it. I’m very repressed.”

 

“Do you like sex?” I asked.

 

“Sure, who doesn’t?”

 

“Some people don’t, I understand, or at least not much. Ideally, if you had your choice, how often would you have sex?”

 

“How often would you?”

 

“Mmm, yeah, I see this might not be so easy. Okay, I’ll go first. If I had my choice I’d have sex… at least once a day, two or three times a day on weekends. I shrugged apologetically.”

 

Evie didn’t say anything. I prompted her. “What about you?”

 

“Well… maybe once a week, or a couple of times a month,” she said. “Depends. I need someone to put me in the mood.”

 

I nodded again. “Okay,” I said. “That’s fair. Thanks for being honest. I guess that means we shouldn’t get married, not that you’re in the market.”

 

“No, I’m not. Why, are you?”

 

I chuckled. “I want to have a committed relationship, but marriage scares me. It’s too hard to get out of.”

 

“You got that right,” she said and laughed. “Is the committed relationship you want monogamous? Or would you need to cheat to get your ten times a week.”

 

“Monogamous,” I answered without hesitation and sincerely. “It’s a sacrifice I might have to accept, not that I’m talking about you and me,” I added.

 

“No, of course not,” she said wryly.

 

We both smiled.

 

“I’m not ready for a relationship,” Evie said.

 

I nodded.

 

“But if you’re sincere about being honest with me…”

 

I waited.

 

“I like talking with you. You could come over to my house, late in the afternoon or this evening, and we can talk some more. I’d like that.”

 

“In bed?” I asked.

 

“No. At least not at first. And no touching.”

 

I was disappointed, and it showed.

 

“You can give me a friendly hug, but if you pressure me you’ll have to leave.”

 

“I won’t,” I said. “I’m not like that. Sure, let’s get together and talk, but not today.”

 

She looked disappointed. “Why, do you have a date or something?” she asked sarcastically.

 

“I don’t know… maybe we should just wait awhile.”

 

“Yeah, maybe,” she agreed.

 

“But, on the other hand…” I said playfully.

 

We both laughed.

 

It was Saturday, and we agreed to get together at her house, but in the spirit of the technique we decided to wait one day and meet Sunday afternoon.

 

***

 

We sat on her couch, drinks in hand, Evie with Chardonnay and me with a wine glass of Joe’s vintage port. Ironic, I thought, drinking the port Joe used to hoard, and maybe drinking in his wife too. Ex wife, I reminded myself.

 

“Can I put my arm around you?” I asked.

 

Evie nodded yes.

I put my arm around Evie’s shoulders, and when she put her drink down she put her arm behind my waist. It felt good, especially because we had tacitly agreed we were going to find out how much we might care for each other, and sex being off the table took the pressure off. We became more like friends than potential lovers, at least in the short term, and it freed us to show we cared without being afraid touching might be too suggestive.

 

We talked about concerns—hers about getting into another relationship that would turn sour—mine about maybe never being able to get into a relationship at all. We talked about how we felt about each other. I told her I found her physically attractive and that I thought that in many ways she would make an ideal partner, but I confessed I was worried that I might find her intellectually superior to me and that my fundamental nature was to want a woman over whom I could be master. I admitted that I understood this was not politically correct, but I wanted to be honest.

 

Evie accepted my admission and admitted she was concerned that men just wanted her for her looks, not her intelligence—she’s got a medical degree and is a researcher.

 

We discussed many other things—family, friends, finances—but I’ll just give the highlights.

 

***

 

We had to skip the next weekend, but the weekend after that we went to bed. We drank wine and port again, and we lay together and took turns reading Annie Proulx’s Brokeback Mountain to each other. It’s a great story, even better than the movie.

 

We put the book down and hugged. I rubbed her back, while we kissed, and she pressed her breasts against my chest, but we kept my penis, which was plump but not erect, from touching her. It felt wonderful having a friend to hug, and not having to have sex was more a relief than a frustration.

 

***

 

The next weekend we took our shirts off and went to bed. She fingered the hairs on my chest, and I touched her bare skin but avoided her breasts that were teasingly inviting within her bra.

 

“I was raped,” she told me.

 

I stopped touching her with my fingers, but I continued to hold her. “It was in college—a date rape in a guy’s room at a fraternity,” she said. “Maybe I could have gotten away. But I didn’t know how to say No. I was too ashamed to make a fuss. I was scared that maybe other guys would come into the room. So I let him do it. I hate myself.”

 

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I can understand how that can happen. Please try not to hate yourself. You were young and inexperienced… with men.”

 

Evie hugged me and buried her face against my neck. “I never told anyone that before,” she said. I felt her tears.

 

“Thank you for confiding in me. I’m honored,” I responded. I took a deep breath. “When I was twelve…” I said. “I hadn’t reached puberty, but I had a friend who was a big kid who matured early. We used to go to the basement of our apartment building and look at ‘dirty’ magazines. He coerced me into giving him oral sex. I succumbed to peer pressure. It happened two or three times, before I wouldn’t go with him anymore.”

 

“How does that make you feel now?” she asked.

 

“I don’t know… like I let myself down. I was weak. A little of me died.”

 

“Me too,” she said.

 

***

 

The next weekend we took our shirts off, and Evie took off her bra. I tried not to stare, but her nipples were prominent, a blatant advertisement, and I had lust written all over my face. “Don’t look so smug,” she said.

 

“I’m not smug. I’m happy,” I replied with a huge grin.

 

“No touching,” she warned me.

 

“Oh, come on,” I begged. “Just a little taste?” I licked my lips.

 

“Taste?” she said with horror. “You know what will happen if I let you touch my breasts, let alone taste them?”

 

“I wouldn’t let it.”

 

“Oh sure. Sorry, it’s not time for that yet.”

 

“Yeah, right,” I said with disgust. “Who’s idea was this, anyway?”

 

“Yours,” she said with certainty and covered her breasts with her hands.

 

We got into bed together, and she let me look. After awhile I could breathe normally, and though my arousal was very high, after we began talking and time passed the shock of pure sexual stimulation abated, and I began to appreciate the intimacy of lying together with our arms around each other without having to fuck. Pardon my crudeness.

 

“When we go all the way, how do you want to do it?” I asked. “Would you like me to be on top? Would you like to be on top? Would you like oral sex first? I’m not experienced with that—I tried it once, and I wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t feel like I knew what I was doing. You’d have to teach me.”

 

“I’ve never had a man do that to me.”

 

“Really? Have you had a woman do it to you?”

 

“No, not a woman either. I guess I’m kind of inhibited about stuff like that. Do you want me to give you oral sex?”

 

“Not necessarily. Why? How do you feel about that?”

 

“I don’t really like it, though I’ve done it, at times, just to please Joe.”

 

“That’s okay. It’s not a requirement.”

 

“I just want you to be nice to me—to be gentle and kind and considerate. That’s what turns me on. I don’t want to do anything kinky. I hope that’s okay.”

 

“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

 

“Well, you said you liked to be the master in a way that’s not politically correct. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to play that kind of game.”

 

“Oh, maybe I wasn’t being clear. I think I was talking about what kind of woman I fantasized about, in a permanent relationship. But that’s a boy’s dream—having a woman he can order about and have sex with whenever he wants.”

 

“You weren’t talking about fantasy. You said that’s what you want.”

 

“I have those kinds of fantasies, but I know they aren’t realistic.”

“There are women like that. Maybe you should look for one.”

 

“I’d rather be with you,” I said.

 

Evie gave me a look of disbelief.

 

“It’s complicated,” I said. I thought for a moment. “In my fantasies, I want to control women and make them do what I want. Sometimes I punish them. I decided this might comes from sexual frustration I had as a youth, or maybe it’s nature rather than nurture. I don’t know. But this is all in fantasy. In reality I want to be nice to women. I like to make women feel good. I never abused a woman in real life, and I never wanted to. But my fantasies do translate to real life in an interesting way.”

 

“Do tell,” Evie said.

 

“What I like to do best is to have a woman be passive, not in the sense that she doesn’t respond to me, but in the sense that I get turned on by doing things to her. I don’t need her to touch me, not that that’s objectionable. It just doesn’t get me going the same way as me touching her. There would be nothing I’d like better than to have you lie passively while I undress you, while I turn you on you over, and while I rub your back with warm oil to make you feel good. Giving you pleasure is what I like and what will get me most hard. In a sense it’s a desire to control you, but it’s nice control.”

 

Evie’s face lit up, and her eyes opened wide. “That works for me,” she said.

 

***

 

We progressed to taking off all our clothes and trading massages, and we continued to confide in each other as intimately as we touched. On some level we fell in love, but that aside, there was no denying that our arousal and desire to culminate our experiment had reached a feverish heat. Our massages went into sexual areas. I worked on her legs all the way to her vulva, and I would rub oil into her breasts. The only thing I didn’t dare do was linger on her vulva or enter within it, and she only brushed my penis in passing, but I knew she was plenty wet—I could smell her—and my erection was obvious.

 

I found it interesting that though arousal was high, frustration, both before and after we parted, was not. It was as if the reward of intimacy compensated for the loss of orgasm and ejaculation.

 

***

 

We decided it was time to go all the way, and we arranged to a vacation together. We flew from Boston to San Francisco, touching side-to-side on the plane, excited in anticipation of what we were going to do. We picked up our rental car and drove to the Russian River area where we had reserved a hotel room on the river. It was off season, and the place was mostly empty, which suited us.

 

We had an early dinner and went to our room. It had a big bathroom with a huge tub, easily big enough for two, and we filled it with water and got in. We faced each other, one of us at each end of the tub, with one of my legs between hers and one of her legs between mine. She played with my erection with her foot, and then she washed my foot and put it between her thighs and clenched it tightly.

 

We washed each other with wash cloths, and we relaxed in the water, not saying much but knowing that soon we would go to bed together, and we would be joined, I inside her and she tightly grasping me.

 

We dried each other, and holding hands we walked to our bed and got in. We wrapped each other in our arms and snuggled. Then, as we had practiced many times, I turned her, face down, and with no need to rush I rubbed warm oil into her skin from her fingertips to the tips of her toes. I paid special attention to her neck and shoulders, the sides of her breasts, the dip at her waist, her hips, her buttocks, and her thighs, first behind and then between, up to her vulva.

 

Evie spread to allow me access, and my fingers entered a little ways, into her vagina. And then I took my fingers out and I pushed my hand deep beneath her and caressed her, from abdomen, over her mons, over her clitoral shaft and clitoris, and back to her vaginal opening. Her moans, soft and feminine, encouraged me.

 

After awhile Evie whispered, “You can turn me over now.” It sounded like pleading.

 

I turned Evie over, poured more oil onto my palm, rubbed my hands together, and spread oil over her breasts. I touched them the way she taught me, being gentle at first, when touching her overly sensitive nipples, and being firmer, later, as they got used to being manhandled.

 

She spread her legs, and I kneeled between them, nudging them wider with my knees, because she told me she liked to have her legs spread wide. I placed my penis, now rampant with permission to enter, to the opening to her vagina, now ready to receive me, and I pushed in. She took me all.

 

It was hard to believe, after months of getting to know each other and denying ourselves orgasms until we did know each other, how good it felt. The physical pleasure alone was exquisite to a degree I had never experienced, but our emotional coupling was greater. If I was a man who came easily I would have come right then, in an instant, but now I must confess.

 

I had trouble making love, at times. I did not come easily, and sometimes, when with a partner, I could not come at all. I never had trouble when pleasuring myself, so my issue was psychological. If I did not have rapport, my ejaculations might be inhibited, as therapists term this condition. That is what led me to know the sex therapist who instructed me in the techniques of building intimacy, while denying orgasms, to create arousal. Until now I hadn’t had an opportunity to practice her lessons, but now, under ideal circumstances, my condition worked to my advantage.

 

Never have I been able to come quickly, and I find it easy to delay orgasm indefinitely. Evie knew this, neither of us felt rushed, and we shared pleasure, until, as we had planned, she was ready to turn over.

 

The myth of simultaneous multiple orgasms is that—a myth. Sure, it can happen, but most of the time sex isn’t like that. We had decided that taking turns would work best for each of us, and now, Evie on top, in control, pleasuring herself on the hard penis within her, slowly but surely worked herself to the orgasm she wanted, needed, and surely earned. She came with moans, a brief crying out, and spasms of contractions followed by more moans, until she collapsed on my chest. I hugged her as she enjoyed her orgasm and follow on spasms of pleasure, until they abated.

 

When she was ready she told me so, and we turned over, I still hard within her. I had her close her legs, and I put mine outside hers, a position we had also discussed and arranged in advance. This squeezed my penis delightfully, and I took my pleasure and had a powerful orgasm inside her.

 

Though we both had orgasms that were as satisfying as any we could ever imagine, I can’t emphasize enough that the pleasure we shared was more, much more than physical. We had attained rare intimacy, and that and mostly that is what rewarded us with the best sex either of us ever had.

  1. sextisfaction
    February 23, 2011 at 3:57 am

    Hi Mattdyne,

    From the way you put it, I can say you’re sincere with Elvie, not just for sex. I must say you’re very good in handling women, knowing that you shouldn’t rush, gradually build up the intimacy and comfort level with her. You’re disciplined enough to hold off your sexual advances though I think inside your heart, you very much want it. I think in the end, what you both gain is better understanding of each other plus sexual enjoyment.

    I wish your sex life in the days ahead will be as fun as ever.

    • February 23, 2011 at 10:04 am

      Thank you Eng. In your blog you talk about many of the same things as I did. And I was sincere with Evie. It wasn’t just for sex, not even from the start. We are still very, very close friends.

  2. February 23, 2011 at 6:37 am

    Matt, this was written so well and was extremely erotic. I can empathise fully with the part where you mention sometimes having difficulty in coming just through sex. I aluded to this in my post about the use of fantasy. Since I put that post up I have wondered long and hard about it’s accuracy, as so often during sex in the past I was frustrated at having to use a fantasy to make me come, when the real fantasy was there in front of me. It would often be ironic that I could have sex with a woman and then use a fantasy during sex to take me over the edge, and then later replay having sex with this woman as a fantasy during masturbation.
    It really is all to do with intimacy and feeling a joining not only physically but emotionally. When that is achieved you are right, the results are mind blowing.
    I have actually attended a group myself on intimacy in the past, a group I hasten to say that was both men and women and clothing optional. We had exercises in intimacy and being open with each other and I have to say I did have some of the most beautiful moments in these exercises.
    Thank you for a terrific post. Very well written and has reminded me of a thing which I should never forget about intimacy.
    As a note I would say I do believe in relationships that this is where marriages or relationships often become damaged. I always try to live my life with the motto that it will be ‘truth always’ with my partner when in a relationship, and never to tell even the smallest of lies. Even the smallest of lies can lead to a disconnect in the relationship which has the inevitable consequence of reducing the intimacy. Over the course of a relationship the accumulation of these lies and their resulting erosion of the couple’s intimacy is what I believe is the number one killer for sexual and loving relationships.
    Thanks again for a wonderful post Matt 🙂

    • February 23, 2011 at 10:28 am

      Mark, I am glad you enjoyed this piece. I enjoyed writing it, and it is a true story.

      I remember your post about using fantasy to come, I think I told you that was common, and I encouraged you to try not to feel bad about it. That’s just normal good sex, and sex can not always be perfect with total togetherness leading to simultaneous multiple orgasms. Sex is just there to be enjoyed. It’s something you and a friend do together to give each other pleasure. And that’s what you did. The fact that you sometimes have to have a fantasy to come does not diminish that you care for the woman you are with, and you sincerely want to make her feel good and share coming,the ultimate pleasure, with her. You are not selfish. You are giving, and you seem to be a good man that any woman would be lucky to have as a friend.

      I also fantasize to come. I think most of us do. In the experience I had with Evie, however, I did not. Arousal was so high and intimacy had been so well developed that for the first time in my life, during sex, my conscious mind was gone, and I experienced sex almost entirely as a realm of intense feelings. I didn’t need to fantasize. We just gave and received pleasure, to and from each other, taking turns as I described, until each of us came. Probably we could have come more or less at the same time, but we planned taking turns beforehand, and if anything it prolonged our lovemaking.

      If you ever find someone willing to try this with you, I recommend that you don’t cheat. Don’t allow yourselves to have sex for at least a few months, and force yourself to open up and be vulnerable.

  3. Lis
    March 11, 2011 at 2:52 pm

    I like this blog and the way you write about sex and intimacy. The females are adorable, all of them very young and very beautiful. A tasty blog with style. I might come back and read more in the future 🙂

    • March 12, 2011 at 4:08 pm

      Thank you Lis. It’s nice to hear from you in Sweden. I love that all the people of the world are getting closer. It’s one of the great benefits of the Internet. It sparks global friendships and even democracy, we hope, in places like Egypt.

      I hope you do come back. I’ll do my best to entertain and enlighten.

      Matt

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