Wednesday, 16 June 2010

Spoilsport

Every curmudgeon needs a sane person to rein them in. Without Virgil I don't know what I would do sometimes. Drown in a lake of vitriol I suppose, or choke on my own bile.

Sometimes I get cross with Virgil. He played his orgasm spoiling trick on me again the other morning. I didn't spot it coming. He kept saying that he was going to take his time going down on me, and that I shouldn't make any effort to come but just enjoy it. I entered that rare space of unconscious enjoyment. I told him that I didn't want to come yet but he said that I should, so I gathered myself. A few minutes later I was aware only of my hips lifting up off the bed and Virgil's tongue flicking on my clit. The closer I got, the more gentle his mouth became.

And then he pulled back. The fucker! He couldn't have timed it better. I flipped upright and screeched at him while he laughed, his mouth stained with my blood and looking very pleased with himself. Then he made me start again and pushed a vibrator inside me. At the moment Virgil's into exploring my G-spot, which I don't object to, except a vibrator is not the way. Eventually I asked him to take it out. My G-spot seems to respond the most to a particular kind of touch. It's the feeling of something (fingers or a cock, preferably) sliding in and out (and just as much out as in, incidentally)... and it's a bit subtle. I've never come from G-spot stimulation alone.

I'm very clitoral. I used to think it was due to too much masturbation when I was younger. Now I think it has more to do with
a. years of having thrush and not particularly enjoying penetrative sex;
b. just being wired up this way;
c. not having had the patience to learn to come the hard way.

I think I'm drifting into a separate blogpost here. More on that another time.

Virgil has a temper too, incidentally. For instance, a few minutes ago I went into the kitchen where he is making dinner and asked him not to put chard in the salad. He got a real look in his eye and banished me for that.

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