The way she came

Even by the standards of practiced swingers or the youngest, most hot to jump newlyweds, it was an affair of flamboyant sensualism.  My partner was exceptionally orgasmic in the ways being extolled by today’s gurus of female sexual liberation.  The modern wave of touch yourself now female orgasmic enlightenment – a quantum leap beyond the so-called sexual revolution of the 1960s - was of no use to her.  She was beyond it.  Her orgasms were eye rolling deep and lasting, with muscular and vocal power that astonished me.  Watching and feeling her come as I massaged her clit and vagina aroused me far more than the penetrating grind that, late in our sessions, convulsed my own body into my puny, male imitation of the sheer, hot lava volcanism that she had just experienced for two solid hours.  Making love in the dimly lit but nonetheless incandescent cathedral created by her writhing body and throaty moans, which seemed to come from the depths of time, was a gift from the universe.

Washington, DC.