she sat on the corner of his sunny but messy kitchen, sipping coffee and thinking. last night he said that sometimes he felt like he did not please her at all. even while “making love” his words, not hers, he felt that she was not there completely, did not get to the culmination point with him.
where did he find these expressions? culmination point? whoever called it that? and whoever told him that “making love” position de riguer was missionary? and why were they “making love”? why weren’t they screwing like two hot and furry little bunnies until they both had heart attacks?
she nursed her coffee and tried to think about what to do next. he was a good guy otherwise, decent, smart and sometimes even sexy with his deep-set brown eyes and smiling mouth. she had liked the smiling mouth since the first date. it was promising, it held possibilities of exploration, conveying of secrets, unlocking of mysteries. and he was a decent kisser as well. and his hands were a good size. but then later…
actually nothing. they’d been together, had gone through the horizontal dance enthusiastically enough, but there had been no “culmination point” for her. lol. she knew she was stuck with that phrase now. so, no culmination point, nada, not even a culmination bump.
oh she had been nice about it of course. sleeping with a man on the first date was never a wise move if he had “potential” and if she started critiquing his techniques might just make him kick her bare butt in the snow. she knew she was very close to never being called again, so she had toned down her “needs”. and she’d waited by the phone.
to her delight, the first date had been followed by impromptu lunches, fresh flowers, other dates, kisses and finally “lovemaking”. and she had wanted to do things, show him what she knew, conduct a few experiments here and there, two or three clandestine licks but she had been gently and firmly stopped.
“no, it is ok hon, i only want your pleasure” he had said, and she had been on the verge of saying “but it is my pleasure to pleasure you. i want to be the thaimasseuse and the $5 hooker, the lusty village maid and the stern cop with the handcuffs, or even the buxomy wife of old uncle. whatever, just let me.”
she had not said anything of course. she had tried to enjoy his way of doing things, and she had enjoyed it, up to a certain point, but then she hit the plateau and could not get to the “culmination point”. and it wasn’t even something extraordinary, filthy, or downright scary she wanted. just a little more fun, a wider match of skin against skin, a deeper understanding of limits and walls. she wanted to know how deep his passanger seat went, how much his leather couch creaked and whether the living room rug caused allergic reactions to bare skin. perfectly reasonable, no?
she knew he was not a prude. the friend who’d set them up had actually said that he had a bit of a player reputation. hmm. where was it hiding? since he’d been with her, he’d been the perfect gentleman, calling, opening doors, never looking at other women, declaring that he wanted to date her exclusively on the second date, and faithfully taking the missionary position, after the required oral.
she swilled the last of the coffee and was looking for her cell phone when she felt his touch and then the heat of his body as he bent to kiss her.
‘yummy’ he said as he said down ‘coffee and you. wish i had that taste every morning.’
‘and you can, she thought ‘you can. we can do a little game with frozen coffee cubes or even warm coffee.’
but she did not say anything. he would not like innuendos. so she just smiled warmly at her man and leaned in for another kiss. and maybe some more missionary.