I often get the “sure, yeah whatever”, internet stare of death from my touchy demographic as I write about the tenth orgasm flooding over my counterpart, and all I say when I talk about the things that I describe on my blog is this: “everything, but the ropes.”
Everything I write in is 100% spot on – I do not fabricate one tiny little detail. The only thing I have little experience with is rope play. And no, for all you rope bunnies seeking a new shibari tip or a recommendation on tossa jute vs threaded nylon, this post is not for that. And by way, just because I haven’t done it much doesn’t mean I don’t have a gameplan.
Nope. This is a post about how so many of you women have been fucked by subpar men and you have to fucking deal with it, to the point you question what is wrong. You deal with it…
But what is it about those men that they somehow seemed to make it through their entire fucking lives not thinking or caring enough to make it good for you? Not spending enough mental energy, thinking about the one thing we, as men, think about most? Trust me, he thinks about it plenty – we all do.
The problem is this – your pleasure is just not high on the priority list for him. Now that is a hard concept to reconcile with when it is the man you give your body to, but it is the truth, and you know it. So let’s dispense with the excuses for a moment because I am going to break down the idea of “Making it Good For You”, and what goes through my mind when I do it.
You see, I hear this story play out all the time, and I’ve heard it for years now. Excuses pile up, one atop another, but the bottom line is that most guys suck in bed – not because they are not capable of learning or doing it right, but because they just don’t care enough about your pleasure. Plain and simple.
Something as straightforward as the passion within me, when I kiss you – it is the entire world of a difference between “feeling wanted” and “feeling nothing at all”.
Just a kiss.
A kiss – pushing you back and putting hands all over your body as I do it, with uncontrollable heavy breathing accompanying me as I can barely contain myself from the intensity and passion within me, just from the mere fact that you are in my presence. My hand, now pressing into your neck and shoving you up against the wall, never breaking away and never feeling like there is enough to satiate me.
Sliding my hands between your legs to feel the wetness begin to emerge.
Oh my, the wetness. Fuck! My god, the wetness and warmth of your pussy. The moment I realize it – that moment I actually have the thought as I am kissing you that you are getting wet – all I can think of is how I need to move this passionate kiss down to your clit. Move downwards that I can make you cum for me, see the pleasure in your eyes, and enjoy your delicious flavor.
Goddamnit, I pray for a scent of you.
This is where I am different than most men and I fucking know it and thank the Lord I am. Here, in this moment, what drives me is two things: I genuinely worship every last part of what makes you who you are as a woman. Every single last bit. And I absolutely cannot fathom missing out on the sensation of pleasing you, as I watch you orgasm over and over from what I am doing to you.
Your pleasure – to me – is the centerpiece of it all. I don’t even have to cum myself, to be 100% completely happy in my experience with you.
It is all about you.
My pleasure is derived from yours. I define myself as a man by this very act, just knowing that I can show you – how I feel about you – through my physical actions.
Two fingers shoved deep inside your pussy and I ask myself, “Do I want her G spot, under the cervix, or something else?”, and I know this thought pattern is not standard in men. I know, that your man, doesn’t think like this because the bottom line is – in order for him to do that – he has to actually fucking care about your experience above his own.
During the moments my fingers are inside you and my face between your legs, while I am devouring your sweetness with the happiness, your tastes and scents are like the first bite into pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving. Yes, with Cool Whip, darling.
It is then that I am calculating my next move to make this even better for you, while my mouth still beats with a rapid drumbeat on your clit. My tongue, flicking your bean as my upper lip holds it in place. You crumble in no time and I see this as just one more way to show you – goddamn it I am so taken by you.
Now I want you to ask yourself how come, I, can explain in vivid fucking detail how I use my lip and tongue in unison? Or how I know where your G spot, O and A spots, and clit are, and I could find them in the dark with a blindfold on, left-handed. And how much pressure needs to be applied and for how long?
Simple. Because I give a fuck.
At the moment I have you in my grip, I just am beside myself, so full of ambition and pride when I look up at you to see the havoc I’ve created. It is then when I have that next thought, which is, “She is wiped out and I am just barely getting started. Poor thing. This is going to be unreal for her. God, I cannot wait.”
This is when I get rougher. You’ve already hit a handful of orgasms for sure – no exceptions – because I will stay down here all damn day until you do. This is when I realize the next thought, which is, “I have not even fingered her clit yet. That’s good for at least three more. Let’s get to work. And fuck she is amazing…I have to kiss this woman right now first though.”
We are sitting at eight body spasms, and my belt is not even off yet.
You look like you just went through a Category 5 hurricane, sprawled our with your legs spread, hair stuck to your neck, shouting “fuck, fuck, fuck”, when I debate making you squirt, taking your ass, facefucking you while I finger you, or just finally giving in and spreading your legs so I can have my ultimate prize.
God –˙I am fucking boiling inside to have you. To feel you encasing me.
I have a new thought about the warmth of your wetness before I feel it, anticipating the amazing grace of that first thrust. I think about what you’ll feel like as my cock pushes into your end and I bottom out in you. I think about my hand around your neck before I place it there; I think about what you will feel when I do. Will I slap you this time while I fuck you, or not?
Unable to help it – it is natural to me that I think about it all.
So…if your man misses the mark, Kitty Cat, well let me tell you fucking why. It’s because he doesn’t think about those things like I do – and there no fixing that. There is no changing that. That is called selfishness and it’s your cross to bear if you keep handing him your pussy.
Yeah, cupcake. Everything but the rope.