Once upon a time (when I was still a spring chicken,) I had a beau who was a genius at ruined orgasms - except mine were the ones he ruined, not his.
If it hadn’t been such a maddening trick, I could almost call this knack a “mad skill”, because his success rate was distressingly close to 100%. We’d be fucking along merrily and I’d start the internal flutters, begin to spiral my way up that last bit, just needing that last little bit more…. then he’d wail loudly (right in my ear) and… we were done.
Like, Done.
Fini.
Kaput.
Time to snore now.
Done.
Every. Stinking. Time.
This might not have been so irksome if he just plain came whenever he felt like it, but no.
It was always the initial flutters of my burgeoning orgasm that set him off and he could never hold out until I hit “full tilt”.
Total ruined orgasm, every time.
So naturally, it didn’t take my body very long to figure, “well, fuck this with a bunch of bananas!” and just withdraw from the process… A withdrawal that took several years to overcome after we’d split.
I think about this sometimes as BG has me edging…
4 comments:
hmmm, I LIKE edging. But, I don't like missing the orgasm by accident. Weird difference.
-sin
Hey, welcome back!
It is an odd difference...
One I hope my body can continue to distinguish.
*gulp*
Sadly, i don't do well with edging - i love it - the sensation of being almost there and having to stop - but too often, it's the end for me - i lose the whole orgasm. i too hope your body continues to "get it" <3
O-
Hmmm.... that sounds familiar.
Did you perhaps date my old beau????
;-p
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