There is something simple and beautiful about a woman’s bedroom at night when it’s dark. The silent dance of the single black flickering candle in the corner. The sound of the heavy rain falling outside, muffled through the tightly locked windows. The bed, perfectly made, with blankets still untouched because two lovers were too eager to turn down the covers. The color of naked skin peeking through shadows. These are the times I am so thankful to live alone. No need to close the door. No need to quiet the sounds of pleasure. No need to put pants on when taking a break to roll a joint and pour a glass of wine.

I was already tipsy, having just arrived home from the Laker game on Christmas Day. Eager to keep my buzz going, I began to think of my bottle of Cab in my kitchen. After coming for the second time, I decided to pause and offer him a glass. He refused, but I had one anyway. As I sat on my bed, naked aside from my bra which we never got around to removing. I began to roll a joint on my Bible, which was conveniently sitting next to my bed. I don’t think Jesus would mind. Marijuana is much safer for you than cigarettes after all.

As I lick my perfect joint, seal it, and wait for it to dry, he says, “What just happened?”

What did just happen? It was a blur. I opened the front door and the next thing I know it’s two hours later and here we are, half-spent and still ready for more. I take two puffs of the joint and two sips of the bitter red wine. As I set my glass down, he begins to kiss my stomach.

His hands divide my legs. My body is on display for him. He puts two fingers deep inside me and kisses me hard and I moan. I can taste myself on his lips. I like the taste. It reminds me of the beautiful job he did with my body.

I had never experienced the “multiple orgasm” before. It’s different than having orgasms several times in a night. I discovered, to my delight, that my body can have them, almost back to back. I had never allowed this to happen before. Once I cum, I feel as though it is the man’s turn to be spoiled. This is what I was taught, and this is how I’ve always done it. But him. He wanted to keep going. I came the first time and he didn’t let me pull away. When my legs began to shake and I began to squirm and yell, he kept going. Soon, my body learned to like the loss of control. Soon I felt the next orgasm approaching. It was so wet and messy and hot. I lick my lips after our kiss and his head disappears between my legs again.

I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. How many times would it happen? How many times could it happen? Would I run out of fluid and dry up? Or would I just keep coming and coming? It didn’t take long to feel another one approaching. He was so good. An expert, I am convinced. He moved when I moved. He listened to my silent instructions communicated solely through body language and whimpers of delight. His hands were aggressive but his mouth was so gentle and that pairing is magic for me.

I wanted to wait. I didn’t want to cum quite yet. I unzipped his pants which were still on and pulled them down as we laid side my side, heads in opposite directions. I put his penis in my mouth. It was hard and warm and the perfect size for me. First on our sides, we quickly changed positions. He was on top of me, thrusting himself into my mouth, while his mouth continued to work vigorously. I came a third time, and so did he shortly after. This was my first successful 69.

But he didn’t stop. He kept going. He wanted more. How glorious it is to be so desired. How wonderful to find someone at his age, with all of his experience and skill, yet with the stamina of a teenager. I smiled to myself and looked up to the ceiling as I touched his hair. He raised his free hand, found mine and squeezed it as an acknowledgment of knowing how good he was making me feel.

The fourth orgasm was not coming as quickly, and I knew why. I was ready to fuck. I was ready to get off my back and straight on top of him. I was ready to be pounded, spanked, and destroyed. I am a gentle love maker, but once I learn my lover’s true sexual mind set, and I like it, I feel free and am eager to let go. “I’m ready for you to fuck me now,” I said it quietly, as to take away from the statement’s slutty undertone.

He asked if I had condoms and I pointed to the “special” jewelry box on my vanity, filled with Tiffany’s and Trojans. He rejoined me on the bed and I quickly began to place it on him, as he was still hard enough to have fun with.

But then something horrible happened. He went limp. Gone. The erection just vanished. And I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye. “This sometimes happens when I put on a condom. I am sorry Sticky.” Well, I suppose I did just make him cum, and one cannot be perfect all the time. The disappointment was fleeting as I was more than satisfied. I walked him to my front door, gave him a long kiss, and we agreed to see one another soon.