[Porn usually needs no introduction, so I regret the imposition of a serious paragraph at the beginning. If you wish to get to the good stuff, just skip the remainder of this paragraph. I have posted in this subreddit twice before. Both posts were essentially true stories, though admittedly enhanced to increase the effect of the post. When writing erotica, the truth rarely matters. You are communicating a prurient desire, and what you fantasize to be true is usually more interesting anyway. This post is different, and it was hard to write, because it is completely true. In some ways, the story is a little less interesting than it could have been because I resisted temptation to bolster up the details. But I wanted to communicate in true fashion how to overcome what for me was a devastating problem. Usually when I write, it is just to arouse and excite. If this one arouses you, all the better. But my greater aim is that no one lower his expectations of himself, nor that she lower her expectations of him, simply because of apparent roadblocks.]
They say that it’s not how much you have, but how you use it. I never really had an opinion on that, for I never really knew what that meant until it happened. I first met her in an internet chat room. And after three months of building up sexual tension between us, Suzi and I decided to do something about it. (Suzi knows I’m telling this story, though she requested her real name not be disclosed.)
Now I used to be the first person to admit that I had never been good in bed. I was usually done in a minute, almost never beyond three minutes (actual timing is imaginary) and it confounded me how other men could endure 20-30 minutes. I used to be persuaded that porn films were shot over several sequences to give the façade that the man could last indefinitely long. And I held to that until I found web sites that featured live sex scenes on demand. I remain convinced they do something that they keep me unaware of. But I am no longer interested in knowing what that is.
Ever since this episode actually happened to me, things began to change. Today, I take the attitude I’m just good, and no further discussion is necessary.
Not only was I fast, but I had been impotent for about the previous three years. A woman undresses: Nothing. She stimulates me manually: Nothing. Orally: Nothing. It was still before Viagra was distributed, so therapy generally involved nothing but mind games. To make matters more complicated, Suzi had already confessed to me that, though she was sexually aggressive on the internet, she was shy in real life. She had asked if I was ok with her climbing under the covers to undress, and then I wouldn’t have to see her naked until after we had sex. It’s not that I was ok with it, but that I was low on options. So since I’d eventually have no choice but to agree, I feigned enthusiasm about her plan. And I hoped for the best.
But when we finally got together, all scripts and conditions we agreed to were tossed aside. We were instantly – instantly – into each other’s arms with our mouths joined. I didn’t even get a chance to see what she looked like. I vaguely noticed she was tall – likely taller than me. From what I could tell from holding her, she seemed to have a nice shape, and I got a fleeting sensation that she had a pretty face. (No, we never even exchanged pictures.) But I had no perception of details such as hair style, eye color, what she was wearing, or the curve of her breasts. My entire consciousness was focused on pressing my body closer to hers, and inhaling more of her mouth into my own.
I didn’t time it, but that kiss lasted several minutes. Halfway through, our groins began to grind – ferociously. I backed her against a corner of the room, and began to intensify the grinding. Our mouths didn’t break contact until she was forced to gasp for air as she moaned. Even then my face was behind her in a tight embrace. She met my grinding with grinding of her own, and her moans crescendoed to screams. Her screams crescendoed to a full body tremor, and she stopped her grinding to hyperventilate.
And I ignored it.
I wasn’t done yet. I grabbed her bottom and pressed her groin back against mine. With both of us fully clothed, I began to bang myself against her. I pressed her back against the wall, and banged my pelvis repeatedly against hers. My hand was still on her bottom, assuring me that she would meet my thrusts. But after about five thrusts like that, she was back in rhythm on her own.
This time, she didn’t crescendo; this time, she never moaned. This time she went straight to an ear-shrilling yell. I’m not even sure what she yelled, but it sounded like words. And she tremorred again; she vibrated her whole body; she spasmed.
This time I did allow her to recover, but we never relaxed our grip. I still could not picture her face. I still could not identify her from across the room were I to have had to. Hell, I didn’t even know if she was wearing pants or a skirt. But I had just made her cum two times, and she was still gasping for oxygen.
And that damned thing never got hard the whole time.
Somehow it was fine with me. I didn’t know which I treasured more: that I fully satisfied my new girlfriend – fully, or that if it HAD gotten hard, that would have been even that much more amazing.
I wanted to cup her breasts, but they were too tightly pressed against me. I pushed my chest against her, and she pushed back, grinding her chest. I took a chance and departed from our agreement. My hands went underneath the back of her top of still unknown description, and I unhooked her bra. And I stroked her now semi-covered back. She whispered one word at a time, “Oh…. my…. God….” And for the first time, we got a good look at each other.
God was she beautiful! She was more than beautiful, she was gorgeous – or whatever the next step past beautiful is. She was of Italian descent. Though I myself am not Italian, I grew up in a neighborhood where the majority of my neighbors were Italian, and I learned to adore that look in a girl. Her hair was shoulder length, straight raven black. She had stunning brown eyes. And I loved that look of partial embarrassment she had when she realized we must have set some sort of record for orgasm at first sight. She pulled her shirt off over her head, and let her bra fall to her wrists. Her breasts were in full view, even after she had sworn that this would happen only under the covers. And there I stand again trying to devise a word past beautiful to describe them. As for her, there would be enough time for me to admire her later. She was still high from her double orgasm, and this was still the time for action. She had broken the script, and bared her breasts. But that was not so my eyes could admire them. Rather it was so I could cup them and massage them. Her breasts belonged in my hands, or in my mouth, or somewhere against me, so they could be rumbled.
I leaned over and started sucking. It wasn’t fair that she had two nipples, and I but one mouth. So I sucked and pinched and licked and rubbed and kissed and squeezed and…. And then she went into another tremor. It was not as intense as the other two, but it was unmistakable. I looked up to see a glassy face with her mouth hanging open.
And I wasn’t anywhere near her pussy this time.
But now it was my turn. I pulled down her long skirt and panties with one motion, and she gladly kicked them free. I noticed that she was darkly but sparsely haired, and that the hair made a faint path to her belly button. In other words, technically, any time she went swimming in a two-piece, she displayed her pubic hair – not a lot of hair, but the path was there. I undressed myself, and she saw me looking at her. She covered the path with her hand, and said, “So now you know.” How trivial her imperfection seemed. It was actually somewhat cute. To this date, I still don’t know if she wears two-pieces or not. But her reading this will be her first clue that I had been wondering.
But at the moment, I was rather unconcerned about her lower hairstyle. I backed her into the same corner. She opened her legs to give me access. I grabbed myself to shove it in by any means necessary. But it refused to get hard. I tried to stuff the head in, but it barely made it past her lips. I fought with all that was in me, and she went into a tremor again. Only this time I joined her. I could feel the jism shoot through my limp shaft.
And I looked at her, and weakly uttered, “So now you know.”
She was near anger at the thought that I might be so shallow: “[She addressed me by name], If you think that makes one bit of difference after what we just had, then you are sadly crazy.”
Imagine that! She effectively trivialized my impotence the way I had trivialized her pubic hair. It all started to make sense.
We lay down, and started talking. The talks didn’t revolve around sex or our finally meeting, but about normal things. We were both still naked, and we were both not shy about taking advantage of this new right we just mutually granted to touch the other one. And of course this all led to us fooling around some more. She had a few more – several more orgasms as I found a spot just inside her pussy at the base of her clit that made her lose it every time. It was like a magic button – a rough-edged area that seemed about the size of a quarter: rub this spot around three times, and she would go into orgasm. The beauty of it was she would have a difficult time touching herself at that spot – at least a difficult time touching it with any authority. Her wrists wouldn’t bend into the proper angle. It was like I alone had the key to her climaxes. She wasn’t even really able to masturbate by touching it herself.
I again tried to mount her, and again I came all over her lips. Somewhere in the day, she sucked me, and again my limp cock shot all over her lips – her mouth lips. It remained limp – no life at all – the entire day.
And a shower later on resulted in more cums for both of us, but never a hint of a hard-on.
It never did get hard. But over seven hours of non-stop sex, I had five orgasms that I can identify, and her tally is pure conjecture. And I understood what it means to use what you have, and not to concern yourself with what is not there. Today, I never would have to endure the trauma. Some doctor would have zipped a prescription for little blue pills, and I would have been able to go to the Bunny ranch and boned them all one at a time. But then, I wouldn’t have known the thrill of simply using what you do have. It would have been so easy to still be taking a pill routinely before every date, and never concern myself about performance ever again. And I used them for awhile. But today I never use the pills, because it really doesn’t matter. On the day that I had nothing, one man and one woman both had the most exciting sex day of either of their lives – past, present, and so far, future.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/1f9yq2/so_now_you_know