“Well, yes we did, Brita, a lovely meal,” I warmed to the conversation, “the food was delicious and you are marvelous company. I can’t remember a dinner in my recent past that has been so delightful. Thank you!”
Brita leaned toward me and said quietly “That person who I talked to… the one who knows you…she said something else…do you want to know what?”
I nodded my head.
Brita gave me a peck on the cheek and said, “Well, she said that she has never had better sex with a man as she had with you. Her exact words were, ‘He fucks like a stallion’. Well, do you?”
We never made it off the couch. Everything we could do in bed, we did on that couch. I was glad again that I only had a neighbor on one side of me, and he was hard of hearing. Who cares what the neighbor across the way thought.
There’s a myth that gentlemen* shouldn’t compare women. That’s nonsense. Maybe a gentleman shouldn’t compare women with other gentlemen, but even that is stretching it. There is one thing that a man, gentleman or not, must never do–I emphasize NEVER do–is compare a woman, or women, to a woman to whom he might be speaking at the moment. I think there is a clause in most “Death and Dismemberment” insurance policies excluding injuries resulting there from.
(*This categorically does NOT apply to women comparing men or women. They do it all the time, without let or hindrance. In some women’s circles, it is mandatory–or very near it. I suspect it has something to do with survival of the species!)
But take a wine connoisseur, for example, does not he or she not distinguish between a red wine and a white wine? One goes with fish and the other with meat, so the rubric says. But a Cabernet and a Pinot differ from one another, as do a Chardonnay and a Chenin Blanc–that is discussed. And, really more to the point, one Pinot is compared with another Pinot and one Chardonnay to another Chardonnay. There is a “Gazillion” dollar industry based on nothing but that.
So, STOP IT! Every man and every woman compares their sex partners, perhaps not with each other, but certainly to themselves. Gentlemen, close your eyes, though I’m sure you won’t entirely; there’s always that crack between your fingers that you look through. And women, well, this will be nothing new to you.
Brita and Desi:
Desi was tall and willowy, almost 6′(1.8m+); Brita was 5’8″ (1.7m+), 4 inches (10cm) makes a big difference–ask any woman. Both were about the same weight but distributed differently. Desi had firm small-ish breasts, a slim waist, and sleek hips. Brita’s breasts were larger and fleshier, her waist was bigger, and her hips larger as well. Desi’s curves were “sweeping”; Brita’s curves were…well CURVES! Desi’s hands were delicate, like one might see on a violinist. Brita had almost “man hands” but, then, she wasn’t just a designer, she actually did a lot of her own woodworking–at least on the prototypes. When Desi was on top of me, she felt light as the proverbial feather. I couldn’t forget gravity when Brita was on top of me…she was a force!
As for that indelicate issue of having sex–well, indelicate to some–this is where it is more like comparing one Pinot to a Chardonnay. The differences are there and real but, as the old joke goes, Q: What was the worst blow job you ever got like? A: FANTASTIC!
So, with Desi and Brita it was more a matter of form than substance. Both were orders of magnitude beyond fantastic lovers. As an example, Desi was mostly playful and delicate–a nibble here a tickle there. That’s not to say that she couldn’t be wildly passionate when stirred or, be demonstrable in the depths of her orgasms, but on the whole, Desi was more gentle than not.
Brita, on the other hand, was your quintessential, stereo-typical, Viking! If she were wearing a sex-themed T-shirt it would read: No holds barred, no quarter given, no prisoners taken! Don’t get me wrong, sex with Brita was not a wrestling match but she was definitely an “E-Ticket” ride! Aggressive? Perhaps sometimes. I would like to call her “Assertive”, that tones it down a notch or two. She knew what she liked and wasn’t bashful about asking for it. By the same token, she was not beyond pleasing me however I wanted. We both had some agreed no/no’s and we respected them. But Brita was inventive and passionate and satisfying and had her patient side, too.
So, which one was better than the other? No, you’re not going to get me on that one. (Besides, Brita and Desi might be reading this someday.) Let’s just say both were FANTASTIC!
But let me give you an example of where sex with Brita was different.
Anal sex has always been, if not a taboo for me, something that I looked on a distasteful. Brita didn’t. She introduced that gradually into our repertoire of activities. She suggested it, let the idea sink in, and found a way to make it less unpalatable. She started by saying that her anus was pleasurably sensitive and my stimulating it added extra pleasure for her when I was inside her “doggy style”. She brought some lube to bed and applied that to her ass herself. Little by little I got accustomed to that and saw how much pleasure she derived from it. Finally, she said that my using a condom might make it easier for me to do. That worked out well. So, now anal sex with Brita is more than occasional because I can see where she enjoys it.
Now, the converse with me had never been true. Man of the world that I was–or at least, thought I was–I had never had any form of anal sex performed on me…period. As the cliché’ goes, “I am not gay; I don’t have anything against being gay; just don’t get gay with me!” Yes, one might say I was “Narrowly Broadminded.” Especially when it came to my asshole.
I mentioned that Brita could be patient, (see: anal sex) and she was patient with me here. It started when Brita was giving me a blow job. Her fingers “wandered” down to my asshole an tickled it ever so slightly. I jumped a little and she backed off. As time went by when she was giving me a blowjob–which was frequent–her toying with my asshole became more frequent too. When she ventured penetrating my anus with her finger she did it slightly and gently. The next thing I knew, she had her finger inside and was massaging my prostate while she gave me a blow job. It increased my pleasure and pleased her that she was pleasing me. I often wonder why Desi, being a medical person…a nurse…never thought of doing that. Hmmm.
Brita was frank and unapologetic about the fact that she had sex with women. It is the old line, “I’ve had sex with a woman but I’m not bi-sexual.” She said she wasn’t seeking it, and it wasn’t common for her to do it. But she added that she wouldn’t turn it down, if it was offered by the right woman. And she was honest about her “half-dozen…or so” flings with women. So… yes… bi-sexual!
We settled into a comfortable life. I was effectively out of the “Who’s next for sex” business. Brita could fill virtually any role in my sexual fantasies. And, given her disaster with Axel, I felt I owed it to her to stay faithful to her. She stayed faithful too; but, well she added one or two women flings to her “half a dozen…or so” lesbian affairs. She told me about it and I said I had no objection to it. on top of that, it helped her in her business–designing women, you know.