The One - No one said it would be easy

by Goldsmith, J. F.

  But the New Year had a surprise in store for me – a surprise I hadn’t expected at all (which of course is the nature of a surprise…). The starring role in this surprise went to said good friend of my close girl friend: hello, Number Twenty-two. Number Twenty-two was another one who was absolutely not my type. He came from deepest, darkest Westphalia. At the risk of causing an outraged and indignant remonstration by the State Association of Westphalia: Westphalians are dullness and drabness personified. The only time they let it all hang out is at their poxy village fetes. Number Twenty-two, it must be said, was quite a bit more lively than the average Westphalian, in fact he was a veritable party king, but not in a good way: more like your average drunken party animal on Mallorca. He was nothing to write home about in any way, shape or form, he was short, podgy, with a face like Fievel Mousekewitz. One of Number Twenty-two’s outstanding features was his habit of talking about sex, everywhere, all the time. This didn’t exactly turn me on; frankly it didn’t interest me in the slightest. During the entire New Year’s break, Number Twenty-two barely registered with me. I didn’t try to flirt with him, he didn’t try to flirt with me, neither of us would even remotely have considered such an absurd thing. We were utterly indifferent to one another, like a glass of water standing next to another glass of water.

  When the terrible holiday was finally over, I traveled home with my girl friend and Number Twenty-two. He drove, she was on the passenger seat, I was in the back. All of a sudden I was totally horny. Without any prior warning. Such a wave of unbridled lust for sex swept over me, I could barely stand it. And not just for a spot of excessive urgent masturbation either – no, I needed the full monty, wanted to screw but good and proper with a real guy with a real cock. We all know that mountain air is stimulating, but I had no idea it was this kind of stimulating, too. In any event, I seemed to have overdosed, somewhat. There I was, on the backseat of this little car, impatiently scrubbling back and forth. Like a junkie, I maniacally checked my list of male contacts: which one would I be able to get into my bed and me at short notice and without undue upheaval tonight? The only one I could think of was Number Sixteen, and since we’d by now reached the sex-with-the-ex stage and were meeting up quite regularly for this purpose, I sent him a text message. Sadly, his prompt reply informed me that he was still away on holiday. Crap! My need for a guy grew less specific but no less intense. I stared out at the motorway zooming by and my gaze briefly touched the back of Number Twenty-two’s head. Then a kind of enlightenment struck my sex-addled brain: my sex object is sat right there, in front of me! He’s in for it, no question. How come I didn’t think of that before? Number Twenty-two never talked about anything other than sex anyway, so he shouldn’t put up too much of a fight if I want to take him home tonight. We were both randy and we were both frustrated singles. A classic scenario for emergency sex.

  There was just the small matter of getting him into my bed. Luckily, he deposited my girl friend at her place first, then drove to mine, so that we were alone and undisturbed in his car together, for a short while. This was my chance. I just said it, like cold calling – direct and with a brave smile: “Hey, you’ve been talking about nothing but sex, I’ve been thinking about nothing but sex, how about we combine our talents for a bit of non-committal New Year’s sex? Right now, here at my place?” It worked! Number Twenty-two’s jaw hit the ground, he stared at me, mouth open, grinned and said: “Hell yeah! I’m not going to say no to that!”

  We left his car, raced to my flat and set upon each other like two starving desert foxes. Wonderful, just what I needed! He went at it straight away, zero to one hundred in ten seconds flat. We started kissing in the hallway, both still in full winter sports clobber. I was surprised to notice that Number Twenty-two was rather good at this. Kissing him was great fun and extremely hot. I was quite amazed, hadn’t expected this at all. I’d just wanted a bit of screwing and had suspended all thoughts of quality for the duration. If I’d had any idea that the little Westphalian would turn out to be an ace in bed, I’d have made a beeline for him ages ago!

  The advantage of emergency sex is that there’s no need to be in love, in fact the other person doesn’t really matter at all, which means you can really let go. Worst-case scenario: you’ll never see each other again, and that’s perfectly OK. No drama, no complicated oh-God-I-do-hope-he-finds-me-attractive thoughts going round and round in your head. And oh boy, did I let go! I let go to a degree I hadn’t thought possible. I didn’t care that he didn’t exactly have the body of an Adonis. I didn’t care that whenever I saw his face it reminded me of Fievel Mousekewitz. There was something else all together about him that really and surprisingly turned me on: his scent. He smelled wonderful. Hard to describe, except that from every whiff of him, I was completely bowled over and you could have started a goldfish farm between my legs. Number Twenty-two was equally uninhibited and also just took whatever he fancied. Under normal circumstances, I completely hate it when some guy pushes my head down towards his cock region. But with Number Twenty-two it was a total turn-on.

  We were in a real-life version of our sex dreams and of course a good blowjob was part of it. Which I delivered, giving it my very best. He was breathing hard, groaning and moaning – bull’s eye! It turned me on no end to finish him off with mouth and tongue. He came quickly and ferociously, wiped the sweat off his brow, beamed at me, grinned and said: “Your turn!” Which instantly spiraled me into panic, never mind the I-don’t-give-a-damn emergency sex situation. The previously mentioned hang-ups and inhibitions about presenting myself, legs open wide, as a close-up to eyes of man, reappeared immediately. Number Twenty-two, apparently quite the expert, realized immediately what was going on, pushed me back and ordered me to “Relax!” I obeyed. Which was a good thing, because this young man was a master at what he did. For once, I really didn’t care that I was spread out like a thawed turkey in front of a man’s face. I closed my eyes, relaxed and sunk back into my previous state of uninhibitedness. I let myself go, be licked and fingered and everything all at once, not in the manner of some crass porn flick but beautifully slowly and softly, the pressure so light I could barely feel it. Like a gentle breeze of cotton candy. I came quite quickly and my orgasm was of a most intense sugary-fluttery honey-sweetness, utterly marvelous.

  Apropos: How to please her in bed

  Apropos. Since we’re kind of on the subject. If you want to know how to satisfy a woman, please, please don’t think you’re going to learn this by watching lots of porn flicks. It gives me the creeps when I see these girlies on youporn, sitting with their legs spread, shoving their too-long stuck-on white-trash-nail-studio-talons into their non-moist pussies while pretending to be oh-so-horny. It is astonishing that some ninety percent of all close-ups showing female genitals depict miserable arid deserts instead of moist glistening juicy wetlands. Meaning: the girlies are simply not aroused. In other words, they are not turned on. And when you’re not turned on, there’s no juice. And when there’s no juice, sex is not fun. Not any kind of sex, in whatever shape or form. In fact, it hurts. I just don’t get it – why do these girls allow themselves to be screwed with all manner of things anyway? I’m sitting there shaking my head, shuddering. How do they bear the pain? And why do the guys in those videos always think they are the greatest, even though it’s blatantly obvious that they don’t turn their sweetie on in the slightest? And why on earth do the girlies play along and deliver a Dolly-Buster-type groaning concerto instead of saying, “Honey, pack it in, this doesn’t work for me, better come up with something else”.

  These days, every bog-standard drugstore sells an impressive selection of lubricants, which would make matters a whole lot easier. And incidentally, applying this cool goopy stuff between one’s legs actually feels quite hot, which may well induce one’s natural sprinklers to resume their work. And I giggle when subjected to youtube footage of guys maltreating their women with drum-like smacking, wild tongue acrobatics and ferocious shoving-in of finger
s. Where on earth do they get these ideas? And what’s worse, the girlies seem to think that’s how it’s done, and maybe they even showed the guys how to do it, because nobody ever showed them how to do it properly.

  Doing it “properly” is something else all together! There’s only one indicator, dear guys, that you’re doing it properly: she’s moist. And I mean, REALLY moist. Don’t pay any attention to all that moaning and groaning; we girlies are the undisputed masters (mistresses even) of deception. And if she’s not moist, she’s not aroused. Basta. It really is that simple. And if you still continue to scrub about on her, she won’t find it pleasurable and she certainly won’t go moist. You can of course help out with your own bodily juices and moisten her with everything your body can provide. This and the resulting sliding movement may increase her chances of awakening an arousal. Or, as I said before, those lubricants can be nothing short of miraculous. They should be renamed “arousicants” because they do just that. Let’s not have any false male pride about the use of this stuff, along the lines of “I’m the only one to make her moist and no one else!” What a load of nonsense! And besides, it’ll be a lot hotter for you, too, when she goes off like a rocket or even like greased lightning. And remember, whatever it is you do between her legs: do it slowly, pleasurably, sensually and gently. All this crap you see in porn flicks, this crass ramming and rubbing, is an instant turn-off for a woman, even if a man might find it hot. A woman is like a gourmet menu: you wouldn’t gulp that down like some disgusting greasy burger from the fast-food joint on the corner – no, you’d eat it slowly, savoring every tasty morsel. When I see the dedication with which men wash and polish their cars, I think, hey guys, use some of this dedication with your girlies. Take some care, be patient and you’ll see – the girls will be begging you to do it with them.

  And you, dear females, you’ll know that all is well when you are moist. And you know that you are moist when you kiss him and are instantly suffused with shivers of arousal. Above all, it’s important that you practice on yourself and know how to give yourself an orgasm. How do you expect a guy to know what to do if you don’t even know yourself? You’re not a lucky dip! I was horrified when a girl friend told me that she’d never had an orgasm. I should maybe tell you that she’s in her mid-twenties and has a mouth on her that would make a fishwife blush. When I asked if she didn’t do her own orgasms, she got really confused and replied with a most bewildered: “NO!” I thought I’d help her out and gave her a lovely little vibrator shaped like a caterpillar as a birthday present. You can get vibrators nowadays that are beyond cute! As a precaution, I had told her it might be best not to open my present in front of all the other party guests. Which was just as well, because I never knew what she said when she opened it. I guess she must have been completely shocked. Weeks later I finally dared to ask her what she thought of my present – until then, I’d been full of recriminatory thoughts and feelings of guilt for having managed to really put my foot in it par excellence. She admitted she didn’t know what to do with it and had hidden it in the wardrobe, still in its box. She said she’d be too embarrassed to let her boyfriend see it. And I’d even written her instructions of use, including a bit about how she could include her sweetie in the proceedings, the thing is quite a little miracle worker for guys, too. I guess she hasn’t tried it out to this day.

  I believe that many girlies feel like this. You don’t always have to have an orgasm, but as for the I-don’t-care-about-orgasms number: sorry, I don’t buy it. You’re missing out on the most intense and awesome feeling in the whole world. Back to the gourmet menu: it’s like you’re only allowed to look, not to eat. Is that satisfying for you? No. Well then. And if you can’t come with your guy, just do it yourself!

  Number Twenty-two continued

  Number Twenty-two was pretty good at it. In fact, he was perfect. Our oral workout completed, we both sank back exhaustedly. There was nothing uncomfortable about him being here, in fact I thought it was great how well we suited each other sexually. Out with the singles-frust and in with the bed-lust! After a brief recuperation interlude, Number Twenty-two went back into action-mode. This gentleman really had staying power, staying-up power even. And again, he had a surprising surprise in store. I was lying on by belly and he positioned himself above me, from the back. Yep OK, it’s doggy-style time, I thought. I pointed my butt at him and was very much aroused again. His fingers distributed the proof of my arousal everywhere between my legs, even between my butt-cheeks, which felt unbelievably exciting, how softly he slid along there. Then he bent down and whispered a question into my ear that quite threw me: “I’d like to take you from behind, REALLY from behind. May I?”

  Well geez Louise and all her bees! The A-question! I had of course, as a sexually interested and active female person, thoroughly considered this question before, but to date I’d always adamantly refused to try it for myself. I just couldn’t imagine how this could be good. I was aware of the intensely hot sensation that arises when someone touches the outside of this extremely sensitive erogenous zone, but as ever, inhibition and shame prevented me from just giving it a try. Plus, so far nobody had actually ever asked me to. I was just too inhibited. And besides, I was with Charlotte from ”Sex and the City” who was vehemently against this type of sex play because she didn’t want to end up being someone’s “fucked-in-the-ass” trophy. However, in spite of all this I decided in an instant to respond with a “yes” to Number Twenty-two’s question. After all, he was my emergency-sex man, I should make best use of the situation! I wasn’t ashamed of anything with him, and if he liked it so much, there didn’t seem to be any point in feeling inhibited. I just asked him to be extremely careful, since I was still a butt-virgin.

  Number Twenty-two on the other hand seemed to be an expert at this, and I remembered how he’d constantly talked about how hot this was during our skiing holiday, as part of his never-ending stream of sex stories. He donned another rubber and then he very carefully made his way in. The feeling was strange and very intense. I was tempted to hold my breath, but concentrated on breathing steadily. Then all of a sudden a juddering shot through me and literally took my breath away. I had goosebumps all over and was aroused in a way I’d never experienced before. The feeling was awesome, almost like pain, but not pain. He barely moved, or rather, I groaned at him, don’t you dare move. It was more than enough to just feel him in there, an in-out movement would have been unbearable. Luckily he complied with my request. He just remained lying on me, docking at back, and we hardly moved at all. After a few moments I came so hard that it shook me and I had to bite the pillow, otherwise I’d have screamed the house down. After that, I couldn’t bear it any longer, the stimulus threshold had been exceeded and now it started to feel very uncomfortable indeed. I was really sorry for him, because I’d have loved for him to have the same kind of out-of-this-world orgasm as I’d just experienced, but I just couldn’t bear it. I took the rubber off, fitted a new one and gave him his second orgasm cowgirl style. Even more exhausted, we sank back into the even more rumpled heap of cushions. Unbelievable, I thought – you’ve actually done it! You’ve actually allowed yourself to be fucked from behind. My absolute no-go! An absolute revelation! I’d never in my life have thought it would feel so unimaginably intense and excellent. Emergency sex rules OK!

  Some time later Number Twenty-two went home. That was fine by me, I needed some time by myself to sort out this astonishingly good New Year’s sex surprise! We met a few more times, and every time we had awesomely grandiose and uninhibited emergency sex. Once I even spent the entire night with him and in the morning we had breakfast and even a serious discussion about relationship issues. I caught myself wondering whether maybe it would be possible to have something more with him – I guess that was the desperate single sticking her head above ground again – but the mere idea was totally absurd. We were about as compatible as a rabbit and a cheese grater.

  Number Twenty-three: From turned on to turned off />
  Number Twenty-three was one of those in-between things that showed a lot of promise to start with, but all of a sudden he so got on my nerves that I pretended there’d never been anything between us, and I ended the whole thing without a word or an explanation.