First he kisses you on the lips. If he is any good he places his lips on yours first then parts your lips and seeks your tongue with his tongue. If you are any good you respond with equal gusto and input. While your lips are relishing each other’s and your tongues probing further,your hands are feeling and caressing. If you are any good you start by cupping his face in your palms and as you progress, moving those hands down his neck, his chest, his back, while simultaneously freeing his shirt or any restrictions on them. If he is good he would have held you in a warm, tight embrace, with one hand cradling your head. And as he kisses you more urgently, his hand would move down, unzipping, or untying, or unbuttoning your outfit, feeling for your breasts and feeling your breasts. Pause.
You tear yourselves apart to cast off all inhibitions- and all clothing. If he’s good- and you are patient- he undresses you, kissing each exposed body area or body part, tenderly. He lingers on your breasts, licking the nipples, cupping them gingerly. He kisses your stomach, your navel. He stops short of your pelvic area. If he is good he undresses himself quickly and efficiently, flinging his clothes with abandon, never taking his eyes off your face. If you are good you undress him, taking off his shirt, running your hands on his chest, on his nipples, and gently nibbling on them.
You both lie down; whether he gently leads you to the bed, or roughly tosses you into it, or you both fall into it, is irrelevant. If he is good he kisses your lips some more, and with his lips traces his way to your breasts giving each equal attention, then to your belly button and down to your jeans or skirt. If he’s good he undoes your belt buckle or your buttons in a flash, lifts your hips up slightly and peels off your jeans. If he’s really good he begins afresh with your breasts and your nipples, with slightly more pressure, as if oblivious to the crazy orchestra playing downstairs. Finally his fingers race downwards, finding their way to your clitoris. He probes… What?! STOP!!!
I HATE fingers! Never understood what the hell they were doing in my most delicate, most sensitive, precious area. To me fingers in my vagina are like two blind men leading each other: stumbling, falling, lacking bearing. What are you looking for? And if you find it will you know? Any time a lover places his fingers in my pussy my mother instinct kicks in. I am thinking,’ did you wash those hands, what was the last thing you touched, will you wash your hands afterwards’. Some men use their fingers to simulate the penis, thrusting and prodding somewhat strategically- I could have done that myself, Sir. Fingers are for caressing the lips of my vagina, and gently holding them open so you can gently flick your tongue on my clit and drive me wild. If I let you, fingers – one finger- is to stick in my ass while you eat my pussy and I writhe and moan. Other than that fingers are abrupt, and rude, and cold. And a turn-off.
And that’s why I hate fingers. Am I the only one who feels this way?