'Nobody Fakes Unconscious Aftershocks.' Was written on his shirt above his left pectoral. I had to lean fairly close to read it, and I noticed my nostrils flared slightly at his scent. Rolling the phrase around in my mind, I glanced up at his eyes just as the image came into my mind.
He saw the flush spread over my chest, of course, because he was the kind of a guy who never missed signals of any kind from a woman.
"Would you care to elucidate that, a little?" I pointed with my chin, not trusting my hands not to tremble.
"Well; ok, let me tell you the story of where that came from. You see, for the first ten years we were married, my wife never, ever fell asleep naturally. Every night, and many other times, she was always passing out while we made love. And I mean really out! The first few times I worried that she'd had a heart attack, or a stroke, or something. But after a while it became obvious that this was her normal reaction to an overload of orgasms; she had just simply convulsed herself into unconsciousness when her body couldn't take any more. Anyway, after we split up, I was invited downstairs by the neighbors, a couple of women whom I'd always assumed were lesbians.
When I asked for their opinion about why my wife had left me, they first suggested it was because I wan't satisfying her in bed. I didn't think that was it, but Sally persisted. When I explained that she always seemed pretty satisfied, she explained that most women fake it most of the time with guys. That was when I told her that 'nobody fakes unconscious aftershocks.' thinking about all the times I waited, watching my wife closely, as her body drew in a shuddering breath, then gently convulsed again, then stay perfectly still in what appeared to be a really deep sleep, only to shudder through several more aftershocks. I would not be able to wake her for at least an hour and a half, at least not gently.
Anyway, this seemed to make Sally and Belinda really hot, for some reason, and they both started coming on to me. They are both average looking girls, but their sexual arousal made them look absolutely radiant, and no normal male in the world would have been able to resist doing whatever they wanted.
And what they wanted was the three of us, naked, in bed, right now. They wanted to have the feeling of passing out from an overload of ecstasy. They wanted to experience unconscious aftershocks."
Christ, he'd been talking to me for less than five minutes, and he already had me in his bed with him, and two other women, no less, and I was wet! He had moved even closer to me, while his soft, resonant voice sucked me in like a hypnotist, (which I later found out that, like everything else, he had tried and was good at!) and my head filled with his scent, again. 'He's mixed those male pheremones into his aftershave, the bastard!', I thought. But I surprised myself by not feeling indignation saying it, but more like grudging admiration. That was the exact moment I knew that I was going to go to bed with him. I knew that a guy who was that thorough, did know what he was doing, and I DID want, just as he had so cunningly suggested, to have the feeling of passing out from an overload of ecstasy.
"And did they?" I asked, looking into his eyes. Yes, his eyes. I didn't know blue eyes could be so warm. They're usually not. Like when he was driving me home and a guy cut him off in traffic, his eyes went a cold, hard grey. Enough to show that there was steel in there, but they softened immediately when he saw me watching him, pupils dilating noticeably.
"Your Mom tell you you never really know a guy 'till you see him both drunk and angry, did she?" he teased. You had to laugh with the guy. He was just so quick, and perceptive, and, well, I guess it really was sensitivity. He reached over and took my elbow into his warm palm, thumb lightly stroking the upper arm, as he quietly asked;
"You know I could never do anything to hurt you, and I'll never do anything you don't want me to, don't you?" And I did.