You see, he's taller then me. Quite a bit taller. I know that doesn't make much difference if we're lying down. In fact, it's nice. I get to tuck my head down under his chin, and stay warm, and I can avoid his cold feet altogether.
And it's not like he's without technique, or equipment. And he's got abs as hard as his ribs, and a face like an angel. Oh, and gentle. Strength with control. Perfect, yes?
But I have an obsession. It's nothing really kinky, or at least it wasn't. Before. You see, I've had a few boyfriends. Not a lot, but a few. I've done most of the positions and stuff, but I really, really like to fuck vertically. You know, standing. Leaning against a wall, or a window, or whatever. Up against a car, or on the climbing frame in a playground (that's another story).
My last boyfriend was a master. Truly. We were almost the same height, and with a little bending and prodding, we could do it freestanding, in the middle of the room. There's something about the way he could position himself, and the way I could wriggle that is beyond description. And to orgasm, standing, naked, in the middle of the room, well that's what I want. And a girl has to get what she wants. It's a new millennium, after all.
The only problem was, he was also a liar, a cheat, and a bastard. It got to the point where all I wanted was his cock, and as I never knew where else it had been, I couldn't enjoy it properly. After all, if he was just going to be a stand up vibrator, I'd make do with a battery one. Or my right hand. I needed more than something to hang my twat on. So I threw him out. Gave him the fuck of his life, took his key off him, and handed him his suitcase, already packed, and told him to take his now drooping best part, stick it back in his pants, and go and find a less picky girlfriend. Or a sheep, for all I cared.
Did I miss him? Of course I did, late at night, or early on a cold morning, or any time there was a thunderstorm. He had a special thing with lightening strikes. I can still come from listening to thunder.
I suppose you think all I think about is sex? No, I have to work, and I like other nice things too. Anyway, I got my life back together, bought a couple of new batteries, and tried to forget the bastard. Eventually, he faded in my mind to the point where I discovered Craig.
He'd been around the whole time, but I'd been so busy being pleasured by the bastard that I hadn't noticed. He worked with me. Yeah, I know you're not supposed to do that, but I plead desperation. And once we got together, I couldn't let him go.
He is perfect. No, Perfect. That's better. With a capital 'P'.
He makes love. No fucking for him. He never even says fuck. He sometimes says 'cunt', but only when it's sexy, never when it's gross. I don't know how he knows when the right time is, but he never gets it wrong. I've had more, better, longer, more intense orgasms with him that ever before in my life. Ever. He takes me places I want to go, gives me things I want to have, feeds me things I want to eat. He's caring, intelligent, gentle, clean, warm, loving and just plain nice. I love him to bits, and I never want to lose him. But...
He's too tall. There isn't any way to stand on the sheepskin rug, curl my toes into the wool, and come while he spurts warm gold inside me. So I tried some ways around the problem. I stood on a box, and promptly fell off. Funny, but not sexy. I had him hold me off the ground, and locked my ankles behind his tight butt. That worked, and it was nice, but there was no way to get the control I had standing up. I even got him to kneel, and I lowered myself on him, but that wasn't the best either.
.... There is more of this story ...