I don't know what it is. I just love to make a woman writhe, and to do it without touching her seems so... omnipotent.
It started with Sue, my ex-wife. Back when we were still trying to make it work. For my 24th birthday she asked me what I wanted. I told her that I wanted to be able to have her do something sexual with me that she'd never done. She gave me a long look, thoughtful, or maybe calculating, I'm not sure which. I'm sure she was considering what I might ask for. She was probably thinking either 'blow me and swallow' or anal. Her answer made it clear what she thought about the latter, 'As long as it's nothing disgusting.'
I suppose I should have realized that we were never going to make it -- the signs were all there. The few times we reached the point of complete intimacy in bed (always in bed) it was like a door opened up, but was immediately slammed closed again. Susan was completely willing to commit to me, but it was a limited commitment. Body, and mind, but definitely not soul.
I think a lot of it had to do with her parents. Her dad is hyper-rational, never showing any emotion. He also had a very successful business career, eventually filling the post of CFO for two different Fortune 1000 companies before opening a golden parachute when the last one merged with another conglomerate. Meanwhile, Sue's mom is as ditzy as you can possibly imagine. Don't get me wrong, she's a very nice lady, and in no way fits the 'blond bimbo' stereotype she looks like. But she is highly emotional, and completely dependent on Sue's father in every way. I know Sue deeply loves and respects her father. While she loves her mother, I think she resists any urges to follow her mother as a role-model. As a result, I'm sure that emotional openness and intimacy are very uncomfortable for her.
The first time it happened was just before we were married. We'd both graduated, and she was staying with me for a couple weeks before she went home to prepare for the wedding. We'd been to a party given by some friends who weren't going to make the wedding, and had both indulged in some pot along with some nice wine. We necked a little in the cab home and I could tell she was in the mood. When we got back to my little apartment I lit a few candles and put on some music, I think it was John Klemmer. We danced and played a bit, and kissed a lot. I pulled out the futon, and we lay down. The apartment was on a bit of hill, and we had a nice view of the lights of what was becoming Silicon Valley. I removed her dress and had her lay on her stomach. With her head to the left, she looked out the window as I massaged her. I gave her a relaxing massage but kept the energy high enough that she didn't fall asleep. Had her turn over and did her front, working hard from her feet up to her thighs. Eventually I worked up to her chest, working from her shoulders down, not paying special attention to her breasts for a long time. When I finally narrowed my focus there, her nipples were erect and very sensitive. When they get like that, it seems half her breasts were nipple. Not that I minded, I've never liked the bovine look. As I played with them, I slid down, and began kissing her belly, thighs and mound. After some time, she allowed her legs to spread open, and I began to use my mouth on her lips. Now normally, this led to intercourse in very short order, five minutes of oral was about all that she accepted. I don't know what was different this night, but she soon lay with her legs splayed, moaning steadily, and we continued that way for a long time. I really don't know how long, because I really got into it. It was like my whole being was trying to flow out of my face into her. I'd been a bit high when we started, but now I felt like I was shrooming or something -- very disassociated. When she finally moaned 'Please, now', it wasn't like other times 'That's enough, put it in me.' And when I entered her, it wasn't the least bit exciting. Rather it felt like a persistent itch that had been scratched perfectly. Her legs around me were a perfect hug as our mouths melted together and we breathed each other. We moved slowly, steadily, and I felt our arousal grow together. I reached down and rubbed her clit a little and we were on the brink. I opened my eyes and said 'I love you.' I don't think she answered in words, but her face said 'I love you' right back. With a couple more movements we fell into an endless pool of brightness together.
Later I vaguely remember pulling the comforter over us, still entwined.
And the next morning, nothing.
I awoke alone in bed. Got up, peed, threw on some shorts and a t-shirt, grabbed a mug of coffee and went out to the patio. Sue was sitting, reading the Mercury-News business section, completely dressed. I went over and touched her cheek. She didn't look up from the paper.
'You're up early.'
'I woke up all sticky and needed a shower. Besides, I've got a lot to do today.'
'I had a wonderful time last night.'
'Me too. Gotta go.'
And she got up, put the paper down on the table, gave me a peck on the cheek and left.
OK, so I'm a romantic. Except that's not it, well not all of it. I CAN be as romantic as the next guy, probably more than most. But what I really crave is that sense of oneness that we felt that night, and to a lesser extent, a few other times. But what I finally figured out was that the closeness that I craved was suffocating to her. While I drew tremendous peace and reassurance from that feeling, she was terrified of the loss of self it entailed. That evening, when I came home from work and tried to describe how I'd felt the night before, she claimed that she'd had 'a bit too much wine and smoke.' And I, foolishly, didn't pursue the discussion further.
I assumed it would happen again, as we spent more time together and became more comfortable with each other. And it did, once on our honeymoon, when we spent a whole rainy morning in bed after a late night dancing under the moon at an outdoor beachside club. However, once we got back our jobs began to consume us, and our time together seemed to shrink instead of grow. Before we were married, we had to make an effort to be together, and one of us was a visitor, away from day-to-day responsibilities. Now, we never seemed to have time to focus on 'us.' Even though we were together much more in terms of hours spent in each other's company, we were actually getting much less 'quality time.' In all, you could probably have described us as 'partners' -- financial partners and fuck partners but certainly not soul mates.
All of which brings us to my 24th birthday.
If I'd had to talk about it, I probably would have told you that it was a 'fun' idea, and that I thought she'd like it. Also, I've always been a 'gadget' guy, so this was irresistible to me. But deep down inside, I'm sure I was looking for a way to control her; to force her to let down her barriers.
The idea had started when I saw an ad for a remote control vibrator. Of course, in this case they meant a clit vibrator with some straps to hold it in place, and a control on a long wire. Fun in bed, or around the house, but nothing you could really use in public. Well, that I could use on her in public anyway. Still, I bought one, and we played with it in bed. But she complained that it was 'too much.' and we ended up stuffing it in a drawer.
.... There is more of this story ...