Disclaimer: The views I will attempt to express here are totally worthless and you will gain absolutely nothing from reading this article. However, if you swing more towards the lighter side of life where we find humor in the mundane, be my guest. Have a laugh or two at my expense. To my religious freaks, you know I still have the love for you so please, return immediately to your Bibles and turn to 1 Corinthians 7:5.
I simply and unequivocally love getting off. I mean, who doesn’t love getting off? Getting off is the greatest natural stress reliever ever created, in my opinion. When two people decide to play footsie, one or both of them is in to get off. If not, what’s the point of all that huffing, puffing and smacking?
Foreplay and all the prep work is all well and good but everyone knows you invest time and effort in the beginning so you can achieve an exhilarating burst at the end. Have you ever been with someone who takes forever to get off or never gets off? It’s weird as funk.
Follow me on this one and don’t get lost. When you go the full monty with a man or a woman, you simply can’t focus on one area.
For me, my worldview during the slap-and-tickle would mostly consist of her bouncing Congo bongos, the hair, if any, on her pink panther, the sound of her voice, her mid-drift, that vertical shape which develops every time she pops up while riding in the saddle and of course, the jiggles of her tushie.
Stay with me as I get into the nitty-gritty now. Here I was a few years back with my special someone. It was our first time and we were both frisky, almost all the clothes were off, the lights were dim and the cold bed could not wait to get warm and soaked.
She takes control and climbs on top at the onset. I simply love it when a woman chooses to get into the saddle when the drilling commences. Some serious romping was about to go down, or so I thought.
As she eased in, she grabbed and cradled my head with both hands and with a fierce stare, she declared, “Look me in the eyes. Do not take your eyes off me.”
For what seemed like an eternity, she stared at me with her deep brown eyes the whole time she was in control. I could feel her Congo bongos but I could not glance at them. I was trapped!
I desperately wanted to see the Congo bongos bounce. Were they bouncing vertically or in a circular pattern? I got nothing at all. Seriously!?
Do I panic now or later? I suggested we change positions because my half-wit friend down there was quickly losing the daylight due to the denial of the usual worldviews. I mean, my buddy and I have never been denied visuals up to that point. The agony was killing us!
No need to panic, I said to myself. You will gain some control back once you assume a new position and expand your worldview finally. Wrong! She kept her hand firmly in place as we switched and her eyes never wavered off mine.
Wow! Who is this chick and what planet did she drop from?!
I guess the eye contact did it for her because she got off with the shakes a few minutes into the switch. She finally let go of my head and I just laid on my back pissed.
“You did not get off?” She finally asked. “Why, what’s wrong?”
“Uhmmmm, where do you want me to start from?” I managed to let out. “How about we get in front of that long mirror and you stare at me through the reflection?”
Constant eye contact during the slap-and-tickle is awkward as phuck!! I must admit that there was something thrillingly perverse about locking eyes the whole time though. There is always that first time but this was something else.
We were alone but the deep eye contact made me feel scrutinized and observed in a way I don’t normally feel or experience during romping. The experience took me back to the same uncomfortable excitement I felt when I had a second woman in the room observing the action.
I’ve always associated intense eye contact with passionate foreplay, not the kind of romping I usually get into.
The eyes, in my opinion, say what’s really going on sometimes in someone’s mind. It’s not very important that you stare into your partner’s eyes too long during the romp but you have to look just long enough to see how he or she is responding to you. Who knows, she may have grabbed a book while you were busy focusing on her Congo Bongos.
So there you have it, folks. Another useless blog I managed to churn on a Thursday night where my bored mind managed to fire back this experience. I had to memorialize this flashback with a blog. A blog which I chose to share with hundreds of readers who could care less if someone starred at me the whole time during a romp or if she starred at the ceiling.
Stay focused on the Congo Bongos, my friends!