When you’ve been intimate with enough people, you start to pick up on little tricks, twitches, and signifiers of what they are feeling. Not to brag, just a fact. For instance, if someone’s face crumples up and looks like they are smelling something bad, that means you’ve done a good job. If they are grabbing the sheets, you’re doing work but you need to keep going. Pushing you away means to stop for a moment to give them time to recover. Things like that.
After a while, picking up on those signals becomes second nature to you. You know what to touch or kiss or lick when and where and with what frequency. You learn what little spots on the neck send them into paroxysms of pleasure. You learn how to bend and shift. You learn what means what. It’s like a cheat code for getting dirty.
It’s more difficult when you start getting mixed signals, though. Sometimes they tell you to stop and then get mad when you do. What are you supposed to do there? Context, I guess. Sometimes they pull you close and won’t let you go and then get mad when you do the business somewhere they don’t want. Things like that can be frustrating, but that’s why communication is so important with your partner. The more you talk, the better your experience is likely to be.
That’s sort of the trouble I’m having with my current paramour and, if you’ll indulge me, maybe talking it out with you will help me figure things out with her. I’m stumped as to what I need to do to make her feel comfortable, so maybe an outside perspective can help. You know, an academic exercise of sorts. Ready?
Okay, so I met her the other day in the park. We were both jogging so I asked if she wanted to run together. She didn’t seem opposed so we started to run as a team. She would speed up, so I’d speed up. She’d take a random left, so I’d follow. It became a kind of game in a way and was exciting, I don’t mind telling you. She even sprinted across the street, which was dangerous and thrilling at the same time. I mean, I followed but it was a trip.
As we ran, she started yelling at me. Incomprehensible things because she was breathing so hard. I guess she hadn’t run very much because she was gasping for breath. I started to get worried when I saw tears on her face, but looking back at it, I’m pretty sure it was just sweat. Well, eventually, I caught up with her in some alley she took us down – I don’t know why she did that – and we went back to my place for a drink and dinner. She seemed fine. Hell, right now, she’s just sitting downstairs in my man cave, resting on my couch.
My question is this: what do I do to make her stop screaming?
Here is where I''ll post random stories that aren't, as of yet, in a larger book. Call it a free ride into the mouth of madness, yo.