It is amazing what your imagination can achieve
Perhaps you, not unlike me, when thinking of our age and what purpose do our erotic visions serve at this stage, we regress into silence, choosing instead an early trip to bed in preparation of turning a new page.
It helps us not
having now arrived in the dimming light of our setting sun, feeling as if,
no!
Being told!
We ought best be preparing to enjoy the moonlight, a quick nightcap before saying good night.
Again, being told,
“I mean GOOD NIGHT, SLEEP TIGHT”
Once there, we lay perfectly still awaiting the arrival of another day just laying there until.
Granted, I’m so over athletic love making. I’m so over the performances that so poorly mimic expectations, as if there was an Olympic committee keeping score. The higher your triple somersault or arching back to accommodate their distance from the floor, the higher your climatic partner’s score.
“Oh my God! That was so fucking hot, sweetheart!”
And in your head you ask,
“so was that a 10?”
You having spoken only in thought, they offering no such kindness retort.
Of course their response arrives in the least desiring way, their climatic ecstasy having subsided along with their enthusiasm in the marking of your scoreboard,
“That was like a good 7, maybe like an 8!”
What you really want to tell them is,
“don’t let your backside get bruised by the gate.”
“Shit!
They live here! With me!”
When finally they roll over aided by your purposeful stillness, it’s not long before their snoring rings a perfect 10 on your scorecard. Finding yourself in the shower, not that you could not just as easily have laid there for a few more hours, but something is lacking. You are still in need of a more perfect macking.
“It is amazing what your imagination can achieve with a quality shower head, its controls in your hand as it streams down its rejuvenating warm liquid perfection, guaranteeing a…”
“perfect 10 every time”
…as you slowly fall to your knees, not in prayer but it could just as easily have been your pentecostal cry of please, please, please.
Your continued enjoyment of the residual side effects, scoring even higher than your previously awarded score of,
“maybe a 7, perhaps 8”
delivers no muscle cramping, only the perfect offer of relaxing.
Your knees now weakened and sore, your senses, for a brief moment, take leave of your body, you become lost in the perfection of being your solitary soulmate, eventually remembering to turn off the shower.
Siting back off your knees, very slowly unto the shower floor, taking the opportunity to straighten out your legs while simultaneously you lean your body forward, relieving what little tension remains in your back. A momentary thought arriving and almost just as quickly departing, your intent of touching your toes, clearly NOT in the cards. So you settle for at least a directional attempt, just enough to have served its purpose of killing any residue of tension.
Breathing deeply, musing to yourself in silent conversation, you reason with the only other person in the shower, yourself.
“Granted, at my age, even when athletically still moderately well defined, the things that will more quickly make me scream no longer come from an erotic ass slap but more so from an uninvited ass cramp.”
You pause to smile as if allowing the moment’s humour to be recognized, acknowledging, your smile becoming a wee chuckle before continuing.
“Pleasure now comes, not from the anticipation of cumming but from the actual release of that muscle having cramped two minutes into your opening act. The very muscle that was just as distracting, dare I say, as annoying as children knocking at the door, wanting to know what was it that fell on the floor.”
“ Seriously, what is the point of being thrown in the air, having long lost the hair that once flared, if only to end up on the floor? Best we just start there. Yes, when as a younger lover I could shift into no fewer than ten gears and that was just a starting point, now my only shifting is in an earnest attempt to avoid a tear. With wisdom, I fully understand the value of not burning out this old clutch prematurely only to end up stuck in the high pitch, painfully whining tenth gear.”
Recovered! Drying the excess water from this thinning hair, memories of that youthful fling comes rushing in and you begin, again, to get wet faster than you can dry. All hot again, you put your naked self back into bed, waking them with a gentle whisper,
“Sweetheart, I think I could hit that perfect score!’”
Don’t you just love the gentle perfection of a slow purposeful hand, with its embedded knowledge of knowing all the right places to make your body expand?
Want to join our exclusive SLAY VIP LINGERIE TRY ON HAUL CLICK HERE
Don’t worry your escapades are safe with us.
It is amazing what your imagination can achieve
