The Best of 2012

The Best of 2012

Happy New Year kiddies!

Ok, so this is going to be short and sweet, but here it is. I am asking all of you to challenge yourself. Having had a recent conversation with someone who is very dear to me, the topic of Sexual Superhero came up. Ok, maybe I came up with that and demanded her to create a Sexual Superhero. Why? Well it’s simple. Do you ever notice that you do the same thing over and over again, whether dating and/or in bed? Do you find yourself wishing to be more curious, but terrified to try? Do friends call you the prude of the group? Hell, have you not taken a good look at the equipment downstairs?

Well what are you waiting for? Become a Sexual Superhero!! And I mean, go out there and give yourself a challenge and do it! Now, I can say be a Dating Superhero, for those of you who would like to crawl before you walk. But it’s not hard to do. And here’s how. Everything that you have ever wanted to try, try. Anyone you have ever wanted to ask out, ask. Any place you have ever wanted to go, go. And position you have wanted to do, for heavens sake…DO IT!

The change you want to see in your life, whether in your relationships, bed, profession, family and friends, does not happen by those who sit on the sidelines. Get out there and do it. And make mistakes. Make tons of them. But when you do, learn from them. I am sooooo over the girls who keep saying “Aw, I keep ending up with the bad guy.” Or guys who say “Aw, I am so tired of dating psychos.” Guess what, it might not be them. It might be YOU! So change it! Do something different.

Finally, love HARD! The next time you have an amazing date, the next time you have a perfect moment, the next time you look in their eyes and can hear  Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” in the background, SAVOUR it. Think of it as the last date, the last moment, the last kiss, the last anything you may enjoy in life and ENJOY it! Remember, some people might not have that chance, but you do.

So make the year of the Dragon a fabulous year. Go out there, date, have fun, and enjoy every moment of it!

Now That’s a Disappointment

Now That’s a Disappointment

Yes. I have been gone for a while. And to be honest…I missed you! But I figure, for my 1st post since my little hiatus, I would give you something juicy. Ok, for all you straight men, you are going to want to stop reading, right about NOW!

There is nothing more delicious than the carnal anticipation of sex. And the anticipation of GREAT sex, well, that’s just sublime. So imagine my two, TWO let downs. Now, I in no way and commenting that I am the greatest sexual goddess since lube in the bedroom. But I am saying, well, if you get to ride the ride, I aim to leave you with a smile on your face. First off, this post will strike directly to the hearts, egos and crotch of every man who thinks he is “The S&*%”. Second, the idea that a man can make up for size with technique, I think I am officially putting that to bed…pun intended.

So, when you go out for a night on the town, looking hot and knowing it, you are bound to attract attention. Attention, we shall call him “The Kid”. Why “The Kid”? Because he was 7 years younger than me. Yea, I almost lost it. But hey, tall, handsome, great smile, killer outfit…I’m a sucker. I will say, the coolest move performed that night was by yours truly. After party drinks at his place and the jazz station on Pandora, I asked him to dance with me in his living room. It proved to be a helluva first kiss and you know how I feel about the young…they must be taught.

INSERT DISAPPOINTMENT: The size/height theory in men plays like this…Tall man, long…  Short man…well, you know. Any way, the young man, a good 6’0 caught me totally by surprise. He totally disproved my theory. Not that this hasn’t happened before, but good heavens, what do I do with you now?

30 Minutes Later….

After some of my best acting work since college, I playfully tell him that I am sad I could not do my coolest trick, popping my jaw out from its socket. To which he replied the beautiful unspoken truth of the night “We’re adults here, so let’s be honest. Not like I have anything worth you popping your jaw out for.” Truer words have never been spoken young man…

The second disappointment came from a third date. Again, young man (What the hell am I going to do with someone under 30?) Three fabulous dates, three awesome good bye kisses and the build up was kind of insane. I will say this, he has studied the art of great foreplay and I would proudly give him an “A”. However, call me a Size Snob if you want, I will freely admit to it. On the plus side, its good to see that some of the young are practicing good technique.

UPDATE: Do not fret young ones. Remember I said, there is nothing more sublime than the anticipation of GREAT sex. Well, color me sublimely happy and I guess that makes up for the immaturity of youth. So here is to a Happy New Years kiddies. Remember, if you are going to play, play safe and appreciate great sex, for it could be your last….until the next one…

Love in the dark?

Love in the dark?

I noticed something. And I am going to go so far as to say, that I am not the only person who does this. But I have a bit of performance anxiety when the lights are on. Meaning, I do some of my best work in the dark. Ironic, knowing that when I was a child my grandmother use to have this saying “Whatever you do in the dark, will come out in the light.” For some reason, you can call me a very mature child because I always thought it had something to do about sex. I mean, when I saw the scrambled Skin-a-Max channels, the actors were always in the dark. But later I found that it meant, what you think you can hide metaphorically in the dark, will always come out in the literal light.

For me, there is no metaphor, I am trying to hide myself in the dark. I could never understand it when I a guy says “Wait. I want to see you. Let me turn the lights on.” I kid you not, when I hear that, my heart leaps into my chest and I turn into Gizmo. You know. You can’t feed them after midnight and they aren’t suppose get direct light. At first I thought it was because I just never wanted someone to see the faces I make, because lets face it, no one ever makes “Sexy Faces”. But then I realized, its my body. Even when I lost over 40 lbs, I still remember thinking, “You sure as hell aint seeing my back fat.”

Now in truth ladies, when a guy gets to this point, they could really care less about what we look like. I am reminded of an episode of Nip/Tuck when the hot Dr Christian Troy has sex with a character played by Rosie O’ Donnell. And what does he do? He puts a paper bag over her head. They don’t really care. I mean, they care about the look that got us to the bedroom, but after that, the person putting the most pressure on our appearance is ourselves. And we are pathetic in our vanity, too. I present for the court, the secrets of The Female Sex Ninja:

  • One must always lay down on your back. This allows gravity to do its part, and thus make us look skinnier. 
  • One must always arch as far back as possible when on top. This gives the illusion that our breasts are perkier than they normally are. 
  • If one must turn over, you must do so in the utmost sexiest and fastest way. This prevents the long time gap of moving body fat over and thus making us look unattractive to our mate.
  • One must try to prevent noises from coming from our nether regions. (This needs no explanation)
  • One must practice the groans and sounds that come out of our mouth. This prevents us from sounding like we are in pain or a whining child, which will then freak your mate out if you do in fact have children. 
  • And finally, no matter how much we may like to, one must not attempt to re-create scenes from a porno. We are  not Jenna Jameson. Hell, she isn’t even Jenna Jameson.
So, are we wrong for feeling a little insecure? Of course not. But next time, dare yourself to keep the lights on for at least two minutes….while he’s in the bathroom. Hey, it still counts!
Mr Where Do You Think You’re Putting That Thing

Mr Where Do You Think You’re Putting That Thing

I have a slight addiction. No, not that…though I may need to seek help of some sort. But no, my addiction is to high heels. Because I wear heels so many of them, and not to mention they accentuate my 2nd best feature (you can guess what my best feature is), I have a natural tendency to be attracted to tall men. However, short men, and I preface this by saying shorter than me, find a large attraction to me. My thing is, I can love the package regardless, but if we go out and I am towering over you in my heels, I start to love the package a little less.
So when I went on a date with a handsome guy from Tennessee, I tried very hard to look past my theory on short men. Ok, so we all know this theory, and short guys you might not want to admit it being true. But it is said that the height of a man can parallel the short, um, length of his member. Hence my love for tall guys. Not to mention, what girl doesn’t like standing on her tippy toes to kiss a guy? Now when I say he was short, for a man, he was quite average. He was 5’8 (I’m 5’9 in heels), rugged country boy, killer smile and great taste in music. 
I was already a sucker when on our second date, dinner at his place, I realized that he lived in a cabin that overlooked The Great Smoky Mountains and had a hot tub on the patio. Yea, I was pretty much done. After an awesome dinner and a dip in the hot tub (did I mention there was a light snow fall?), the moment kind of wrapped us in a frenzy of hot sexual tension. Needless to say, we jumped out of the hot tub and ran straight to the enormous master bed. As I dried off, he slowly undressed, and then the most amazing thing happened. I was speechless. If you know me, you know how rare this is.  I sat on the bed, in actual awe and utter silence. 
Here stood before me, quite simply something I was so not letting get near me. He smirked and I looked at him and said “And where, sir, do you think you are putting that thing?” (Thus his name). “Yea. I get that reaction a lot.”, he said. Um, YA THINK?! Now ladies, I am sure we have all encountered something similar, or even something where you have been delightfully surprised. But there is a difference, a very large difference from surprise vs scared. As we began kissing, I tried very hard to actually put myself in a mental state as to prepare for what was about to happen.
Ok….I stretched, I ate something, I’m totally hydrated, WHAT THE HELL?? NO! No way! No how, is that THING going anywhere near Miss Twila. NO! I mean, talk about false advertising. Here is this attractive, quiet, SHORT country boy with Mustafa in his pants. I have heard of the short, white man urban legend, but I have always thought it to be an urban legend. Kind of like the black republican. But there he was, in the flesh. So I prepared myself, you can do this, you have a tattoo for crying out loud. How hard can it be? (pun intended)
To my amazement, it was awesome! The urban legend also leads you to believe that with great size, comes horrible technique. This was not the case with Mr Where Do You Think You’re Putting That Thing. We dated for about two months and had great sex. However, I did have to meditate before each encounter. I would like to say, that since then I have come across several men like him, happy large surprises. But alas, such has not been the case. But I will keep searching, hoping to find another urban legend like him and perhaps voting republican in the process.
Mr I’ve Never Seen You Before In My Life

Mr I’ve Never Seen You Before In My Life

I know I am not the only one to admit this. But there is always that one, ok…maybe two…people that you have had relations with, that you would rather forget the whole event ever happened. Not that the mood wasn’t there, the kissing wasn’t perfect or even that you didn’t look your best. Simply put, the sex sucked. And not in the,  the opening credits were crappy but the final scene was epic, kind of sucked. I mean, all together, the sex was just lousy.

Case in point with Mr I’ve Never Seen You Before In My Life. I have referred to him as this because I will deny our ever having sex, let alone kissing, until the day that I die. I won’t tell you the details about how we first got to the bedroom, I will just tell you this, work sexual tension gives you false hope that the person flirting on the other end might be good in the sack.

So one night after work, we got together. The first sign of this sinking sexual Titanic, he was ok at kissing. Now I will say this, there are some men out there who have lost the fine art of kissing. I mean, melt your panties off, feel lightheaded, the room actually spinning and Oh My God I think I can have an orgasam, kind of kissing. Think of it this way, that should be your version of “This is Why You Should Sleep With Me” sales tactic, to get us in bed. I have stop stronger men in their tracks simply based on the fact that they were bad kissers.

But for some dumb reason, I let this minor major flaw slide. The clothes disappear, the “kissing” continues, and I am instantly bored. If you start your lovemaking by doing long division in your head, that’s a bad sign, right? Hell yea it is! But it’s kind of like ordering a drink out with friends and everyone deciding to leave early. You try your best to finish the drink off as fast as you can, not letting it go to waste, when there are times, you should just get your crap and go.

So I am sure you are wondering what made him Mr I’ve Never Seen You Before In My Life. Well it was the Holy Trinity of Bad Sex: Lousy Kisser, Small Unit,  No Skills. Now I say this because having one or two of those things going wrong can still somewhat redeem you in the eyes of us ladies. Having them all go wrong, well, you run the risk of being laughed at by us and our girlfriends.

It was a few years later when one of my friends brought his name up. “Hey, didn’t you hook up with…” I stopped her mid sentence, looked her dead in the face and with every bit of Erica Cane soap opera acting conviction, I said to her…I’ve Never Slept With Him Before In My Life!

Mr Oh That’s So Cute

Mr Oh That’s So Cute

Ok, so this is the post that guys have been dreading, because it’s the size post. First, I will say this, size only matters when it comes to diamonds and leg room in First Class. However- in the bed room, size does have a, no pun intended, big factor.

The man in question had a crush on me for a little while, so we decided to go on a date. There was some sparks, some definite flirty-flirty, and it was nice. Getting back to his place he did the “Let me give you a massage” move. Note: You guys are so wrong for that. You know we melt every time. And of course, the move totally worked…let the makeout session begin. In truth he was a adorable, the total baby faced, sweet guy and I was smitten. So if the clothes came off, hey, it would be interesting to see what happens next.

As we make it to his room, the clothes magically disappeared and then it happened. Now I know I wear contacts, and it was late, my eyes might have been dry, but what I saw was real. The actual thought that went through my head was “Oh That’s So Cute”. I mean, it was like a cute little miniature surprise. It matched his cute personality, but it threw me off a bit. Now, what I have found in the past is that you should never judge. It has been this woman’s experience that men who may lack in size are experts in other areas. So as I chase out the internal laughs I got from Mr Oh That’s So Cute, we proceed…..

THREE MINUTES LATER….

He looks at me, somewhat sad and a little embarrassed. “Could we not tell anyone about this?”, he says. Are you serious? Not tell anyone? Not even my girls? I already had a mental list of the phone calls I was about to make. But I am a nice girl and I said nothing, until years later and until this post.

 I tell you all this sad tale for one reason and one reason only. Guys, if you know you are coming to the game a little short on practice and in gear, make sure you work on your conditioning and endurance. Now, let’s play ball!

Mr Nubian King

Mr Nubian King

I am all about confidence, heck, at times I have it in abundance. And there is nothing wrong with going in and having your own personal theme song playing in your head. You need that added push in some situations just because the task is so daunting. And I guess, the bedroom is some what like a circus. You are the ringleader, prancing around trying to entice the tiger while at the same time, trying to give the audience a good show.

But sometimes that confidence, can turn into arrogance and that arrogance can turn into really, really bad sex. So for your consideration I present, Mr Nubian King. Now I will admit, this post might be slightly skewed based on the fact that Mr Nubian King was the only black man I have ever been with. Yes, the ONLY one. So perhaps, for anthropological reasons, I should consider sleeping with another black man. Either way, he was my first. Mr Nubian King and I went to college years prior to our sleeping together. He was very good friends with a mutual friend of mine. A friend who I happen to be staying with for a few weeks before I moved out of state.

It was one of those nights of hanging out, watching tv, drinking wine and just chilling in. My friends boyfriend ended up coming over, leaving Mr Nubian King and I sitting in the living room, with the lights off…ALONE. Now little did I know, this was kind of planned because apparently, he liked me which was a total shook to me. It was like some horrible 6th grade first date, I sat on one far side of the couch, he on the other end and both of us staring at the tv, but not really watching it. I fully expected the ole yawn and arm move, but it did not happen. This would find out later would have been the lesser of all evils.

Now how it happened that he kissed me, I will never know. Maybe he was a ninja in another life because I did not see it coming. And who am I to deny a cute boy a kiss. Yea, he was cute. Not really my type because I have only ever been attracted to white men, but he was cute and sweet. Well the kiss turned into some serious kissing and then we were off. Now I am not proud to admit this, but I was soooo not into this moment. I would have been happier watching whatever it was we were watching. This taught me a great lesson which was further taught by Mr Best, if you are not in the moment, don’t fake it, it turns out to be more work for you. So true.

So the clothes come off, more kissing continues and then it was like we time traveled to a cheesy 1972 porno. He had this look in his eye like there was a camera in the room. No, seriously. Like he was…acting. And then to make it worse, came….the lines. “Yeaaaaa.”  “You like this?”  “I know you do.”  “You love it don’t you?”  Do I? Actually no. It took everything in my power not to laugh. Was he serious? Who was he trying to convince? Me or him? And the LL Cool J lip licking and then, I swear the man winked at me. What in the world? All I kept thinking is, this can’t be what the whole hub bub about black men. Seriously, who the hell did I just slept with? A cross between Quagmire and Barry White?

Funny as it was, it thankfuly was over in no time. I went to the shower, hiding my giggles and a bit perplexed. I was hoping that this might have been the man that could have converted me to the “Dark Side.” But there is something to be said about leaving your pride at the bedroom door. So Guys, be macho, be cocky, show us your best moves, but remember sometimes, silence is golden.

Mr Racist

Mr Racist

Ahhh, there is something special in the smell of a southern summer. The magnolias that line our shaded streets. The honeysuckle that embraces your every step. The home made Iced Tea that quenches your thirst and your soul. And that final smell. It’s all too familiar aroma is in the air even to this day, racism. Now, like boiled peanuts, you can’t find it everywhere, but it’s there. And like boiled peanuts, you probably know someone who is all about it.

If there were ever a post where I would love to reveal the true identity of the person whom the post was about, it would be this one. Not to be mean, or vindictive, but in the hopes that he could learn from his actions. Oh screw it. I want my cousins Pookie and Ray Ray to beat his ass. But that is not the woman my Nana raised, and so, I will simply call him, Mr Racist.

Mr Racist and I met through mutual friends. I have to admit, he was so my type. Funny, attractive, a cross between Paul Rudd and David Schwimmer, walked into a room and good times were always had, successful, focused and a great kisser. (This is where the compliments stop). Like many before him, things started as a random hook up. And I was kinda fine with that. But then it turns out, he was actually pretty good. (Ok, no more compliments after this.) So we hooked up a few more times. And he totally had me, when the second time we got together he offered to make me dinner, and actually did.

Now for me, I was fine with our arrangement. It was nothing serious, very casual, no weirdness out in public, to be honest, it was kinda fun. It was also great to know that people would have been completely shocked if they knew we slept together, and I enjoyed that fact. This went on for about a month, and again I say, I was fine with this. But then the turn happened. How men can ruin a perfectly good arrangement like this, I will never know. But he ruined it.

Now fellas, we have heard many lines to get us out of your bed and to stop the “relationship”.

  • “Let’s be friends”
  • “I’m not looking for something serious right now”
  • “I have a lot on my plate”
  • “The timing just is not right”
  • And the classic “It’s not you, it’s me”
All of these work in almost any situation, and if that was what Mr Racist was going for to end our little bedroom antics, any of these lines would have worked just fine. However, he did something so unexpected, so off the wall, so totally low, that there really is no words…well, now there’s this blog. 
One night, after a quite enjoyable session, while still wrapped up in my sheet, laying on his bed and the sweat not yet dry, he looks over at me with some hesitation. They say timing is everything, and I was about to witness that his sucks. He proceeds, “Desiree, you’re such a cool girl”, this start is never good and NEVER ends well. So I prepared myself for the “but” and mentally got my clothes ready for the drive back to my apartment. He continues, “We’ve been having fun and all, but I just don’t think my friends would think to highly of me dating a black girl.”
Ok, if you know me well enough, you know that I was conflicted on what to do next. On one side, the ghetto in me, be it small, was thinking “I know this cracker didn’t and I am about to whoop his ass!”. But then there is the sweet, more rational side, and that is what he got. All I could say as a I barely looked at him was “Really?”. He tried to explain and to be honest, I don’t remember much of what he said. I was hurt, insulted, upset, humiliated and just plain ole pissed. I picked up my clothes and got dressed, he was still talking and I was still walking. 
We saw each other a few times around town after that. I was always cordial and polite, just like my Nana would have wanted. But secretly I wished I had done more. I wished I could have made him wear a sign that says “I love fried chicken, but not screwin it”, or maybe something more clever. I wanted people to know what a jerk he was. I am not really sure if he said what he said to get me to leave, or if he truly felt that way, in any event, he was wrong. It’s my wish that he has learned something from this. Maybe he might have even fell in love and married a black woman. That, or I hope he got his car stolen on MLK Blvd. in Atlanta. 
Either way, Kharma is truly a bitch, and her name is Sho’Nequa.
Mr Best

Mr Best

There is nothing more dangerous than the male ego. So I shall put a warning to this post. If you think Mr Best is about you, you are probably wrong, because what made him Mr Best was the fact that he was so humble. Oh, and he was amazing, among other things.

So let’s be honest, there are times that we do things against our better judgement, as well as the better judgement of our friends. I did Mr Best against my better judgement. Not that he was such a bad guy. And not that several of my friends knew him. Simply that, I went into my “relationship” with Mr Best knowing it was only going to be the basic of all great sex, The-On-Again-Off-Again-In-Between-Relationships-Partner. Ok, Ok, I didn’t know that at the time, but that is what it turned out to be. It also turned out strangely, to be one of the most healthy male friendships I have ever had. Because Mr Best gave me what ever woman does NOT want: a completely honest, unabashed, brutally truthful look into the male mind.

If the book “He’s Just Not That Into You”, were a person, it were Mr Best. And what was so wonderful, was that he did not act like some macho pig out to educate me. Instead, he became like my sexual Mr Miagi and I ended up doing some crazy crane practice on a dock.( or mattress ) . Either way, what made him Mr Best was that I constantly learned from him. Not just about the things that men enjoyed, but the things that I enjoyed. It’s funny. We think we know what we like, what we enjoy, what really turns us on. But do we?

It’s not until you come across someone who challenges all of your theories and notions about love, sex and relationships that you realize, this is all a continual process. Kinda like when your kids are grown, you still learn something about parenthood. So other than being my Yoda, what made him so wonderful?  Well, he was your average guy. Not some guy you would see and say “Whoa, I bet he is amazing in bed.” He was a guy I knew through friends, that I got to know better through school and work. Simply put, he was just That-Guy-I-Saw-Around-Town. And one night after some drinks, it happened.

Alright kids, this is where you want me to tell you that it was mind blowing and that I could not feel my toes. Well, I would be lying. It was good. I mean, it was just that, good. And it was maybe a few weeks before it happened again. Then the strangest thing occurred . The thing that we women sometimes secretly yearn for, but are too embarrassed to admit. One night after sex, we started to…talk. We talked about all the things that we didn’t understand about the opposite sex, all of our turn-ons and turn-offs, and then an even more amazing thing happened…he listened to me. But then there was a problem. I started dating someone. And because I believe in being fully invested in one person at a time, I had to sadly, let Mr Best go. But guess what? He understood! And he didn’t act weird about it!

In fact, he was the person I went to when I needed advice. He was my sounding board and I in turn, was his. When that relationship ended, we picked up where we left off. Now in the Harry met Sally world, this is where a tricky, complicated relationship would start, but it didn’t. He forced me to break out of my shell, to think outside of the box. To learn more about the whole process and not just the act. I mean, I thought I was ok before, but now I learned that it was more than just thinking how you perform, but it was equally about knowing and understanding your partner. In otherwords, I learned to grow up.

I owe a lot to Mr Best. I am sure I might even owe a Pulitzer to him. But I am grateful that the greatest lesson I learned about being a woman, I ended up learning from a man.

Mr O

Mr O

They say that somewhere, far away in a magical land; a land of fairies, princess, dragons and unicorns, lies the greatest mythological creature of them all….the female orgasm. It has rarely been seen, often occurred falsely and sonnets have been created to praise it.
When it came to me, this mythological creature was just that, a myth. I had been having sex for years…YEARS! And never had an orgasm. Ok, now this is where it gets tricky. You would assume, gentlemen, that each time we engage in a sexual act, we have that big “O” moment. Well, like there is no Santa, there is no truth in that statement, either. And being a professional singer/actress, some of my best work has been done horizontally.
But then I stumbled upon it. On a sunny afternoon, while sleeping with my current flame, there it was, my first orgasm. We shall call it, Mr O. Mr O and I had been friends for years. We had a lot in common: military, friends, classmates, colleges. He was and still is a really great guy. (And he will tell you that too.)
 But though we had great sex, I still never experienced the allusive orgasm. At this point I seriously thought, there was something wrong with me. And the funny thing is, I found that most of my girlfriends felt the same. If we aren’t having that big moment, it must be our fault. But if a horse doesn’t win the Kentucky Derby, is it his fault, or the person riding it? Well, if you look at it that way, it can be said, that it is the fault of both. But I would like to think it’s the jockey who holds most of the responsibility.
Now, I would like to go on record by saying, that Mr O, has always been amazing. Pre orgasm as well as post. And I am happy that my first “O” was with him. He was older than me, more experienced and very talented. But the quest for the “Big O” was something like a great romance, it happens to sneak up on you, when you aren’t looking for it. On this sunny day, we decided to engage in a little “Afternoon Delight”. The song now holds a special place in my heart.
Nothing was being done out of the ordinary on both of our parts. Yes, it was a bit complicated in my small day bed that I had had since my freshmen year of college, but no new moves, no new technique, but still, quite amazing. And then, it happened. Just as an unexpected surprise, it arrived, my first orgasm.  Ok, I will admit, I became a bit emotional, but I didn’t want Mr O to know that. I also didn’t want to deal with the inevitable conversation of “You don’t have an orgasm every time we have sex?” Ugh, you men are so judgemental sometimes. So I lay there, deep in my bliss and a single tear welling up in my eye. I looked at him and remember grinning the dumbest, biggest grin in the world. And he rolled over.
That’s ok. This was my moment. My joyous occasion. My newest, biggest toy on Christmas morning that I get to bask in the complete and utter joy of it. Until I decide that I want another, only bigger and better. It was years later that I told Mr O that he was my first. “I was your FIRST?” he asked. No, not like that “You were my first orgasm.” And then, much like I did that day, he gave me the dumbest, biggest grin in the world.