I love women. I really do. I can’t help myself. I tend to gravitate toward them in casual social situations, ignoring the talk of football with the guys in favor of—oh, most any topic on hand with the women. And yes, even as adults, we humans have a tendency to self-segregate based on gender, odd as it is.
As much pleasure as I can derive from a woman’s body, it is overshadowed by a deep rooted desire to give her pleasure, to see her pleasured, to hear her pleasured. To know that a woman is turned on excites my libido and my intellect to an immense degree. I often find myself imagining strange women in the throws of orgasm. I see a woman sitting quietly in a restaurant, having dinner with a friend, and I imagine how her face would look, distorted with the agony and ecstasy of pending release, her head thrashing from side to side, her uncontrollable cries of pleasure streaming forth from her quivering lips.
My fantasies often revolve around women pleasing themselves, or one another. One might think that men’s fantasies of saphic delights actually revolve around a desire to be “in the middle”. If you’re lucky enough, that is certainly a fine situation in which to be. However, speaking solely for myself of course, I’m really more interested in seeing the women—knowing that their passion burns hot and wild regardless of the influence of men.
When making love to a woman, or fucking her, as the case may be, her body really is on center stage. There are certainly times when she may be in it just for me, and there’s nothing wrong with a “quicky” now and again. But, to see her come, to hear her come, to feel her body spasm and convulse beneath my touch, well, there’s just nothing that compares.