A very enlightened and highly evolved female friend of mine suggested in an email that I, if stuck for a blog item, should write about (ahem) orgasms. I could consider the male aspect of the equation and she would happily offer the distaff take on the matter. Of which she let her self off the hook somewhat by including the caveat “But then who could describe an orgasm anyway?”
Anyway it is the sort of topic about which I tend to be hit by an attack of shyness, as frank as I tend to be. I have no desire to offend, though I haven’t a clue why something so nice should ever be offensive, but for some it would be, no doubt. Now if, by this point, you are in any doubt about what is under discussion here, think of Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally and seek to have what she is having.
Now the bounds of tastefulness demand that I do not get clinical on this topic, despite how much I might want to. Let me say, though, that for me it is that micro-moment in life when I truly believe there is a God because surely nothing can be better than this. But, that’s just me. I also tend to think that neo-purity and healthfulness has taken something away from it in that an enraptured post-coital couple can no longer lie back in blissful states and blow smoke-rings at the ceiling – or, as my ex-wife once said: “This is the one time I wish I did smoke.”
There is a great deal more I could write about the Big O, especially now that I am getting on a roll and building up to a climax of some sort, but I’d better slow down for the sake of all parties concerned. Maybe my friend would like to contribute some further thoughts. In which case I’ll report them. Females have better insights in this topic to begin with. It’s something to do with multiples methinks.