A big letter ‘O’ doesn’t always remind me of Oreos

megsterA 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.

 

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6 responses to “A big letter ‘O’ doesn’t always remind me of Oreos

  1. roselefebvre24@comcast.net

    I have often wondered what men thought listening and watching their woman achieve bliss (or in some cases, come fairly close). One friend of mine said men do not even notice or care because it is all about themselves and their pleasure. So…

  2. My Republican parents had Cosmo and Playboy at home and after reading an article in Cosmo devoted to your subject, I marched my 12 or 13 year-old self into my parents room and demanded a more understandable explanation from my mother…As an aside, I can tell you that she was a woman who always said I could talk to her about anything…which for the most part was a lie…In this instance, she was so unnerved by the request that she actually sputtered before telling me to consult the dictionary…

    • And what did the dictionary tell you about the matter dear? Not much, I imagine. A regrettable parental response. I remember the first time I had a wet-dream. I thought I had wet the bed. I was mortified.

  3. I beg to differ Rose. Your friend obviously had slept with self-centered idiots. All the men who gave me orgasms were quite thrilled at their achievement. I’d venture to say most men are.
    PS: Ian, I wish I could manage the multiple thing. That’s the holy grail of Os for me!

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