Getting to “O”

Orgasm, aka ejaculation, climax, spasm, convulsion, paroxysm, peak, frenzy, shudder, shiver, quiver and especially, unfurling waves of sexual pleasure. There’s nothing quite like it. The writhing, tingling, toe curling, rock climbing, ascending, intensity building, body tensing, straining and…that face. Who could forget that face? It’s better to close your eyes so as not to see the terrible grimace, those exorcized eyes rolled back in their sockets, quivering, teeth clenched, at once a culmination of fantastic seduction morphed to something unconscionable, a still shot from a horror film screening. There he is over you, under you, behind you, to the side, legs extended–over the head, under the head, on top, froggy style, hopping up and down, over and over and over and over. If you’ve ever been in that situation, there’s one thing you know for sure. You’ve got to be moist-misty and moist. No lubrication equals disaster. No lubrication is no interest.

Of course, there are over-the-counter cures for this, jellies and creams. One word: yawn. So you close your eyes and conjure up Mr. Fantastic. He’s tall, dark and successful, completely unattainable (that’s important), out of your league, a dream of masculinity. It’s likely he has positive attributes because, biologically speaking, that’s why you want to fuck him in the first place. Your lizard brain, the ultra practical part of your psyche concerned with calorie consumption and procreation, has taken over, thank God!

It can be even better if you know Mr. Unattainable, somewhat slightly. From the first time you saw him, you knew in an instant, he could do it for you. By the sheer force of his personality, he could get you to “O.” Maybe once in a while you lock eyes with him and ooooo…

But say you’re serious about bagging the bomb. Well, that’s harder, shall we say. Once Mr. Unattainable becomes attainable, you’ve destroyed half his charm. Say, however, that he is a tasty dish, and you are bent on doing the nasty, your journey could be fraught with hardship. Men and women are complicated beasts. They say they’re up for adventure, sexual pleasure, ecstasy, delight, but in reality, it’s not so simple. If they’re half as wonderful as they seem, someone else has undoubtedly spotted them first. They come complete with nasty little attachments called wives, girlfriends, boyfriends, partners, lovers, fishing buddies, golfing buddies, and you get the picture. It’s as though sex were a game of musical chairs. Everyone runs around in circles trying to plant their ass in a seat. Even if you’re fast, you don’t always get the best chair. Sometimes, you take the chair that’s there.

This brings us back to moist. You’ve given up on Mr. Fantastic. He’s simply too unattainable. Maybe you like his “untouched” purity. Whatever the reason, you have moved on to “Mr. Attainable” who is still a nice piece of ass and just the type of strange you need to get the juices flowing. A whole new world opens up for you. All of a sudden there are choices. There is Mr. Poetry and Roses. This guy parades around as Mr. Right and is quite charming. He does everything. He remembers your birthday, brings you chocolates and surprises you with flowers. You are swept away. But after his third poem, you wonder if he’s gay. You don’t want to wonder if he’s gay, but you do. You start checking out his clothes to see if they match. You notice the flair of his gait. Is there really passion in his kiss? All this doubt leaves you looking for, shall we say, fresh dew on the shadowy grasses.

Moving on you spy yet another variety of orgasmic potential. This is Mr. Obnoxious. You have strong feelings for him immediately. Damn if he isn’t annoying. Everything he says is offensive. You find yourself cringing at the thought of him. Nevertheless, you start thinking about the little things he said or images he’s planted in your mind and YUCK. But, then you notice dichotomies in his personality. You notice embarrassment, shyness, anger and insecurity. You see him attacked and his reluctant self-defense. In spite of your revulsion you become intrigued. Before you know what’s happened, you are studying him. His disgusting images prompt you to ponder his potential prowess in bed.

Danger. Abandon ship. Do not let Mr. Obnoxious come aboard. Go back to your first choice, Mr. Fantastic. Mr. Anybody. Mr. Obnoxious is pure danger. Obnoxious, however, will board you in the end. He will take no prisoners (that’s what you want), and he will leave you ransacked. If he has any kindness left in him, he will throw you overboard where you will make some use of yourself as food for the fishes. Alternatively, in fantasy number two, Mr. Obnoxious duels Mr. Fantastic for the flower of your love. Mr. Obnoxious is a backstabbing bastard and runs Mr. Fantastic through. Mr. Obnoxious then does some rude things to you that we won’t recount here. Fade to black.

Say though, that your buggy has made it around the block a few times. Mr. Fantastic, Mr. Unattainable and Mr. Obnoxious turn out to be a bunch of marbles you’re better off losing. You start thinking about playing for the other team. This may be hard at first. Bad memories of every ruthless-shorthaired-overly-tanned gym teacher you ever had may have steered you toward heterosexuality for good. But say, for instance, there’s this girl and she has this fantastic curly hair, just like you wish you had. And her clothes are just the style you wish you could wear and her personality is, well, all that. What happens next? Long, exasperated sigh. She has a “partner.”

To sum up. Moist is a must. Over-the-counter gels are dull. Dangerous is fucking hot. Flowers and poetry are nice. Too nice, no dice. And Mr. Fantastic is just a dream.