Trigger Warning for Pussies (TWP): The following contains graphic descriptions of adult human sexual behavior from the POV of a white, Eurocentric male. Next line stolen shamelessly from Marc Jordan in his song from which this node title is derived.


So I lay down softly on the hills and faraway, and I dream of Nina by the waves.

This island was too small and too close to home to hold her. And it was too large and too foreign for me to find her. She'd been on these walkabouts before, and even though she was Canadian and not Australian, I knew she'd return eventually, just like I knew I would never be able to chain her heart down forever. I missed something dreadfully when she was gone, and it wasn't really her. It was her trick.

I'd never seen or even heard of this trick before and it had a hold on me like a heroin addiction. When I had to go more than a couple of days without it, I became cranky and tended to drink to excess, only exacerbating the misanthropy. Knowing that some other man was with her didn't annoy me all that much; however, knowing that he, too, was a witness to the trick drove me over the edge.

It was overwhelming. It was transcendental. It was the ultimate problem-solver for that age-old problem. The first time she showed it to me, the glare from the simple brilliance of it lit up the room like a Tesla coil. How could I ever be the same again? How could any man?

Sometimes I found myself doubting it could even be true. My modus operandi has always been this: I will believe everything you tell me until I catch you telling me a lie. Then I won't believe anything else you say. (Unless I'm in love). She'd never lied to me about anything else. And the look in her eyes when it happened could have been nothing less than genuine.

As Robbie Robertson says in Somewhere down that Crazy River, "She said, there's one thing you've got to learn is not to be afraid of it." "I said, 'No, I like it; I like it. It's good.' She said, "You like it now but you'll learn to love it later." Oh, man, did I ever.

Have you gentlemen ever gone out with a woman who can't get off during intercourse? I bet you have. In my experience, it's more the norm than the aberration. Thus, the invention of the concept of foreplay. "Foreplay" doesn't really mean what it says, in most cases. It's a code word, like when Bill Clinton used to want you to make an "investment" in the economy. The "tax" word is just too jarring on the nerves. "Foreplay," in most cases, is code for, "You get me off with a part of your anatomy other than Mr. Peepers, and then you can do what you like to do." That sounds too coarse when you say it like that, so women will complain if there is not enough "foreplay." We all know what that means, after a while. It's a sex tax. And most of us are OK with it, once we figure it out. It would be more convenient if that little button you want us to push was a bit easier to find, but I'm not complaining. It should be as much fun for you as it is for us.

But that first night with Nina, right in the middle of the two-backed beast-making, she looked at me in a funny way and said, "When I touch you on the face like this, I want you to just stop for a little bit." I understood that she didn't mean just now but that she meant that we'd be doing this for a while and this was going to be something she wanted. I was so happy that she thought of this as more than a one-night stand and I was more than willing to do as she asked.

I watched her as she rolled her eyes back in her head and began to concentrate on her own body; her own desires. The stillness lasted about two or three minutes, and then she willed herself into a quivering orgasm. I was overwhelmed with it. I regrouped and had a few more minutes of fun myself before it was done.

As I tell this story, I sense that this may not seem like a big deal to you. It may seem like just another version of sex and there are so many versions out there. Let me see if I can explain why it was so important to me. First of all, it negated the prerequisite code-worded "foreplay." If you're not a man, you might not know how important that one aspect is when you are in the mood. But it also made the experience of sex with women who can have orgasms during intercourse seem like a taste of stale bread, since those orgasms always came in the heat of the event, with much shoving and sweating and pushing and gnawing. The idea of the possibility of simultaneous orgasms with the one you love while being perfectly still with each other was somehow angelic in nature. It was childlike in its synchronicity and simplicity. You can imagine that it didn't take me long to anticipate that touch on the face and to time my desires with hers.

It wasn't all that long until she failed to return from one of her walkabouts. I only wish I'd stayed with her long enough to discuss the trick in detail. I'm a carney huckster by nature, and we could have made a fortune with a "How To" book on this.

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