by Lee Posner
(09/30/09)

"Where do you feel it most, when you come?" she asked. It was an astonishingly personal question. We'd just met; we'd never touched. We hadn't been talking about sex. We'd picked each other out of a boring baby shower and gone out for coffee as soon as we could get away with reasonable politeness.

She was sitting across the table in an office outfit: pressed pale-blue blouse, neat navy-blue skirt, stockings, low-heeled navy-blue shoes. No jewelry. Her voice was quiet, her tone one of almost neutral curiosity.

I shifted a bit in my chair, and tried to give her an honest answer. "In my clit, of course. In my belly. Sometimes other places."

"And where do you feel it least? What part of your body is furthest away from the rush?" she asked, almost as if she was reading the questions from a clipboard.

That question was harder to answer. "I don't know," I said. "Maybe...the back of my neck? Or my heels and ankles? Sometimes I do feel it in my toes."

"Which one?" she said, just a touch more urgency creeping into her voice. "Back of the neck? Heels and ankles? Somewhere else?"

I was quiet for a moment, trying to revisit some exquisite moments. "Back of the neck, I guess."

"Well, all right, then," she said definitively.

It was two or three weeks after that that we were finally in bed together. I think we'd both known even before she brought up such intimate subjects that we'd get there, but neither of us was in a hurry. A glass of wine one night, and a good-night kiss. Fresh lemonade on a hot summer afternoon, and a hug you wouldn't give your grandmother. Someone's hand (hers? mine?) happening to touch someone else's hand (hers? mine?) and stay an extra thirty seconds.

I was feeling the temperature rising, and I knew she was too. So when she invited me to dinner on a Friday night after work, I wore my sexiest outfit: my shimmery red-in-one-light gold-in-another satin blouse, with pants I didn't quite have to wriggle into. Gold hoop earrings, ribbon choker at the throat.

When she answered the door, I almost laughed out loud. She'd discarded the office look for ultra-modern goth, and those leather pants were to die for. She greeted me with a completely different kiss than we'd had before, and when I came up for air, I was ready to rip someone's pants off right then and there: hers first, or mine, it didn't matter.

She took me lightly by the wrist and led me into her tiny bedroom, where the smooth, clean sheets on her queen-sized bed were invitingly turned down. As we found each others' buttons and buckles and initial sweet spots, I found myself thinking about the back of my neck. Would she kiss it? Stroke it? I love having the back of my neck touched -- it's just not a place I notice when I come. But she had other ideas.

I was ready to give as much as I got from her, but she was having none of it. The focus was almost completely on me -- my body, my pleasure, my response -- after the first few minutes. "There's one thing you have to know," she said early on, "I take my time." She explored me minutely from forehead to toes, stopping for extra observation at my nipples, giving my labia and clit a miss on her first venture. Long before she ever touched my pussy, my whole body was quivering with eagerness. She talked, too, which I love.

She didn't just talk to me. She talked to my shoulderblades, and my breasts, and my thighs. "Do you like it when I touch you like this?" she would say, and I would know that she wasn't asking me but the part she was touching. "You're so beautiful," would be said to an earlobe, or the palm of a hand.

She turned me over to follow the curve of my back and the hills of my butt cheeks, and the backs of my knees. I wasn't tracking details by that point, but I think the back of my neck might be the only place she never touched.

Finally, when I wasn't sure how much more I could stand, her fingers and tongue converged on my pussy, on my labia, on my clit. She was a mistress of timing, oh, yes. Oh, yes. She would stroke me until I thought I was already over the edge into orgasm, and then she'd slowly slide away and I'd find myself slipping off the cliff, back onto not-quite-solid ground.

She'd wander somewhere else and murmur compliments to my belly button, or my wrist, and I'd moan and writhe and whisper her name, or say "Please?" And if her lips weren't busy at just that moment, she'd say, "When I'm ready," and my whole body would jump in anticipation.

She used no toys, no textures other than her own skin and tongue. I'm sure she didn't bring me to that edge as many times as I remember, but I know it was more than I thought I could take. Each time, she seemed to bring me even closer to that precipice -- impossibly close -- and each time, the shiver in my body when she slid away would be more pronounced.

Finally -- finally! -- she didn't stop. Finally -- finally! -- she put her tongue to work on my clit and let it stay there, licking and stroking and encouraging, not that it took much at that point. I think her hands were stroking the insides of my thighs when I came, but I can't be sure, because the orgasm took my whole body in a vast, undifferentiated rush. I almost had to imagine her lips on my clit, because I could feel her everywhere she'd been.

Just a split second after I fell off the edge, she grasped my shivering body and put a warm, soft, wet hand on the back of my neck. I thought I had come before. I thought all orgasms started in the clit and the pussy. I didn't know I could come when I was already coming. I didn't know I could have an orgasm that started at the back of my neck. I didn't know it could go on and on and on and merge with the pulses in my clit.

"Well, all right, then," she said.

It's a good thing she was holding me; I don't think I would have stayed on the bed. I'm not entirely sure I would have stayed on the planet. I can't really have come for a week. The next morning was Saturday, but it wouldn't have surprised me to find out it was a week from Saturday. She held me and continued to whisper compliments until I could hear them...or at least when I could hear, that's what she was doing.

I couldn't move or speak for some time after the shaking stopped. I just lay in her arms, feeling her skin, listening to her occasional words, as the sensations slowly subsided. The ones radiating from the back of my neck lasted even longer than the ones from my pussy.

Finally, when I could trust my voice and my muscles, I moved to where I could meet her eyes. She looked almost as spent as I felt. "Where do you feel it most, when you come?" I said.

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