Russian Infusions Part Two of the Big O Show's Competition:Actual Experience


My father used to say that if you aim low, you will never be disappointed. I have come, in recent times, to think of him as an optimist. Of course, as many of you might have guessed, my hostility is often caused by idealism, and so I have to actively advise myself NOT to have great expectations, to be reasonable. When it comes to sex, my expectations after Paris are generally grand. I mean anything less than an almost slavish devotion to my pleasure is hardly worth my contemplation, not to mention to effort of shaving my legs and rummaging through my underwear drawer for my extra lacey panties. At the very least, I should get out of bed less frustrated then when I got into it.


Occassionally my father, however, is wrong.


I hadn't seen him in a month. My visual memory is poor and so I found I remembered him compartmentalized-his hands, his eyes, his voice, but I couldn't quite put the whole picture together. When I saw him it was a mix of recognition and reconciliation, seeing where I had altered him, blonder than I remember, with freckles (freckles?), the mouth fuller, pinker. The voice as I remembered and the gesture of smoothing his blonde goatee also in place.


It was that first moment I wondered about. Would he walk in and kiss me? Hug me? Would I have time to adjust? Would he throw me on the floor in animal lust? Would he be disappointed when confronted with what I actually look like versus what he has been dreaming about for a month?Would he make hasty excuses and back away? I had, in my nervousness, put my sweater on backwards. My black panties, I would discover quite soon, were inside out.


I had been feeling awful about my body the weight I hadn't lost (insert usual female body issues here), and to hear him talk about missing my mouth, the perfection of my breasts, the softness of my skin, the pleasure of my body, that in of itself would have been enough, if I hadn't cum at all, the desire for my body do strong that my clothes are peeled off on the couch, never making it to the bed, it would have been enough to have someone really see me as that beautiful, that desirable but then the sex...


It's been a long time since I've been comfortable enough in bed with someone to talk with them during, to feel the slow pulse of him while looking him in the eye and he gently whispers- to have him push you towards more pleasure. "Can you cum one or two more times for me?" Can I?Can I? "How many times?" I ask him. It becomes a test of ednurance, how much pleasure can I tolerate? Like a Roman Emperor so filled with wine and roasted peacocks that I must finally tell the Imperial kitchen to knock it off, I've reached the limit, please, please stop. Finally allowing himself a roaring orgasm (have I ever made a man cum that hard before?) with both of us trying to find the energy afterwards to pull ourselves onto the bed. In the middle of night, I am awakened again by exploring hands and have to fumble around in the dark to find the condoms. The performance repeated again, the long marathon towards our pleasure leaving my legs sore. Roman, my latin dance teacher, will ask me the next day "What's wrong with you? You are hardly moving, lazy girl."


The next day we wake up and haul our asses, hand in hand, to the park. We sit in the sun under the cherry blossoms while he plays guitar. He really is quite good. I try to make him smile, with stories and comments, but he tells me that "Russians don't often smile." He lays down next to me in the sun, his arm thrown over my back (and I don't care what he says , the hair on his arms is blonde, which means he is a blonde, can I get an amen on that one?). He reaches to get an itch, and I get it for him and then run my nails up and down his arms. I can see, even in his drowsing, that he is smiling.


I smell the grass, listen to the birds and the bikers, the small dogs and the children, and I feel the weight of his arm and I think "This will all end soon. What should I do?"


I put my head down on my arms feeling the sated fatigue of my body and think, "Just enjoy it. Just enjoy it."