had a charismatic side that seemed to draw other people to him, he could often be self-absorbed. His busy schedule left him preoccupied to the point that when they were together, they might as well be apart. Far too frequently, Jack’s focus was on computer research or preparing for important long distance conversations with colleagues.
And the sex…well it didn’t matter how wealthy and friendly and ambitious Jack might be, he could never be described as an over achiever in the bedroom. When he felt amorous, Jack signaled his interest with deep kisses. That was a problem and a definite turn-off since the passionate smooches involved Jack’s teeth clashing against Chesney’s. There was certainly no foreplay. Jack pounced on Chesney like an inflexible cat, did his business and rolled over on his side of the very expensive bed linens on the king-sized bed. Long after Jack was snoring, Chesney spent far too many hours trying to convince herself that fireworks in the bedroom did not have to be a priority. That she was perfectly content with Jack’s lousy kisses and the three-minute wonder thrust. Chesney had never experienced mind-blowing sexual experiences anyway. She had nothing to offer to the juicy conversations when Becca or other friends vividly described their moments of hyperventilation, brought on by multiple orgasms. Secretly, Chesney worried that maybe Jack wasn’t the problem. If he was, then that meant all the other men before him were lousy lovers, too. So she wondered that something might be wrong with her own body. Maybe her clitoris was broken. Maybe her expectations were unrealistic. But when she finally confided in Becca, Chesney learned that Jack was exactly like zillions of other men.
“He’s afraid of your genitals,” Becca said confidently as she filed her nails.
“What? No he isn’t!” Chesney squealed, knowing that her face was turning a blinding color of red with a purple cast for mortified.
“Let me ask you something,” Becca said with a sigh. “Does Jack diddle down there for very long?”
Unable to open her mortified mouth, Chesney shook her head.
“You know what? With no more information, I can already describe how sex goes with Jack,” Becca said. “He barely grazes the vajajay, offers a couple of chicken pecks to each nipple and then climbs aboard for friendly five-thrust fun.” She looked at Chesney for a long moment. “You know why? Because he is scared to death of your clitoris. He doesn’t have a clue what to do with your vagina, either. It’s the designated holding pen for his penis and that’s all he cares to know.” Becca pushed her hand away from her body to admire the self-manicure. “Men who are selfish in bed are selfish outside of the bedroom, too. Remember that.”
“But if they don’t know how to do anything different, is it really their fault?” Chesney asked sheepishly. If Jack had a clitoral phobia, she shouldn’t be so judgmental of him. To be honest, no other sexual partners had floated her sexual boat any better than he did.
“Let’s see,” Now finished filing her fingernails, Becca placed her toes on the edge of the coffee table and began to expertly polish each toenail with a peachy brown color called Chocolate Shakespeare. “Guys can build engines to make race cars fly at 200 miles an hour. They can lift hundreds of pounds. They can talk about money, objectives, children, physics and politics. But you really don’t believe, Chesney, that a man can master the art of clitoral stimulation? You know why so many guys have a problem with that? It’s not only because they are too insecure to ask for directions. It’s also because they simply don’t care. Everything is all about them, inside and outside of the bedroom.”
Unwilling to tackle the sexual incompatibility just yet, Chesney filed the sexual information away for safekeeping. Instead, she focused on writing a new series she hoped to complete by spring. And when she felt bored to
And the sex…well it didn’t matter how wealthy and friendly and ambitious Jack might be, he could never be described as an over achiever in the bedroom. When he felt amorous, Jack signaled his interest with deep kisses. That was a problem and a definite turn-off since the passionate smooches involved Jack’s teeth clashing against Chesney’s. There was certainly no foreplay. Jack pounced on Chesney like an inflexible cat, did his business and rolled over on his side of the very expensive bed linens on the king-sized bed. Long after Jack was snoring, Chesney spent far too many hours trying to convince herself that fireworks in the bedroom did not have to be a priority. That she was perfectly content with Jack’s lousy kisses and the three-minute wonder thrust. Chesney had never experienced mind-blowing sexual experiences anyway. She had nothing to offer to the juicy conversations when Becca or other friends vividly described their moments of hyperventilation, brought on by multiple orgasms. Secretly, Chesney worried that maybe Jack wasn’t the problem. If he was, then that meant all the other men before him were lousy lovers, too. So she wondered that something might be wrong with her own body. Maybe her clitoris was broken. Maybe her expectations were unrealistic. But when she finally confided in Becca, Chesney learned that Jack was exactly like zillions of other men.
“He’s afraid of your genitals,” Becca said confidently as she filed her nails.
“What? No he isn’t!” Chesney squealed, knowing that her face was turning a blinding color of red with a purple cast for mortified.
“Let me ask you something,” Becca said with a sigh. “Does Jack diddle down there for very long?”
Unable to open her mortified mouth, Chesney shook her head.
“You know what? With no more information, I can already describe how sex goes with Jack,” Becca said. “He barely grazes the vajajay, offers a couple of chicken pecks to each nipple and then climbs aboard for friendly five-thrust fun.” She looked at Chesney for a long moment. “You know why? Because he is scared to death of your clitoris. He doesn’t have a clue what to do with your vagina, either. It’s the designated holding pen for his penis and that’s all he cares to know.” Becca pushed her hand away from her body to admire the self-manicure. “Men who are selfish in bed are selfish outside of the bedroom, too. Remember that.”
“But if they don’t know how to do anything different, is it really their fault?” Chesney asked sheepishly. If Jack had a clitoral phobia, she shouldn’t be so judgmental of him. To be honest, no other sexual partners had floated her sexual boat any better than he did.
“Let’s see,” Now finished filing her fingernails, Becca placed her toes on the edge of the coffee table and began to expertly polish each toenail with a peachy brown color called Chocolate Shakespeare. “Guys can build engines to make race cars fly at 200 miles an hour. They can lift hundreds of pounds. They can talk about money, objectives, children, physics and politics. But you really don’t believe, Chesney, that a man can master the art of clitoral stimulation? You know why so many guys have a problem with that? It’s not only because they are too insecure to ask for directions. It’s also because they simply don’t care. Everything is all about them, inside and outside of the bedroom.”
Unwilling to tackle the sexual incompatibility just yet, Chesney filed the sexual information away for safekeeping. Instead, she focused on writing a new series she hoped to complete by spring. And when she felt bored to