In My Head

In My Head by Venus O’Hara

In My Head

“I love your pussy,” says a lover as he spreads my thighs. I’m naked, lying on my unmade bed, facing up. He drools as he looks at my vulva, as if I’m serving him his favorite dish. I spread myself open even more, so that he can see and access more of me. 

He licks his lips and then lowers his head and places it between my thighs. I suddenly feel the tip of his tongue rhythmically moving against my hungry clitoris. I take a deep breath, tilt my head back, and let my mind wander. Although the situation turns me on immensely, strangely, when my clitoris is stimulated, I have to fantasise to reach climax. 

This doesn’t happen with penetration. In those situations I just feel and enjoy it and an orgasm happens in no time at all. For me, penetration is a much more mindful experience even though I feel that I’m actually more in my body than in my head. However, with external stimulation, I use the same techniques as I do during self-pleasure. That is to say, I depend on my erotic imagination rather than just feeling and enjoying the moment. I’ve often wondered why this is. Maybe it’s because I masturbate too much…

I don’t consider this to be a form of cheating on the one doing all the hard work between my thighs; I actually do it to help and encourage him. This is because it tends to take me a very long time to come from cunnilingus and if I don’t fantasise, he might get tired before my orgasm, and that just won’t do. Whether it’s a tongue, a vibrator, or a finger, in order to increase the intensity of the stimulation, I rely wholly and completely on my perverse thoughts.

In my fantasy, I’m in the same position, that is to say, lying down face up with my legs wide open. The only difference is that I’m propped up on my elbows, looking at the imaginary man between my legs, who is not the same person. He’s actually much older and instead of licking me, he’s sitting in front of me. We talk about everyday, mundane things, always addressing each other formally. He tries to look me in the eyes, but every time he tries to, his gaze is distracted by my sex. His eyes burn my loins as he stares at me. It’s as if it were Reiki energy. As a result, I feel the production of my intimate Venusian nectar increase in abundance.

My breathing quickens. My thighs and buttocks tense up. I’m so close to coming. I hold my breath until I release it. A series of intense contractions consumes my whole body. Suddenly, the room is filled with people who hate me. It’s crowded! In the corner, I see the bitchy women from accounting from the company where I used to work. They whisper, shake their heads, and look at me with disdain, which only makes me moan even louder. There’s even a girl I went to Uni with who looks at me disapprovingly. Then I imagine the guy from my favourite organic supermarket who always seems to get nervous in my presence. He can barely look me in the eye and he always blushes when I pay for my organic fruit and vegetables.  

It’s only when I’m catching my breath after an orgasm that I return to reality and the presence of the people in imagination fades away. “How was it?” the real guy asks as he pulls away from me. “You were amazing,” I tell him. He smiles proudly, totally unaware that he has had a few helpers.

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