Total Woman

On Sunday I went to see my love Charlie perform in a play in upstate New York. After the show, I snuck into his dressing room. When he came in, he closed the door and locked it while I provocatively installed myself on the counter. He came over and his cock was in my mouth before he was out of his costume. We hadn't seen each other in three days (an eternity when you're in love) so we were both as frisky as squirrels in Spring. Charlie bobbed like a marionette at the mercy of an invisible string connecting cock to mouth and mouth to breast.

"I shouldn't be...ohhh...I can't...oh yeah..."

He should've been striking the set. But he couldn't stop stroking me.

How irresistible is the man who can't resist me! At the sight of a perky nipple or tuft of pubic hair, blood drains from his brain to his cock, and he turns into a helpless schlmeil. I don't mean that in a derogatory sense. What happens is this: the power of biology reduces male mental faculties to the fulfillment of a primary need. As this need dominates the brain, all other thoughts, needs, and obligations disperse into confused particles of intelligence that have no place to go. Even a genius is vulnerable to this twist of nature. If he is in the middle of saying something, and I slip a strap off my shoulder, accidentally revealing my breast, he forgets the words that were on the tip of his tongue. He tries to retrieve them, but he can't even remember the subject of the intelligent stream that moments ago, flowed smoothly from his mouth. His mouth regresses to infancy, wanting the breast and nothing but the breast. I'm no scientist, merely an observer of men. I can't think of a better way to describe this amusing spectacle.

Two more points on this subject.

1. A man is far more likely to exhibit this behavior around a woman with whom he's madly in love. (More pheromones = a greater gap between the penis and the brain).

2. A woman is far less likely to exhibit similar behavior around a man she loves...because women have different primal needs. She needs to maintain a higher intelligence throughout sexual play in order to choose the most evolutionary fit father for her children. If not, she may end up with children on Ritalin (or an undesirable lover if children are not on her conscious mind). Unfortunately, too many women ignore the "intelligence" nature has provided them.

I'm not saying I never become flustered when my lover gazes at me with his soulful eyes or plows toward me with a bulge in his pants. Oh I can be a bumbling fool at times, but I feel like I can always pull back--let me rephrase that--I feel like I can usually retreat from primal lust. He may be at the mercy of his cock, but I am not, unless I choose to play the submissive. My brain is almost always in command of my pussy.

On this occasion, I felt even more in command because I was on the first day of my period, when aching uterus and horniness combine to create an empowering feeling of female-ness. Full and tingling with the heavy hormonal lightness of being, my primal body enhanced rather than diminished my mental acuity. Hence a balance of forces simultaneously inflated and belittled by the almighty, insignificant COCK.

How he squirmed in my arms! He was caught between the pleasures of me and the responsibilities to his fellow castmates, while I could've stopped at any moment. There are few better aphrodisiacs than having this kind of power over a man, especially when in public, when our actions are within the radar of people who might find out, either through direct witnessing or speculation based on clues such as a closed door or a girlfriend sucking on a strawberry with Lolita-like suggestiveness, or the flustering gestures and overly compensating transparent words of the guy who was supposed to be assisting in breaking down a theatrical set.

How vaudevillian it was when he closed the door and ran to me with an arrow in his pants, then opened the door and pulled his shirt down and stuffed costume pieces in his bag while rambling on about what he had to do next! And how arousing it was when people walked by as I teased him with puckers of my lips and undulations of my hips! We knew they must've known, or at least had guessed that something unprofessional was going on, and this knowing was all part of our act. What happens on stage is not half as interesting without an audience, or at least the possibility of a witness to the action. Whatever might have been happening in the dressing room was undoubtedly confirmed by our displays of giddy affection in the theatre--our furtive squeezes and smiley kisses, our back and forth whispers of exciting things to come...how sickeningly cute we must have appeared.

So we made a plan.

While he was finishing up his actorly duties, I would await him in the lobby, where he would meet me and we would both slip into the ladies' room to resume the unfinished business we started in the dressing room. All went well as we successfully bypassed the lone wandering theatre employee, and planted ourselves in the handicapped stall, where I promptly began sucking his cock. He was maybe three minutes away from orgasm when the distant cries of hungry actors forced us to disband and join the cast for dinner. He exited first, feigning coolness. I heard him say, "It's in the bathroom with Stephanie." Then I nonchalantly emerged to find an actor wondering about his sweater which he had given to Charlie who had brought it into the bathroom...now why on earth would the sweater be with me in the women's room? The actor must have been wondering this but nothing was said.

Charlie and I laughed at the hilarious obviousness of antics unexplained as we headed off for dinner. At the grimy Irish pub, the undercurrent of suspicion flowed plainly through the banter and jokes and Charlie's several mentions of us having just drinks and an appetizer because we were saving ourselves for a romantic dinner for two at one of the classier joints up the street.

We tripped out of that pub with sex in our bones, and laughed at the inevitable gossip we left behind. They must have been skewering us! After all, theatre people live for subtext. The idea that they were laughing about the sweater made us even hornier, as we contemplated the whereabouts of an unfinished blow-job...

Dessert

Last night I did something I've never done before. I sucked a cock. In a restaurant. At a table. No, not under the table. At the table.

Prescription for the Sick and Horny

So there's this flu going around. And I, who usually avoid such infections of the masses, caught it from my lover Dr. Bigcock. When he came over for some TLC from his favorite nurse, he said sex was the furthest thing from his mind. What a rare condition! I witnessed his entire body limp, cock unmoved by my charms, that predictable drive to penetrate undetectable upon examination. The strangeness of the situation inspired me to perform a little experiment in the name of science. Could I cure him with a few strokes of my hand and some sexy words?

"You're welcome to try," he said.

I got a rise out of him in about two seconds. But that wasn't all. I massaged him until he expectorated all over himself. (He was so inspired that he offered me a position as his personal nurse at his home in the Hamptons, where I would have 24-hour access to his female staff). The evidence is conclusive: just because a patient is ill does not mean his sex drive is compromised.

If only my treatment took care of his flu. I let him spend the night in my clinic and the poor thing was up every few hours with coughing spells and trips to the bathroom. The next morning I felt unrested and a bit warm and woozy.

I gave him another treatment (internal, this time), at the expense of my own health. I have no regrets; that's the kind of devotion that makes a great nurse.

We've seen each other almost every day since I've been stricken with aches, pains, and all sorts of nasty expectorations, and something very strange occurred through our cross-contamination. Not only did I catch his flu, I caught his horny bug too. Never in my experience of sickness have I been so interested in sex. My case mirrors his exactly: it is not an obvious symptom, but triggered by our proximity to each other. For example, on a day when I was too sick to leave my apartment, he, being on the mend, went to the store to pick up some things for me. As soon as he appeared, he nearly collapsed because he had overestimated his strength. We curled up together and took a long nap frequently interrupted by phlegm-curdling coughs. Just before he was about to leave, I asked him to help me with a domestic task. He obliged. Afterward, to reward him, I sat him down on the bed and massaged his shoulders. Feeling ever so generous, I broke out the Hitachi Magic Wand and used it for what it was actually designed for: therapeutic body massage. I had no intention to turn him on. Even as I rolled the wand over his lower back, and he lowered his pants to reveal his ass, I didn't think my actions would lead to sex. The thought was there, of course, as a sneaky little naughty "what if I massaged a little lower" temptation, but I let it be. My focus was on making him feel better in a way that didn't involve inviting him to exert himself further through orgasm.

When I was done with his massage, I lay down and he began to return the favor. Then suddenly, impulsively, I directed the wand to my crotch. It was the gesture of one too weak and feverish to know the reasons for her actions, like a delirious patient reaching blindly for her dose of pills, or a drug addict stabbing a needle into her arm in a moment of crisis. One thing led to another...and we both got ourselves off with the aid of that wonderful wand. (Why doesn't every doctor have one? No wonder our health-care system is a mess!)

Western medicine teaches us that rest is the best prescription to combat colds and flus. I always thought that meant "no sex," since when the body is engaged in sexual activity, it is not exactly resting. However, according to other traditions such as Chinese medicine, sex is considered a powerful healing method when the sexual energy is focused on the afflicted areas. I don't know if our orgasms helped purge our infections, but the pleasure almost made me forget I was sick.

On other occasions while my love and I were glamorously lounging in our germs, and sudden sexual desire overpowered our bodies' need for rest, I didn't mind his feverish sweat drenching me as he pumped away. As long as we kept our lips to ourselves, and turned away to cough and spit, we felt that we were doing our bodies good. I've made some interesting discoveries through these experiments in sick sex. Whenever I coughed while he was fucking me, my pussy automatically squeezed his cock. Now he says, "Oh yeah, cough please! I love it when you cough!" (Even when you're not sick, ladies, next time your man is thrusting inside you, give him a little cough and watch his face.)

It seems that our biological drive to procreate trumps illness, according to Dr. Bigcock who claims, "I'd have to be in a coma or dead [to not be interested in sex]." Then again, I've never tried these experiments during a bad case of diarrhea.

In the case of general flus and colds, I recommend quiet sex with your partner especially if you are both sick. You both already got it, so no one is going to catch anything. And if only one of you is afflicted, consider this: wouldn't you rather catch it from your lover than some slob who sneezes all over you on the train?

To minimize your chances of infection, here are some guidelines:

1) No Kissing! There are more germs in the mouth than in other orifices!
2) No Oral Sex! (Same reason as "No Kissing")
3) No marathon sex or crazy positions or BDSM (That would be like running a mile while you're sick instead of doing some light yoga...)
4) Be polite: don't cough or sneeze or blow your noses on each other (unless that turns you on...GROSS)
5) In between sexual healing sessions, get plenty of rest and drink lots of fluids (cum doesn't count)

An orgasm a day may not keep the flu away, but it sure makes being sick a lot more fun.