Much giggling, we are playing our favourite game, searching for the ME Spot.
Forget the G Spot, the A Spot, even the C Spot. Tonight we are taking turns at finding the one place on each other’s bods that trumps all the rest. (Only tongues allowed!)
“OOOh, that’s GOOD.”
She scents a critical zone and presses on.
“Hell YES! ” I gurgle.
Soon she has me tearing at the sheets, my back arching, hips bucking. I scream as the Tsunami hits, and I collapse, a sobbing rag-doll.
“Well,” she asks, “do I win?”
“You were close, Honey, but no cigar!”
