The surge is my favorite emotion. The expansion within my chest that diffuses throughout my body until it impregnates every cell. The ache throbs in my heart. The desire to touch, connect … to couple, consumes me.

There is no sex that can compare with the ecstasy of the act at these moments. No remarkable technique, multi-positions, lotions, leather straps, handcuffs or toys are necessary. The pace can be fast or slow. Room ambiance is immaterial. Neither candles nor seductive music are required. Only the joining matters.

Craving and hungering to feel him inside me— to be filled. Sensations explode as he enters my altar of love. Unified motion—fluid, rolling, melding, fusing. Orgasmic spasms pulsate, arising in the groin, snowballing until they radiate to my head, as if my brain is going to burst into bloom. We want every square inch of each other conjoined. Our mouths lock onto each other. He clutches me in an embrace. I melt into his arms. One.

I have no control but am powerless to the timing. I can’t force it, can’t muster it into being, can’t plan it. Totally dependent on the moment, conscious of the present, waiting for the gift, I am. Better than any drug—love surge.

Tell me your story.

Hugs,

Regina