Politics of Sex

His wife is the true expert, not he. She understands the politics of the thing. At this his wife is a superstar.
Sex is important to her, but only as a bargaining chip. To this truth he has come: His wife rather trades or barters than enjoys the thing. She invests herself, and so cannot afford the pleasure. She prefers power to pleasure. His wife is brilliant at the politics. At the politics, she is Machiavelli.
He says this without apparent bitterness, as if this were a law of Nature itself. A universal thing without any personal malice toward him. He is simply another of Nature's fools. Or, as he calls himself, a dope.

Orgasms are like...or not

To her sister, orgasms were like being hit on the funny bone, but nicely. Did that make sense? Being hit on the pelvic-spinal funny bone, kind of radiating, but nicely?
She herself would not know, has never had any, or so she thinks.
To her orgasms were probably more like somebody trying to lift a five hundred pound weight. Not nice.
Far as she could tell, making orgasms out as best she could, this was more like what orgasms were. Female ones.
But she supposed they existed, there were such things as orgasms. You know, she has read reports of their existence, seen studies. Kinsey, Alfred Kinsey. Masters and Johnson. God, Cosmo was full of them.
You couldn't turn a page without...
Oh? Lifting five hundred pound weights? An interesting concept, and he was interested.
'Most of us can't lift five hundred pound weights,' she went on. 'And for those of us who can, is it worth it? Do you want to do it? I mean, lift five hundred pounds?'
Put that way, he conceded, this did not seem much like fun.
You watched these Olympic weightlifters on TV, she continued. Especially the extra heavyweights, she thought they called them. Were they having fun?
But at least...one, two, three. And all over. The Olympic weightlifter did or didn't.
One, two, three...seconds. Not five, ten, fifteen...minutes. More even, thirty, maybe forty...minutes. Trying to have an orgasm, trying to lift a weight too much.
Lifting heavy weights and possible orgasmic dysfunction. First he'd heard it put this way, and it didn't sound all that implausible.

Sex tip for girls (1)

She was giving advice she thought would be good to pass on.
So girls...when you get down on your knees and he raises your skirt completely and slips down your panties. And stops... You know what's happening, don't you?
He is having a good look.
Well, her advice is, go the whole ball game and let him. And as long as he wants.
Cosmo has said that men are very visual. Aren't they just! So let him eyeball all he wants.
To look good...firm, rounded curves help, and it will be an extra turn on for him to see you are cleanly shaven. And, after all, clearly blonde--not bottle blonde.

What happened at the Party (2)

She was talking about the B-T's party. The night of the big party, some Middle Eastern woman, admittedly strikingly beautiful, passed behind her guy. Her man... Anyway, well to the side. But some kind of side-scanning extra sexsory perception that her guy possessed picked something up. His facial expression registered a blip of some kind, a barely noticeable tic.
Though she is convinced that this was completely unconscious.
Still, she cannot deny the thing either. Totally innocently, completely unaware, something passed over her guy's features--like a bad line crossing the screen in a poorly recorded video movie playback. Unsettling the viewer's focus.
So...She'd best be warned, shouldn't she be?
But then again, while they were slow dancing, she induced in her guy that especially heavy lead pipe between her belly button and that other place. Surely, not everybody did? It lay flat against her, poking up at the ballroom ceiling. Not anybody could do that, surely?
She hates to think so, so she's quit thinking.
Enough, enough, let her stop... Already she's said enough.