Last night, I put on a CD of Bizet and relaxed in front of the fire. I read a portion of a delightful book I have read before called; ‘The Copper Beech’ and sipped at a cold Australian Chardonnay.

Now I suppose I begin the real thing. The main event. I lay the book aside and stand to undress. I throw my clothes over the end of the sofa and spread a huge bath towel on the cushions. The room is warm and private. The heavy, lined curtains are drawn closely. The lighting is set just so. I lay down and reach for the bottle of slightly scented massage oil, which I buy from the Body Shop. They do have some really nicely scented oils for all sorts of purposes but I find that the Camomile is the most pleasant for me. It doesn’t sting or burn as do some I’ve tried.

Anyway, I begin by reclining almost fully; my head rests on the arm of the sofa so that I can watch myself. I place a rather ornate hand mirror at the end of the sofa, angled just so that I can see my centre of pleasure. I pour a small amount of oil over my breasts and set the bottle aside on the small mahogany table by the sofa. Now with both hands I begin to spread the oil around and over my breasts. I take as long as is necessary to make my nipples stand up. When they are really hard I like to pinch them gently between my fingers and thumbs.

Sometimes they spring erect almost immediately and other times they take an age. I don’t mind how long it takes. It doesn’t seem to depend on any particular thing, just how eagerly I’ve been awaiting the sensation perhaps. I really don’t know, nor do I really much care.

I keep my eyes open and watch as my fingers glide over my skin. I feel every touch, every stroke, every pause, every turn of my fingers. I begin by circling around the whole breast. I deliberately avoid touching my nipples until the time is just right. I move oh so slowly so that the journey from the bottom of my breast to the nipple might take a whole minute. My nipples ache to be touched but I move even slower, slower until I can’t bear to wait any longer. Then I pause and make myself wait. Then they are hard, hard enough that I can pinch them, quite hard. I pull them until they are like small buttons standing proud of my breasts.

How do I feel now? Well, I am glowing from head to toe. I can feel an ache between my legs. I know I am becoming moist down there. It’s as if a fire has been lit deep inside me. I don’t know quite where, but it has been smouldering all day. Now I have given it oxygen and fanned the flames into life.

Somewhere deep inside me a mechanism has been activated that will end in me having this spine shattering, shuddering explosion of joy. I know it will come but I don’t know when. All I do know at this point is that there will be no stopping it. Prolonging it has become my sole aim now. Now I will concentrate my whole being in bringing it about, but not yet. I will not be hurried.

My legs are rising and falling, squeezing together and falling slightly apart. I will not touch myself yet. My breasts are my complete focus of attention. My hands glide, slowly around and around. My fingers stroke, my thumbs graze the swollen nipples. I pull and pinch gently, then harder. I watch myself. My long slender fingers graze gently to and fro. I really must do something about that nail varnish.

My neck and breasts are pink, suffused with blood as the warm, tingling sensation spreads across my upper torso. My legs clamp tightly together, my knees rise and fall in an accelerating rhythm.

Now I need more oil. This time I pour it into the hollow of my belly button. My belly button is quite deep for some reason, so I manage to accumulate quite an amount of oil in there, lucky me. One forefinger dips gently into the pool. This finger slides very, very slowly down over my pubic hair. The hair removes the oil so I have to return to wet it again. I repeat this until my trimmed pubic hair is glistening with the wet oil.

My finger travels ever so slightly further down with each application of the oil. My feet are now set about a foot apart and my knees are raised a little. I can see my finger as it now dips between my legs. It travels down further, sliding wetly around my vagina. I allow myself only around the outer lips at first. Now the whole area is slippery with the oil. I know that my sex bud is swollen and standing clear of the surrounding folds of flesh.

I continue to transfer the remaining oil until the pool is empty. Now I am ready to touch myself. Gently, oh so very gently I lay my fingertip on the swollen nub. I don’t move, I just touch, just touch. My clitoris throbs rhythmically under my finger. It has a pulse, a strong living independent pulse. It is eager to be manipulated and stroked but I will not allow that. Not yet.

Did I mention already that the anticipation, the delay, the waiting is everything?

Sometimes I barely need to do any more when touch it this way for several minutes and an orgasm will materialise as if from nowhere. The knowledge that my body is ready is sufficient for me to have that which I have waited for. The mere touch, gentle, prolonged and firm is all that it takes. This is a rarity however and didn’t occur last night.

It occurs to me that perhaps this is the sort of thing that William might use as a fantasy, to help him ‘get his rocks off’ as he calls it. He told me he uses the Internet or magazines sometimes, to help. I can’t see why anyone would need help but then he seems to think Julia needs ‘help’ too. I think he needs to set about Julia in a completely different way but then I’m no expert. Well, don’t worry; he’ll never get to read this I can assure you. He mentioned that Dizzy used to keep him in a state he described as ‘totally fucked’.

Dizzy was at school with us and went out with William for a while after we left school. I see her occasionally in Henley. She lives alone with her cats. I quite like her really.

I’m getting sidetracked again.

Did I tell you that I prefer to use my middle finger? Anyway, there it rests, feeling the pulse through my skin. Now I increase the pressure slightly. Then release it to its former touch. This I repeat again and again until the sensation builds up deep inside me. Just pressing, and releasing, pressing, and releasing.

Now I am ready to begin the finale. Gentle, short strokes, back and forth, back and forth. My finger is curved slightly so that it slips slightly inside me. I don’t like to push it too deep; just around the opening really seems to be quite enough. Never further than the last knuckle.

It was a long time before I discovered how pleasurable it was to put my finger inside myself. I couldn’t imagine it was any fun at all to have something prodding inside like that but I suppose my curiosity got the better of me some years ago. Anyway, it’s not as if my finger is anything like as big as father’s huge penis, which he used to thrust so brutally into my mother. It was almost as thick as my arm for God’s sake! I used to think that it was unnatural and disgusting until I discovered that the firm clasping sensation around my finger was all part of the whole pleasurable experience. One fingertip is more than enough though.

Slowly I move my whole arm up and down my body; I feel several separate sensations now. My finger slips a little inside me. My clitoris is now in firm contact with the hard pad of flesh between my palm and the first joint of my finger, stimulated by the pads of flesh. My upper arm strokes my right breast. My left hand is still stroking my left breast. It rather gets forgotten as events progress but for now it still plays an important part in the scheme of things.

I can feel my erect nub of flesh being pulled, first up and then down as my finger slides gently over it. My knees are now wide apart, my feet drawn up to my bottom. Now my whole hand is flat over my vagina, my middle finger continues to slip inside me. The others push down on the folds of skin surrounding the opening; the whole area is being pulled to and fro as my arm rises and falls.

I push harder and more firmly now. Now the sensation deep within me has taken on a life of its own. It can’t be stopped now. All I have to do is continue as I am now and I know without a doubt that I shall have an orgasm. For this reason I slow the pace, slacken the pressure slightly, and don’t probe quite as deeply within me. I allow my muscles to relax slightly then when the sensation has subsided slightly I resume the pace, pressure and depth as before.

I repeat this until it becomes too much to bear. Now a fuse has been lit deep inside me. It’s rather like a firework. You light the blue touch paper and stand clear. If everything has been prepared properly then in a few short moments there will be a flash of light and an almighty explosion as the rocket is sent soaring toward the heavens.

I feel this fuse has been lit somewhere in the back of my skull, almost at once the feeling spreads to my breasts and to my vagina. There is a delicious fizzing sensation as my skin begins to burn. A tension builds within me, harder, stronger now, I stroke harder, faster, I push, I squeeze, I don’t pause now, I rush headlong toward the precipice.

Faster, harder, burning, shuddering, tight, open, closing, holding, tighter, wetter, faster, Oh God, now, harder, don’t stop now, Oh yes, Oh yes, now harder, faster, pulling, squeezing, pinching, faster, harder, up and now down deeper, inside, tight, throbbing, clasping lips, wet fingers flying, hand pressing hard, nipple squeezed ferociously, breast gripped harder, pulled, vagina wide open, red, wet, gripping tight, squeezing, finger, now two fingers, two? Held deep, deep inside, harder, now, now, now Oh Jesus Christ, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, deeper, again, again, now, now, yes, that’s it, oh that is absolutely, completely, definitely, bloody fucking hell, that is it! that is it, that is IT! Pause, breath held, hands still, muscles relaxing, then jarring aftershocks, trembling, shuddering, slowly now, another squeeze, another aftershock, then, nothing.

Well, excuse me if I got a bit carried away there but I think now you get the general idea. Did you notice the language, I’m terribly sorry about that, it won’t happen again. I never talk like that! I wonder if I could write books about it though? Maybe I can begin a whole new chapter in my writing life. I think I will need a nom-de-plume though. I think naughty books might be a bit off putting to my regular readers. Their mums might enjoy them though. I will have to give that some serious thought. All because Dizzy asked me to write down my thoughts and look where that’s taken us. My word!

Like I said earlier; how can any man, particularly a bonehead like William, possibly know what it is to experience anything quite like that? It just isn’t possible that men can have an orgasm anything like as intense or powerful as that which I have just had. Is it?

I should explain that writing this has made me break the habit of a lifetime. I sat at my desk writing all this and got carried away with the whole thing. I had to take my pants off and do it while I was writing. It’s something I’ve never done before but it was such fun I think I shall continue to do it when and where the fancy takes me. I know I said earlier that I reserve it only for the evening but I think people should be adaptable, don’t you? You’ve opened up a whole new world of pleasure for me. I’m very grateful to you. Maybe William did something right after all.

It’s been a pleasure.