Bill Clinton was a-lying through his teeth.

“I did not have sex with that woman, Monica Lewinsky,” he said in an oft-parodied press conference. His many political enemies used that statement as the focal point for his impeachment. It’s not like Presidents don’t cheat on their wives – the list, already pretty long, would be longer if many of them hadn’t been widowers – but the leaders of the anti-Clinton faction said he was lying and covering up his activities. The second point was purely political and ended in ignominious failure. The first point …

Oh hell yes, oral sex is sex. It’s sex even if the person giving it is a full time zone away and giving it over the phone. And oh goodness, it can be the best sex you’ve had in a year of Sundays if you and the other party are in tune.

How do I know this? Because I had aural sex. That’s not a misprint. Aural means that a certain lady and I had sex over the phone. Did we love it and feel like it was real? Oh yes. First she did to me what Monica Lewinsky did to Bill Clinton (now there is where you could quibble; I bet I felt a lot more than Mr. President did, and I’m sure she felt much more than the intern), and then a few days later I did to her … well, what I wanted to do to her as a huge thank-you for the first time.

Since each of us had some experience in several types of lovemaking, we tried all the ones we knew and some I, at least, knew only by reputation. By the time we called it a night, we had felt things we hadn’t felt in … I don’t know how long for her, years for me.

A few months ago, I read a story and wrote the author praising it. I’ve written several women who do really good erotic fiction, gotten responses from some of them back, and in some cases have struck up casual friendships. It’s not that I don’t think guys can write great erotica too, or that I haven’t praised their work as well, but it’s more fun to be nice to a woman because she can be nice back and more interesting than guys are (sorry, guys; that’s how it is in real life for me too).

About six weeks after I read the first story, another one came out. I didn’t realize at the time that the two stories were by the same author. The second story was very different from the first in tone and subject matter. It was just as high in quality, but that was the only similarity. Perhaps if I had been paying attention, I would have realized that similarity in quality meant the two stories could have been written by only one person.

This woman was writing about a personal experience in the second story. She was talking about her thoughts and feelings. I looked up her bio and found she had submitted several stories over the months, including four or five in the past week. I started clicking on them and reading them. There were a lot of differences among the stories, but they all had a common theme: with exceptions for some men who had really hurt people, she met and made love to and with men whom she greatly admired. Not just lusted after (although that had a lot to do with it), but thought of as truly decent people.

Now this was something a little bit different, even from my favorite authors. Almost every story I ever read concentrated on giving the woman a whole lot of pleasure, and in many cases it was the physical pleasure only. There were exceptions, especially from another of my favorite authors, but even she depicted men getting pleasure from their wives, women they had been married to for years and were settling in for life with. There wasn’t another story where a woman was kind and sincere and caring to a guy she was simply dating. That didn’t mean women weren’t kind, sincere and caring, but nearly all of those were in the lesbian stories. In the rest of them, it was up to the man to go to the woman and make her feel wonderful.

I wrote her praising the second story. Then I remembered I had a mail folder with her name on it. Had she written me back after the first story? She had indeed, a very nice letter. It was from very early in her writing career, before I had even looked up her output, and I hadn’t noticed her work since then. Not everything she wrote was erotic – there were two well-written essays on people who had been victimized – but when she wrote erotica she put her heart and soul into it.

So when she wrote me back the second time, I was ready for it. I wrote a reply, she wrote a reply and so on. It wasn’t long before each of us was looking at the mail hoping to hear from the other that day.

Then came Memorial Day. She told me something almost completely unexpected. She had told me a lot of things about herself, and now she wanted to erase those things and replace them with the truth. Or at least convert what she had told me into the whole truth. Much of what she had written me had a firm foundation in reality, but she had embellished it a lot and created a “character” that was part her and part male-fantasy woman. She thought I would drop the friendship right there when I found out the male-fantasy stuff. But she included her phone number in case I wanted to discuss it.

Discuss it we did. For well over an hour. There were a few things she had said where it was disappointing to find out they weren’t exaggerations (she is not fabulously wealthy, for one thing). But she became more real to me, much more human. She had shown her real self to me, and I was so touched.

That led to some interesting conversations by E-mail and by phone. One thing she had not exaggerated was her sex drive. She had talked about lovemaking a lot in her stories, and it was all either real or what she wished was real. She asked me if I had ever just lain back and let a woman make love to me, no need on my part to do anything for that woman.

Well, no. I had grown up in a culture where the women were seemingly uninterested in sex, because they thought guys knew nothing about pleasing a woman. There were exceptions, but I could count them on the fingers of one hand with a couple digits to spare. I had had one girlfriend and a couple of lovers who had responded to me, but I didn’t go with them for all that long (life got in the way). Most women I knew, I wouldn’t have approached for a relationship with a million dollars in hand.

There is nothing wrong with that. Too many stories (including some of my own) made sport of the uncaring male who cared little about the woman’s pleasure so long as he got his rocks off. The Loving Wives category is full of stories of women who find a caring man (or sometimes a caring woman) who makes them feel great. But they hardly ever talk about whether the guy is happier afterward. Sure, he’s gotten a nice rush out of the deal (literally and figuratively), and maybe he will have a great sex life with this woman because she has turned into a sex-lover who will take him again and again and always go over the top (nothing like a female orgasm to stroke the male ego). But what in heck do they do the rest of the time? There never seems to be an answer to that.

We continued to converse via E-mail and over the phone for over a month. We discovered a lot of things about each other which are interesting to each of us. Every once in a while, or more often than that, I’d ask her about some aspect of her sex life. She asked me about mine less frequently, but she grew to know that I was very shy, that I had had two girlfriends, and that I had experimented with a few things.

She talked about her preferences in lovemaking, which were surprisingly close to my own. She discovered that the reason I had never let a woman do all the work in giving me the pleasure was the circumstances I had found myself in while lovemaking, where I felt I “owed” the woman an orgasm for the privilege of making love to her. She didn’t mind that so much, but she thought I was shortchanging myself. She also told me some things about her sexual being that I thought didn’t exist in a woman.

Then, on a Monday night in July, we started talking again. At first it was a normal conversation. But, about an hour into it, something happened.

“I’m feeling naughty tonight,” she said.

Oh?

After a few moments for me to express my surprise and for her to get my permission to do her “stuff” – she did it.

“I’d start off by kissing the sides of your neck,” she said. My eyebrows went up. I have often kissed a woman on the neck, but never have received it myself and consider myself hypersensitive in just about every part of my skin. That wasn’t going to matter.

I don’t think I said much the next half hour. She said a lot. Here are some of the highlights.

“Then I’m going to kiss my way down your chest. I’m going to make your nipples hard.” I think I protested feebly that I had a somewhat hairy chest, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was going to pay attention to my chest. She wasn’t going to allow me to do anything to her except maybe to stroke her hair. And moan.

“I’m kissing my way down your stomach. My fingers are touching your sides and massaging them.” Normally my sides can’t be touched by anybody, but this time it felt mighty right.

The next part was kind of a surprise. “I’m going to lift your balls out of the way and kiss your perineum.” Now, I know what a perineum is, but I had only thought of it in terms of kissing and massaging a woman there. Of course, in a man it’s where the prostate is located. You hear something about prostate massages, but not with a tongue and not from the outside. She had bypassed my cock (except to inspect it and give it an experimental taste), planning to save it for later. Then she was going to continue down me.

“I’m going to kiss all the way down your legs and find the sensitive spots, clear down to your toes. I’m going to suck on your toes one by one. I hope you’ve taken a shower.” I hadn’t thought of toe-sucking as erotic, but hell, if she says it is …

Then she was going to go back up. She was going to do a few things for herself. She liked the idea, for example, of using her breasts to stimulate my cock. I love to touch breasts and find them incredibly soft and sexy, but touching them with anything other than my hands and lips was, like so many other things, foreign to me. But that was just to be a part of it. My cock was reserved for her mouth.

We didn’t discuss how big he was. My guess is that she would have found something for every size. I do know this much; she could have done whatever she darn well wanted with him in her mouth and I would have liked it. I’ve received some cocksucking experiences which have been unimaginative, to put it nicely, kind of fucking the face without the many things that the mouth, tongue and throat could do. She knew a lot of things. Oh boy, did she know a lot of things.

She reassured me that she was touching her cunt (yes, she used the word) through all of this cocksucking session. She was getting herself off through me. The difference was that she could talk. I can’t exactly say I could. I could moan and get out a few words of thanks, but my hand was doing most of my talking. Normally I am very fastidious with my language, but I think a bunch of “Oh God”’s came out and maybe a few encouragements of the four-letter variety found their way into the phone.

Much of what happened that night has been obscured by what would happen a few days later, when we wanted to make it a mutual experience. I do remember the sensations, though. I felt physically what I was used to feeling. The nerves that went into my cock springing to life; him growing hard; the sweet friction of my hand (I got so vigorous that my poor cock felt sore afterwards) bringing him ever closer.

But mainly But I just remember that I was slumped in a chair with lots of white, milky fluid in my hand from what she told me she was going to do to me. Even now it’s hard not to say “Oh, God” and hope my Creator doesn’t mind, even though I’m using both hands to type.

This good deed could not go unrewarded. I let her know that I had a few tricks up my sleeve for her. She had talked about what she had learned through experience (some good, some not) in times past. I had some ideas of my own about pleasuring a woman, which I had tried to put into practice over the years. Not everything had worked out, but under the right circumstances …

I was going to get the mood very right this time. We made arrangements to talk three nights later, after she got off from work. I called her the preceding night to kind of work out what might happen, and we had exchanged some E-mails in the bargain. Nothing explicit; we were each going to pull things out of our bags of tricks.

Both of us work at night, but I got off earlier and took a bath and a shave and got on my bed with a towel. I called her early, after she got off work but before she went home, to check and see if she was anticipating the night to come.

Anticipating is a bit of an understatement.

She was at a restaurant at her workplace so we couldn’t do anything specific, but she decided to forgo waiting to call me back. For over a half hour, until she caught the shuttle back to her car, we just talked about various things – sex being one of them. (She talked softly when anyone seemed to be in hearing range.)

Finally she caught the shuttle, got back to her car, laid the phone on the seat beside her and turned it to Speaker. I’m not going to put words in her mouth, but I know I was excited with anticipation. How excited was she? Judge from the following:

“Now that I’m driving, I’m unzipping your pants and pulling your cock out. I want it out so I can play with it all the way home. I’m on the interstate right now and I’m doing about 80, so if a cop pulls me over you won’t be able to stuff it back in your pants. I’ll let you explain it. Maybe you’ll be lucky and the police officer will be a woman who’ll understand.”

Really? There are women who enjoy doing this sort of thing? Good heavens, what can I do in response? I had an idea and asked her what she was wearing.

“I’m wearing a camisole, a bra and pants.” She is well-endowed on top, and I know something about what substantial breasts – though wonderful to look at – can do to their owner. I asked her if the camisole had enough space for me to feel her neck and shoulders. She said sure, so I proceeded to move close to her and start giving her a neck and back massage. I didn’t want her so relaxed that she’d crash the car (I had no doubts about the speed she was driving), but I did want her to relax and feel like her breasts were assets. Oh yes, I wanted her to feel that every part of her was an asset.

I found the spots in her neck and spine without too much trouble, and I got close enough to give the side of her neck a kiss. This met with a highly favorable reaction. I asked her if she liked having her earlobe kissed and sucked, and found that that was one of the most sensitive parts of her body. Either earlobe would do, but since I was the passenger I worked on her right earlobe. There would be time enough for the left one later. I also slid my fingers under the straps of her camisole and bra to work the marks out of her shoulders.

This went on until she pulled into the driveway of her house. She turned the phone back to earphone as she went in, and we had a normal conversation. Finally, she got to her bedroom and told me she was safely in bed.

“Okay,” I said, “I want to kiss the other side of your neck around to the base of the throat. I still want to massage your neck too. Do you want to lie on your stomach and let me give you a good back rub?”

Sounded good to her. I have very strong hands from typing and the fingers are long and slender. They are very sensitive, so I was going to feel as much as she felt.

I got her to get the camisole and bra out of the way and I gave her a neck and back massage. I didn’t find all the knots in her muscles the first time, but those I did find I worked on until they were loose again. I trailed my fingers down her spine clear to the waistband of her pants, pressed a finger hard into the spinal muscles on each side and ran it back up. I knew she liked having her sides touched, for reasons I will get into in a minute, so I caressed them too. I made sure to kiss her neck and ear and cheek while I was at it.

I don’t know just when I asked her to turn over, but I know I wanted my fingers to feel some of the softest skin you can find on a woman. I caressed her breasts with my fingertips, and then with the whole hand. If I massaged the breasts gently I could feel the muscles and glands underneath. I remembered reading a magazine article on the breast that said sucking on the nipple led to contractions elsewhere, pleasant ones. So I sucked on the nipples, each of them. I am happy to say they responded in very nice fashion.

I hope you don’t think I was working in a vacuum. I was thinking about making love to her pussy with my cock. But there was still work to be done, goals to meet. She had some very definite preferences about oral sex being performed on her, and damn right I was going to perform oral sex on her, the kind of oral lovemaking that I hoped would put her in a very happy frame of mind (and other things as well). So I began kissing down her tummy, still massaging her breasts. And I asked her what sort of panties she was wearing underneath her pants.

“I’m not wearing any,” came the reply.

My eyes widened. One of the delights of my life is to slide my hands underneath panties, feeling them cling to the back of my hand as I caress a woman’s treasures. Waist or leg, either will do. But she had come prepared, had she? Well, I could adjust my plans accordingly. My hands went into the waistband of her pants and caressed her lower abdomen.

We didn’t discuss this at the time – that came later – but I am convinced that the solar plexus set of nerves famed for being vulnerable to boxers is also the nerve center for sexual pleasure, male or female. Caress and kiss the lower abdomen and there will be a tingling sensation that runs straight to the pussy or to the cock. She or he will respond with arousal down there, while there is a feeling roughly in the area of each kidney that cam heighten the sensation of touch and lead to the muscles doing some marvelous things – like clamp down on the urethra in men, where the semen comes out, and make the vaginal muscles contract. It also sends an arousal signal to the brain -- to hold it in, feel the sensations, prepare for the pleasure you get. At any rate, I paid special attention to that area, left side and right side, and on a whim stuck my tongue in her belly button, which I know is hypersensitive.

She wasn’t saying a whole lot that could be repeated. A lot of moaning, a lot of “Oh God”’s and some words of encouragement. I was talking fast and rather breathlessly, caught up so much in the moment. I wanted to bypass her womanhood until she was absolutely ready, but I wanted to find everything else in her that would help her arousal. After getting her pants off and leaving her nude (as I was), I kissed and massaged her feet. I enjoy giving foot massages and work hard at it, and I think she enjoyed it. After all, the pressure a woman puts on her foot is a lot, and I worked out as much of the soreness as I could. I also massaged her calves, this time for my own benefit, and continued up the thighs.

Just diving into her center would have been rushing it. Instead, I wanted to open her up gradually, letting her blossom like a flower, savoring it as I got closer. To that end, I placed my hands on the solar plexus again and began to rub it, at the same time kissing up her thighs. The hands were a little lower, covering her pubic bone. Massaging there would bring the vulva and perineum up and down, letting the lips rub against each other and letting the internal walls contract and release.

Though it’s a close decision, the insides of a woman’s thighs are the softest things a man can touch. I kissed them and moved my hands to them, gradually moving up towards her womanhood. Gentle caresses at first, letting my fingers enjoy them as much as they enjoyed my fingers. Then I got to her womanhood and stopped. Now was the time to massage something a little less smooth but even more wonderful.

I’ve talked about massaging her from above to get her pussy ready. Now it was time to massage full-on. I put my fingers on each side of her vulva, outside the lips by about a half-inch apiece, and began rubbing it. The idea was to get the lips in friction against each other until the lubrication came along and made it a lot more pleasurable. I was going to help out a bit too. With the tip of my finger I went to the very base, her “reservoir” for pussy juices, and dipped in. That finger would return shortly, but for now I just wanted to coat her entire core in her liquid and keep it wet for my tongue.

She had talked at length about not going after the clitoris directly. She made a few alterations to that. I was able to lick the inside of her lips around a few times before she asked … rather determinedly … that I lick everywhere. In the meantime, I had returned my finger to her center and had slid it inside, along with another one. I hoped to find her G-spot, which might be difficult, and to massage every wall inside her body, which wouldn’t be. Those nerves are everywhere inside the pussy, and I was going to find each one of them and stimulate it. So while one finger was pressing up against the top of her vagina, another one was at the base. I managed to get a third finger into her and feel her cervix, a favorite sport for me to rub.

Since I was able to talk, I was describing this in some pretty vivid detail. She was moaning. I am not exactly sure when it happened, but she came on my fingers and tongue. And that wasn’t all. She was willing to trade – I took my fingers away (saving them for something else) and substituted my cock. We settled into a rhythm, with her asking for faster, faster until we got it right. She asked that I use my pussy-soaked fingers to penetrate her anus as well. You don’t say no to a lady like that.

Finally, I told her that I was shooting my cum inside her pussy, gasping it more than saying it. I’m not that sure she heard it all, because she was going through a second orgasm. We settled down for a bit, and then …

“I think I have one more left in me.”

Holy heck.

She then informed me that she had enjoyed my fingers in her bottom so much that she wanted my cock there as well. We talked about how to make that happen, and she told me she was now kneeling on her bed at the proper height for me to stand behind her and make it happen. I had one hand free, so I asked her permission to massage her vulva, perineum and clitoris while I got my cock inside her other entrance. Permission granted. She had liked the idea of my massaging the nerves inside her rectum with my fingers while my penis massaged the nerves inside her vagina (they’re linked, and I had done it with two sets of fingers earlier), so I did it in reverse. I wanted to cum, so I inverted my fingers and slid them inside her womanhood, still massaging her vaginal walls but also massaging my cock in her other tunnel. She asked me to set up a rhythm where my fingers matched my cock thrusts, and damn right I did.

She came a third time.

I thanked her profusely. She couldn’t believe it and thanked me in return. We might have gone on longer, but I got that awful warning beep on my phone indicating the battery was almost gone. I think her phone had a better battery because she didn’t indicate any problems with it.

Those were the first two times we’ve had aural sex. There was another time last night (ending about seven hours before I write these lines). We did it differently that time, although some things were still the same: in the middle of another conversation, after we had talked about life for an hour and had gotten into her sex life (my doing), she announced that she was wet for me. I was hard for her.

We did whatever came naturally to us this time, trying to become as intimate as possible, with me assuring her that I would find as much of her womanhood as possible with my cock and her being determined to get me to get off (I hadn’t the last time) by sucking on him and making love to him and even indulging in ass play (mine) with her finger while she rubbed him and licked my perineum, or my balls, or my cock, or whatever she wanted. She had already had multiple orgasms; now it was my turn. This time I did indeed shoot a load onto the floor (good thing I keep a towel handy) and thanked her profusely for her loving attention.

I’ve been thinking a lot about our relationship. To her, aural sex isn’t “real” sex. We didn’t reach through the phone and touch each other. I told her all the things I wanted to tell her about making love, and so did she. In truth, if I had been inside her loving mouth and her beautiful pussy, I probably would have shot loads into both long before. For whatever reason, she had a terrible time getting me to get myself off and as I write this, “he” is sore again.

We have never met. We never will. The events described here occurred nearly seven and a half years ago. I had a year left to go in my relationship with my then-girlfriend, and I considered it cheating. The woman and I later became friends on Facebook and talked to each other on the phone a few times, but she didn't want me to fall in love with her. Some of my friends on this site can figure out why, since I take sex and lovemaking so seriously. Indeed, since the breakup with my girlfriend and one half-hearted meeting with an escort in the endless summer of 2011, when Fritz the cat was a kitten his brother Adam was still alive. I've never been with anyone since the breakup. I have lost touch with this lady over the last few years and I think she is married -- as are both of my "real" girlfriends.

But I tell you this: as a lover she is positively magical. I don’t know what she will say about me, but she brought out the best in me.