When I first got my Vibrator, the sensations were so powerful. It was vibrant, full colour and the orgasms were like ecstatic cataclysms that completely took me out of this world and into this state of heightened bliss.
I found myself turning it up until I was using it at 100%, when the colour started to fade. I started to be able to think whilst I came, instead of being a screaming, gasping, gibbering mess.
Then my ice dragon arrived. I toyed and, with my vibe in my right hand, vibrations on my clitoris and my left working that silicone into my body, the colours ‘popped’ again.
I’d peaked Kilimanjaro, and it left me in a state of exhaustion. Total bliss.
It was slow to fade. But it did fade. The colours desaturating like an old TV. I still came, it was still enjoyable, but it didn’t have that intensity that left me totally spent.
And now, I feel like I peaked the Himalayas. I flushed from the tip of my head to my knees. I shuddered and screamed, totally lost in the complete and utter rush.
But now. Even though the gear is the same, I am stuck at base camp. The weather conditions aren’t the same but anything else feels like I have been flicked back into black and white TV. I still try, it still feels good. But the excitement and vibrancy has disappeared.
I am terrified, in a way, of what happens when I finally peak Everest. When I push it to the highest levels and find that I can’t go higher. What then?
What happens when there is no new territory, no thrill of excitement that comes with something new.
I want a hitachi wand. I’m terrified, but I want one and the intensity it promises.
S told me to be careful not to eclipse sex, but that isn’t possible.
Sex is a different dimension. It is an immersion.
Another body, tangible and tactile. Another person’s energy that combines with yours. Their pleasure and your pleasure that heightens and enhances the other’s senses.
A hand on my hip, fingers digging into my flesh, weight on my hip bone.
Lips on my lips, on my throat, on my breasts, on my nipples, sucking, licking, biting. Their skin on my skin, my fingers pressing into their flesh, nails catching skin.
The noises, their notes of pleasure, like an aria of ecstasy, mingling with my cacophony of sound.
Taste, the taste of them, their scent. Individual and distinctive. Their sweat mingling with mine as our writhing bodies come together.
Their release, as they hold me, hands grasping my shoulders as they shudder and groan, up to the hilt in me, their body tightly entwined with mine.
It is something that cannot be replaced. It cannot be emulated. And it cannot be eclipsed.