Happiness is often something you only know you have experienced retrospectively. The only time, in DSM’s view, that you know you are happy in the present tense (and omitting anything chemically induced) is either when you are laughing out loud or during an orgasm.
Otherwise, it’s only after the event that you think: “Actually, that was a really fantastic night” or “that time I spent chatting to my friend was perfect.” DSM has recently had one of those days which she can honestly say afterwards was one of the best she’s had in a very long while, but that’s something for a future post…maybe.
So – how can a man make a woman very, very happy in the present tense? He can start by looking at his fingers and thinking less about his penis. In DSM’s experience, too many men focus on their own mission to ejaculate and completely forget there is another person with them. This is such a waste of the sexual act when they may as well have stayed home alone with a couple of beers, watched some porn and ‘spanked their own monkeys’. In the past, I have felt like an inflatable mattress, pinned down under a large weight while I am rhythmically pumped. Maybe if I had swapped myself for a lilo he wouldn’t have even noticed.
So, men – women like unselfish lovers. We are people too who need to enjoy the ‘getting jiggy with it’ experience too. If you help us orgasm, we will also enjoy the penetrative bit a lot more too.
Sluttish as I am, before The Man I had experienced very few orgasms. This was because very few of the men I had slept with had even bothered to try and give me this special gift. Yes, they would clumsily rub their fingers up and down the right region and poke my insides, but only a handful (excuse the pun) of them had attempted the delicate, precise action of pin-pointing the right place and either finger-stimulating or deep sea diving for some oral action.
The Man is the least selfish being I have known in this particular area. It sometimes feels like he would rather please me than himself. I can only assume he gets pleasure from giving me pleasure. He would happily fly me to the moon and back without looking out of the rocket window once, or bake me a delicious cake without being tempted to dip his finger in the icing for a sneaky lick…
His care and attention only makes me want to fly him to the moon (and maybe Jupiter and Mars) and back. Oh, and also to ride him like a wild stallion until we both collapse in a heap, exhausted and physically incapable of doing anything afterwards.
So, men, look at your fingers, check your nails are short (not bitten) and clean. Practice nimble-fingered activities – if you play the piano or guitar, this could be useful. Otherwise, try your hand at threading a needle, finger-painting, making plasticine shapes, popping bubble wrap… anything requiring gentle but precise positioning of the fingers. Next, buy an ice-cream or lolly and eat it entirely through licking – no cheating by biting off chunks – purely tongue work alone. Complete these tasks and you may, just may, get somewhere.