G is for … G-spot
YES, that elusive and controversial location of spontaneous ejaculation and involuntary writhing.
Does it exist? Does it?
You’re sitting in Kafene, wondering what to write about.
G is for Glamour? Grace? Guts?
Hmm. Not even your morning walk with Vento prompted an answer.
Then you ask the man who spends just as much time as you do in your office.
Our office, he laughs, brandishing a bulky film script.
Today he offers triangles of watermelon. Once. Twice.
It helps with the … and he indicates flushing.
He sits at a table nearby and wants to know what you’re doing here, in Eressos.
You tell him you write a blog three days a week and today it’s G. But you’re stuck.
He sticks a fork into a triangle of watermelon and contemplates its ruddiness.
His eyebrows travel almost to the top of his bald head.
Then he looks at you and says: the spot.
You mean the G-spot?
He shrugs his shoulders.
It’s not because I’m Italian or anything. Maybe it’s this place that makes me think of it.
There go the shoulders again.
Yes! G for G-spot.
There’s no mistaking the feel of it, either as the lover or lovee.
You remember The Gusher.
Yes, not only did she turn into a cavorting banshee and thrash around the bed like a rogue windmill, she also spurted fountains of whatever it is women shoot in ecstasy.
Blush. You don’t want to brag or anything, but you have an inbuilt GPS that leads you, without fail, to the G-spot.
It’s not rocket science, this navigation. But you do have to know how to multi-task.
And yes, it does involve penetration.
And some nimble finger work.
It works best with the thumb on the clitoris, and your middle finger and index finger exploring inside.
It’s not a small spot, usually, this G-spot. It is ridged, sort of corrugated.
There is no mistaking it. For either of you.
Start a stroking movement, slowly backwards, forwards. Inside.
Meanwhile, don’t forget your thumb has to do some work too.
Round and round, up and down.
This actions demands some dexterity, dears. Some nuance, too.
Pause and kiss. Let your tongue tour her body.
If you’re successful, she will say something like ah … yes! Yes!
She’ll draw your loser. Don’t stop, she’ll say.
She’ll lift her buttocks (without knowing it).
Her kisses? They’ll become decidedly raunchy. Wilder.
At this point, stay calm.
If you want her to go really ballistic, let your tongue trawl her body, especially in the pelvic area, her neck, yes, in the folds of her arms. Don’t bite. Yet.
You have to be supple in this business.
Subtle. Imaginative. Sure.
She must trust you because the pleasure of the G-spot journey is unremitting.
It can even be startling, for G-spot virgins.
You go with the flow though, both of you, to the place where angels sing a rapturous song, the bliss of seventh heaven.

(ends)