Night of Longest, Strongest Orgasms

Several days before my vividly memorable night I was working at a desk in the community college where I was both a full-time student and part-time employee. Well into my sophomore year in my mid-twenties, I was familiar with the staff and had even gotten to know several of the vendors who only stopped by monthly or less often. So when Linder stopped by and chatted briefly I thought little of it; we had talked fleetingly numerous times before.

But within an hour he walked up to my desk, almost abruptly handed me a three-by-three inch piece of note paper, then turned around and left, pausing only long enough at the door to say that he would return in about ten minutes. On the note paper, in large, neat, masculine print, was an invitation to see "b-ball" that Saturday evening.

I remember staring at that paper for what had to be several minutes, not knowing what to make of it. For one thing, what in the world was "b-ball"? My mind immediately thought "baseball," but that seemed insane in mid-winter in the northeastern section of snow-covered USA. Basketball seemed to me equally silly - to my knowledge, my little college didn't even have a team! More than any other puzzle is that Linder had never asked me to anything before, so why after a year and a half of acquaintance had he suddenly invited me somewhere, and was this indeed a "date," or what?

For the previous two years I had been living with my boyfriend, who also attended that college. Not surprising therefore that I would have received no invitations then. A month after my boyfriend and I had split a friend gave me a makeover that, though not entirely of my liking, gave me a new look that was fun to experiment with: new hair color, different makeup used in new ways, new styles of clothing, etc. With some consideration it was clear that both my new availability and new look caused Linder to approach me.

Then there was Linder himself. His age was "significantly older" than I was - not "old" but apparently between five and fifteen years my senior. He seemed to me to be handsome, lean and strong, tall, well-dressed, gentlemanly at all times, and well-spoken; he was certainly someone worth a second look, whatever his age, but not once prior to that moment I had ever considered him beyond a sporadic work relationship. I knew he had been divorced or something a year or two beforehand and was short on money. Of course, even with my part-time job I was living mostly curtesy of student loans. Few people I knew then had spare money for anything anyway.

When he returned for my answer he clarified that "b-ball" meant basketball at a nearby, much larger college. While basketball has never been my interest, I accepted because something in the way he looked at me when he handed me the invitation and later when he asked for my reply seemed to indicate that the evening would be an adventure rather than simply a couple of hours at a spectator sport.

A few days before our date he drove me home from college in the afternoon, back to my little one-bedroom apartment. In this way and through gentle conversational inquiries he learned about my interests, background, and style. I had little to offer for food and drinks, but we were content to simply visit. For background music we listened to a recording of a wide variety of eras and genres. At one point "Take On Me" by A-ha came on and I started to dance. Some songs do that to me - I just have to dance unless prevented from doing so! He danced with me, both of us unashamedly being more goofy than proficient, including countless styles of moves, but never touching each other. It was purely lots of fun to have someone to dance with, someone to share the joy of an upbeat song. Not long afterwards "I Melt With You" by Modern English came on. Again I danced, but he didn't because he said he didn't know how to do so to that particular beat. To me, if the music moves me I truly don't care about "how" to dance - the point is simply to move in time with the music. We played that song a couple of times more until he could feel comfortable dancing to it, before allowing the recorded music to go on to other eras and styles. When he left soon afterwards we were both smiling, laughing, relaxed yet energized.

In that short visit of less than an hour I had learned to trust him, I could talk about myself without judgement, he could reveal himself to me without fear. Like me, he had been rusty from not having danced for a long time, but he was willing to risk embarrassment to try to dance with me. We discovered how to move around each other, to anticipate and respond to each other's bodies. Dance provides an opportunity to really look at someone's body, face and whole body movement, in a fun, casual, honest way. Mostly, I had learned that I really liked Linder, that being with him was fun, and I began to wonder quite often about what would happen Saturday evening.

Our rendezvous Saturday was just after sunset on the common "green" of the nearby college. It was still light, barely, so he walked me around to show me a bit of the campus before darkness took hold. I don't recall any of that tour because I had dressed for a date rather than for a long winter walk, and the temperature outside was cold - around freezing and dropping quickly. My jacket was totally insufficient and my dress slacks did little to keep me warm. By design or by sudden flashes of compassion, a few times during the tour Linder wrapped his arms and much warmer coat around me. It was during one of those warmth-sharing, shivering embraces that he first kissed me. I had looked up (he was much taller than I was), perhaps to thank him for the warmth of his coat, and during a pause he leaned down and kissed me. It was both completely predictable - straight out of a "How To Seduce A Co-ed" manual, if one exists - and yet absolutely surprising! The short, hesitant kiss was followed by a respectful pause during which he sincerely asked me aloud if I was okay with the kiss. He actually later even asked if it was an okay kiss! Plainly, he was a bit rusty with dating and not just with dancing. In answer, I kissed him back, longer, but not much longer because the cold began to consume me again.

Those two kisses had felt far more wonderful than I had expected. His were soft, pliant lips that were somehow firm in their intention. My memory is so clear about that embrace, and how his kiss awakened me somehow. I didn't feel like he had "gotten to first base" and was expecting to try next for second, or that I was lessened in his view. I have had a lot of first kisses, and for many it's like the partner (male or female) has "taken" something from me, or just as often as if "I" were not there but instead were playing the role of "she who gets kissed." In retrospect I see that everything that followed that evening has its base mostly in those two kisses, in the trust that they created, in the unveiling of my reserves, and therefore in the desire that began to arise within me.

We next walked to the basketball game, something that was either free or extremely low cost so I felt no concerns about his paying my way. I remember sitting in the bleachers but I have no clue who played whom or who won. What interested me was that Linder was sincerely interested in the game, absorbed in it yet, somehow, fully still together with me, answering my questions, including me through closeness in his enjoyment of the game. For the first time ever I, too, enjoyed a game of basketball. He didn't use that public environment to push any boundaries or to behave inappropriately in any way, and yet I felt like his embrace from outdoors continued in the way he would innocently reach over to place his hand on my shoulder before describing some action on the court or protectively move my arm when someone walked by.

During the game it was more than evident to me that Linder was a nice guy, a considerate man, not at all weak but moreover kind by choice and by nature. There is probably no aphrodisiac more potent than strength used gently, than power used for trust, than availability used as invitation rather than obligation. He never once pushed his interest but instead allowed me to respond to him. The best part of the game was gradually deducing that he had asked me on the date to be there with him for my pleasant company more than simply as his decoration or to create a "debt" to be paid by my expected submission later. He didn't insinuate any ulterior motives but instead was open and prepared for whatever choice I made.

Consequently, I was practically jumping with enthusiasm to be with him! It was so very easy to smile with him! He hadn't tried to "buy" me with an expensive dinner and evening (those can be great, but should, in my opinion, be later in dating), didn't try to push me in any direction. How refreshing to be able to relax my guard. So often on dates in my teens and young twenties I had to inconspicuously protect myself from advances and/or boredom. With Linder I didn't need to do that. When he offered to continue the date by going to his apartment for drinks and a light supper, I readily agreed.

Safety is vital to romantic success for me, especially then as a single college student living alone thousands of miles from my family's home. A roller coaster ride is thrilling only because we know that, appearances aside, we won't get into a collision nor be dropped from any great height. Linder made me feel safe by asking me if I wanted to drive my car and follow him to his apartment, this way I could never be stranded. It may seem odd that I keep repeating this theme, but the night I describe happened exactly the way I'm writing it - it did happen - and only now do I see why this night was so special. Because of all that he and I had discussed, done - and not done - till then, sexually I was ready, oh so ready, for him before I even reached his apartment.

Once inside, I saw that his place was not much larger than mine, yet it was tastefully decorated and comfortably furnished. After safety is comfort for me. The absence of either comfort or safety can instantly destroy my mood. Cliché as it was, I appreciated that he lowered the too-bright lights, lit a few well-placed candles, adjusted the temperature to be a bit warmer, and set out some prepared snacks for us. It was simply small sandwiches and fruit, but fresh, ripe berries on an icy night are like heaven. Served with the appetizers he made my then-favorite drink, Coca-Cola and Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum. Happily, he made them in small, tall glasses, light on ice and lighter on alcohol. Again, I immediately warmed to him more because he wasn't going to try to get me drunk. In fact, we only had two, or perhaps three, such drinks all night, therefore I had just a tiniest bit of buzz from the rum with just enough boost from the Coke. Such little measures create big results!

All the while we talked about ourselves, work, goals, interests, current events. When he put music on I was cheerfully surprised to hear "Take On Me" later followed by "I Melt With You." The look on Linder's face made it quite evident that he had done this on purpose. Once again he demonstrated effort to surround me with sounds, tastes, lighting, whatever, to set me at my ease, to allow me to relax and have fun. He totally succeeded.

In one way only was that point of the date simultaneously hell; I wanted him so much I ached! It was all I could do to act the lady we both knew I was, to continue witty yet light conversation, to content myself with looking at him instead of touching him immediately, all over his body! Linder's additional talent was to allow time to build desire in me. He was mature enough to know that time will either cause interest to dwindle, which means it's best to end things then to avoid regret, or it will enhance desire. Mine was certainly enhanced, but amazing to me he didn't perceive it or, at any rate, didn't act on it for the longest time. He was a true lover even before touching me sexually, my first "lover." A lover needs simply a tiny, well-timed glance, or a slight inflection of voice, or a bit of teasing pause to convey erotic intention. How much more enticing and extremely sexually exciting that is when compared to just a "sex partner" - give me a sophisticated lover and together we will become the most sexually-charged partners!

We had danced to "Take On Me" and other somewhat fast songs, but in the middle of the somewhat slower "I Melt With You" he shifted styles and drew me closer to him. Not yet in full-body contact, I felt keenly aware of his physique. He moved with more fluidity, with more focus on my eyes and more lingering, approving gazes over my body. He must have rehearsed to that song because at a few key points he spun me or did some other move in time with the music. It was so fun, and I felt secure in his hold, whether his hands were in mine or around my waist. It's true that you can learn a lot about someone by how they dance; it isn't so much about dance proficiency as it is confidence with one's body and moreover attention to and interest in another's body. Could he tell how strongly I was interested in him?

Near the song's end he kissed me, once again respectfully and gently, but longer and more passionately. Beyond all doubt at that moment I did Melt With Him! Thank goodness he held me up because while his arms softly crushed me to him, my first orgasm crushed my ability to stand; it even took effort to keep my arms around his neck. I was panting from pleasure, from surprise, from giggling joy! With the slightest motion he pressed his thigh against my crotch and continued my orgasm into another one, extended my pleasurable laughter and gasps.

When the song ended, a song that is now forever linked in my memory and sensuality to him, we paused for a while and he brought over a bit more fruit and another mild spiced rum and coke. Linder's expression displayed that he clearly enjoyed savoring these hours of seduction. Beyond a doubt he was eager and ready as well; the embrace had proved that. But he also knew control, and that to build excitement was far better than to rush to the finale.

We still talked, but our conversation was now just a cover for the passions we were teasing ourselves by subduing. For the first time he sat beside me on the couch, a few inches apart. Periodically while talking, usually when I answered some question of his, he let a finger or two graze along my now bare arm, or draw light circles upon my thigh. Almost every time I felt shudders of orgasm course through me again. This was the first night I learned how, under the right circumstances, I can be not just multiply orgasmic but without any direct touch to an "erogenous zone." In fact, in the course of the evening, Linder had turned my whole body and mind into one continuous erogenous zone; there was no place he touched then that was immune to the intense response. How much of this he could detect was entirely beyond my knowledge, or perhaps my capability to know, so absorbed as I was in my own new responsiveness.

Edging closer to me on the couch he encircled me with his arms and then kissed me again. Without a doubt this kiss conveyed his intention to go further, it was the switch that ignited me and kept me in flames for the next several hours. How I wish I knew precisely what he did, what was it was about his lips and tongue, his breathing, his whispered words, his hold, his pressure, his scent, even his taste that propelled me over the edge and sustained me there. I know only that from then on I was like a toy for his play; he could set me aside while he tended to lowering the lights further or getting necessary items, and during those times I regained breath and strength. But when he returned to me my skin became electric to his fingers and mouth. With the barest of effort he made me shudder, squeal, squirm, and come again and again. So often he had to stop so I could sip water, gulp air, since my panting left me dried out, in my mouth but nowhere else.

Gradually he had moved some cushions and blankets to the floor beside the couch, so in one fluid motion he startled me by pulling me off the couch onto them. It felt like the softest, most flexible, supporting nest, and I couldn't help but wiggle with delight as I explored all the ways I could now move. Through all of this we had both remained fully clothed, but soon Linder oh so carefully and slowly began to unbutton me, to push here and pull there, just a millimeter at a time it seemed, sometimes delicately touching my skin and other times avoiding touch completely, making me bend my body to try to reach towards his delightful fingers. I wanted nothing but to feel him, even if only the mere tip of his littlest finger. More and more I kept my eyes closed as the pleasure overwhelmed me and, I had to admit to myself, because what was happening was so incredibly much better than fantasy that I feared opening my eyes to see only my bedroom ceiling. But with my eyes open I saw enough to blissfully remind me that it was all, every bit of it, 100% true, real, and happening to me.

By glancing at the clock on the wall, one of the few lit items within my view, I not only saw that we were now in early morning but that we had been there in his apartment for hours, highly erotic yet still "platonic." It was easily a full half hour or more for him to completely remove all of my clothes; he really did spend that much time in teasing me, in touching and tasting me, in turning me this way and that, in "struggling" with the items of my wardrobe. It was almost impossible for me to keep from squirming with sensuality while he undressed me, and whenever he licked my breasts I had to bite my right index finger to keep from screaming out my orgasm.

Despite my requests, my soft pleading, he wouldn't touch me further until he was ready. Even then he was a gentleman and excused himself to wash his hands thoroughly to avoid causing me irritation from any item in the house he had touched before. Consequently, his hands were chilly and damp, triggering me to jump under his touch initially. But when he suddenly cupped my mound, applying just enough pressure, I instantly bucked under another series of orgasms, forcing my hips against his hand to increase the sensations over and again. Each time the pulsing within me subsided he altered his hand slightly, or kissed me somewhere, or let his fingertip just barely enter me.

By this time I was priding myself on my ability to still breathe, and to remain quiet to the best of my ability since his neighbors lived so close. Truly, I even had to remind myself to exhale to prevent myself from holding my breath too long while seemingly memorizing each detail of his every touch and of my resulting orgasms. Yet still he was dressed, thrilling in the pleasure he was giving me, enjoying the exquisite agony of resisting his own release.

Finally, he removed his shirt and I could at last run my hands and fingers over his bare skin while he was in a prone, "pushup" position above me. So soft, both his skin and chest hair, yet the muscles beneath were lean and solid hardness, something I never suspected when I had only before seen him wearing a suit. Touching him pushed me over the edge yet again, especially since he was so ready and so close to me. The room was cooling by now, which I only realized when the warmth of his chest sent welcoming relaxation to my body. No amount of heat would have stopped my nipples from being so sensitively hard with excitement, but his heat removed a bit of growing chill from me. In a way, this was what our first kiss on the college campus had felt like: excited bodies huddled for warmth and passion, with pleasure so easy and so intense.

When he raised himself slightly in order to begin to remove his pants, he paused long enough to suddenly lick up the moistness that covered my entire crotch. Briefly he licked along the crease of my thigh, again halfway up to my belly button, then a long, slow, full-tongue, lingering, practically vibrating lick from almost my ass up to across my mound. I actually caught myself thinking how stunned I was that I hadn't had a heart attack from the pounding that seemed to transport me! It took concerted effort to breathe, to inhale and then to exhale, to do anything but hold on to the cushions on the floor while the attack of pleasurable passion seemed to shoot me to Saturn and back! Before I was recovered he did it again, then again. My head wobbled side by side as if possessed by someone else who wanted it back, or like an object that has been tilted and is endlessly trying to right itself. I had had no idea that orgasms could be that strong, that they could continue in that intensity, that they could even increase further, and that I would still be alive afterwards!