In most cases, the pleasure you get from sex is proportional to the pleasure you give. So, if sex is not so good, look at yourself first.
However, there was a woman in college I bedded who, despite my best efforts, defied that logic.
I came to know her through a theater crowd but she kept appearing in other social groups, so I saw her quite often. I liked her the moment I met her because she had a real "up" personality, a quirky sense of humor, and made great conversation--one of those people you just immediately feel comfortable with.
Usually dressed in the "Annie Hall" style popularized by the Woody Allen movie of the same name, she was attractive looking, too, with long, ultra-thick, frizzy blonde hair; big, hazel eyes; full lips; and a giant white smile. Tall and long-legged, she had a very fleshy, jiggley bottom, and some of the most peculiar, though to me extremely sexy, breasts I've ever seen.
I saw a funny cartoon years ago that categorized tits, and hers were of the "banana boobs" variety. Picture this: cut a peeled banana crossways in half, place the halves with the cut ends against the upper chest, with the fruit curving upward, and to the tips add nipples centered in puffy areolas, and, voila, you have her tits.
Firm, long, and narrow, curving down then dramatically back up and out, they jiggled with even her slightest movements, quite visible since she never wore a bra. The jiggling was quite visible, but since she never wore low-cut or clingy tops, the whole banana-boob phenomenon was completely hidden from view.
I'd known her about a year and finally asked her out. She sounded really excited when she accepted, and we went to a local pizza place for deep-dish and dark beer. We're having a grand time, and I'm moving ever closer in when she interrupts the good times to say, "I really like you and figure you'll want go to bed with me tonight, but I gotta tell you up front that I'm a really lousy lay."
Now I've heard a lot, but never this. I really LIKE this girl, the date's going super, and she tells me she stinks in bed! Was this a clever way to let me know she just wanted to be friends?
I truthfully tell her my feelings--that I liked her from the moment I met her, had grown to like her even more, thought she was extremely sexy, and, yes, wanted to make love with her. I then gave her a deep, soft French kiss, our first, and she French-kissed me back. Hmmmm, a rather dead kisser, but I attributed that to anxiety caused by the drunk guys at the next table heckling us.
We finished our Heinekin Darks and walked back to campus. On the way she said her roommate was spending the night with her boyfriend, that there would be no one there in her dorm room. Translation: Come in and let's make love. When we got to the dorm entrance, I lay my best kiss on her, but once again, got a dead kiss back. The campus policeman was breathing down our necks, so I figured she was just nervous.
I asked if I could come up to her room, and she said yes, but that she would have to sneak me in the back way, since her all-girls dorm did not allow men in after midnight, and it was just after twelve. We could have walked the short distance over to my unrestricted apartment, but sneaking in sounded much more exciting to me, and I figured she'd be more relaxed in her own place, so we carried out the plans.
As soon as her dorm room door closed, we began kissing and I wasted no time in removing her Annie Hall clothes--the vest, the skinny tie, and so on--until she stood there in nothing but panties, and I quickly shed all my clothes. "Like I said before, don't get your hopes up 'cause I'm a really lousy lay," she repeated. Well, I would show her; I would awaken her dormant sexuality, spark her inner desires, and wake up the tigress that surely slept within her.
For the first time, I saw those banana boobs, and loved 'em. I got one in my mouth and sucked it, dick-like, up and down and halfway down my throat as she played with my hair. When I pulled it out of my mouth to work on the other one, the puffy areola had ballooned to twice its former size, as had the already sizable nipple, now as big and red as a cherry.
Sucking the other banana up to make them match, they were dripping wet with saliva, and I slapped them together, swung them around, milked them like cow's udders, and got both of them in my mouth at the same time and sucked away. "Feel good?" I asked.
"Feels OK," she answered.
Hardly a resounding endorsement.
Perhaps she was tense. I found some lotion and lay her face down on the bed, unhurriedly slipping her panties off. She must have thought I was going to fuck her right then, but I was going to relax her with a full body massage. I worked her from neck to toes and all points in between for half an hour. As my steel-hard cock slipped in the lotion-slippery crack between her buns, it was particularly difficult to not just poke it on in her, but I was determined to bring out the sensuality in this girl.
I turned her face up and massaged the whole front side of her body for another half an hour.
I noticed her pussy was wet, a good sign, so I began to lick and suck it. She didn't seem to mind, but neither did she seem "into" it. "Tell me how you like it," I probed.
"You're doing fine, just fine," was all she could offer.
Now if I do say so myself, I can eat pussy with the best of 'em, and all I could elicit was a "fine?"
I kissed her facial lips some more--still a dead kisser--then offered my cock. Alas, she could suck a dick no better than she could kiss. It wasn't that she was doing anything wrong, but rather, her heart just didn't seem to be into it. I tried to show her how to get her hands involved, but she didn't get it. Poor gal, I just don't believe she had the musculo-physical control or coordination to be a good kisser or dick-sucker or hand-jobber.
I got some more lotion and slathered it over those magnificent bananas. With her anatomy and by positioning her sitting on the edge of the bed leaning slightly forward, I could titty-fuck her in a unique way. Her tube-boobs were so long that I could take the end of one in each hand and stretch them out and actually cross them over and around my cock as I pumped them from below. This way, I could apply just the right amount of pressure on myself with no assistance from her. Though I've titty-fucked many a pair of breasts, hers were the only ones I've ever encountered that I could do in this way, and it certainly felt and looked wild!
"That's interesting," she commented, rather academically.
Well, I had one last chance to awaken her sexuality with the old dick in the pussy, so I went down on her for a while again, and then mounted her missionary style, then doggie in various forms, then spoons, then she atop me facing towards and away, and every other possible way including flying. I fucked her, but she barely fucked back. It was starting to get light outside, but no matter what I did, I could not bring her to orgasm, and, because of that, had not yet allowed myself to climax.
She seemed to be enjoying the sex, albeit mildly, like a peanut butter sandwich for lunch after a late breakfast. Throughout the early morning hours, I would ask from time to time things like "How's that? Faster? Slower? Higher? Lower? You lead."
But all she would say was, "You're doing fine, just fine. Enjoy yourself."
Well, I eventually gave up. Near dawn, I squirted out the last of the lotion on her unique ta-tas, wrapped them like boas around my aching shaft in the same position as before, and launched my gravity-defying load straight up into her face and hair and watched it dribble down her forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, neck, and banana-boobs as I continued to pump them for a very long-lasting orgasm.
I set a personal best both in distance launched and quantity expended, but knew I had failed to medal.
"My, that's a lot of sperm," she observed. "Hmm. Smells strongly vegetative," she said, licking her lips, "and has a somewhat salty flavor. I've heard it's good for the skin," she said, rubbing it in dainty little circles on her cheeks like it was some expensive French facial cream.
Obviously, this semen facial was a first, and she was anything but grossed-out. Yet she said this devoid of sensuality, like a biologist noting the attributes of a dissected frog. She wasn't afraid of sex or inhibited in the least. She just was not wired for anything beyond the mildest of sexual pleasure, and, as I would learn from trying to play basketball, Frisbee, softball, darts, pool, etc. with her, she was a klutz--to such a degree that she just could not perform the sheer physical aspect of sex.
We dated for a few more months, and she was invariably upbeat, funny, and agreeable—a delight to be with. And no matter what time of the day or night or what else was on the agenda, she was always AVAILABLE for sex but never EAGER. Try as I might, I was never able to bring her to climax. She said she liked sex, but since she'd never experienced an orgasm, I truly don't think she knew what it was. I came to understand what that must be like. By way of comparison, I LIKE a Toyota Camry; it's an utterly reliable car that never disappoints. But an old GTO, Buick Grand National, Taurus SHO, or BMW M5 THRILLS me, as they take me deep into the land of automotive passion.
Though we got along great, we parted on friendly terms, mutually agreeing that the sexual gulf between us was much too wide. Yes, she was a sexual Camry, but I will always remember her fondly and never forget those one-of-a-kind banana boobs under her hood.
The last time I saw her was at a cast party at the same house where I first met her. The handsome guy with the lead role and she were hand in hand going into a spare bedroom, and I overheard her say to him, "I hope you'll understand, I'm a really lousy lay."
No one could ever say that she didn't give fair warning.