When it comes to sex, I would like to think that I am a considerate and unselfish partner. I sincerely nope that none of the women I have had sex with in the last three decades have ever had cause to think differently, although I would be lying if I said I never gave my own pleasure more consideration that that of my partner. At the end of the day, while sexual pleasure can (and should, in my opinion) be shared, sexual gratification is a much more individual thing. That, however, is maybe another post for another time.
My partner’s pleasure is very important to me and is very much central to my own. I’ve written before about my sensualism and the fact that I love to revel in my partner’s arousal, enjoyment and eventual climax. These things are such an important part of my sexual enjoyment that I have pretty much given up on any form of sexual activity that doesn’t involve being with someone else.
But, for all of that; for all that I am attentive to my partner’s desires and needs, for all that their pleasure is important to me, for all that I am an attentive and (hopefully) satisfying sex partner, I am still human, and that means I am, at a very primal level, still an animal. As my climax approaches, the animal takes over.
That isn’t to say I necessarily become rougher, although the final few strokes before my release will, almost definitely be harder than those that preceded them. No, it is simply that as orgasm approaches, the cultivated human lover that is attentive to the needs of his partner recedes, and the ancient, primal, animal, focused on their own need takes over.
There is an almost Jekyll and Hyde transformation that comes over me in the moments before climax. In those last few agonisingly intense moments, aeons of evolution are peeled away and I am reduced to my most primal self. In those moments, I am no longer with a particular person; I am simply fucking. In those last exquisite seconds before release, my basest sexual need has driven all sense of anything other than my impending climax from my conciousness.
I am no longer aware of time passing, my breathing, the person I am with. My only awareness is for my own need for release. At the point of orgasm, my need transcends mere selfishness; it becomes all that I am. What little power for thought that remains is swallowed up by the conflict between the need to let go and the desire to prolong that final ecstasy.
When, at last, driven beyond endurance, I come, the eruption drains the animal from me along with my cum. I return, the animal retreats. I become aware of my partner, beneath me (or on top of me), her breathing, her heart pounding against me, her skin pressed to mine. She has seen off the animal and, in her arms, I allow her to bring me back to me.