Lest anyone
think I dissembled… allow me to make things plain.
Is
Is he a
skilled lover? Unquestionably... far more so than perhaps he believes, actually…
but, again, I’ve been previously partnered with men and women who were
exhaustively trained in—and then proceeded to incessantly practice—the science
of love.
Is he, as
you humans so charmingly say, “well hung”? I shall answer thus: He is, indeed, and far more than sufficient to thoroughly sate me. In my life, though, I have been
had, and greatly hurt by, men—and,
yes, creatures—who were grotesquely, even monstrously equipped. In turn, I have been pleasantly surprised, and satisfyingly
taken, by others that a less imaginative person might hold in disdain, or even
contempt.
As you might
guess, thus, such things do not at all impress me.
I say this
as a former courtesan, and a woman in love: The best sex is about magic, not mathematics. We possess
the former—in a quantity and degree I have never before known.
He gives me
more pleasure, more easily, than anyone ever has, and I’m glad for it... not
only for my own selfish reasons, but because I know his prideful heart, and
that he wouldn’t accept anything less.
In that, he
is quite boyish.
I cannot say
precisely why I so
love him... and I think that to analyze something like that is to insult love
itself.
For me, it’s
enough that I do.
Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight