Too much Whiskey & Champagne...

...do not a turgid cock make. But is the modern self-serving woman really complaining? Not really. I had one of my best nights of sex recently with Felix, who had consumed both of the abovementioned beverages in reasonably significant quantities.

Felix and I have a running joke called "Truffle Night", which usually takes place on Thursday. Because that was the day he initially invited me over to his house on the ostensible reason of helping him consume his stash of Godiva truffles, washed down with ample amounts of champagne albeit. And we've just made a habit of it. Now he sends me text messages with the words "Truffle" or "Thursday" in them and instantly I perk up.

However this being Hong Kong, Felix and I have friends in common and we bump into each other at all the usual public entertainment venues. In these instances, we are friendly but leave the other enough breathing room to pursue fresh game as necessary. Such are the joys of a good fuckbuddy. It is an enjoyable arrangement.

It is on one of these so-called unscheduled nights - a Friday I believe - that I see Felix and instantly as he approaches to greet me, I know he wants me. Or maybe I want him. I'm not sure what it is. Maybe it is the unhurried assessment we give each other the once-over from head to foot (although for him it is more accurately described as foot to chest). Or maybe it is the teasing way he whispers in my ear. Or the way I let him "accidentally" discover I am not wearing any underwear.

Whatever it is, at some point of the night he leads me to a remote area of the club and starts playing with my clit under my skirt. By the time we are in a cab, we are busily thrusting against each other and he gives the driver an extra tip for being so "quiet and discreet" about the frenzied punishment being borne by his back seat. There is no question that Felix is incredibly turned on by the time we get back and I am ripping his clothes off (we find out the day after that half his shirt and belt are caught in his front door) busily sucking, kissing and licking.

Except that he has a raging non-erection. We speculate that someone might have put a pill in his drink. Or perhaps he is suffering from post-marathon fatigue. Or simply - and most likely - we have drunk too much whiskey and champagne. This is the first time his member has been so strangely uncooperative but undeterred, he flips me over and says the magic words, "its your night tonight - just let me please you".

Now boys, if there is any surefire way to make a girl your eternal love-slave say those words and really mean them. (She will thank you kindly the morning after - regardless of whether she is a morning person or not - and for as many successive mornings as you two deem necessary to work off any endorphin deficiencies.) It makes such a difference from just humping her like a piece of plywood and then slumping over her semi-consciously slurring, "God, I'm so drunk".

Oh sure I feel sorry that he didn't have a hard-on and wasn't going to be able to fuck me (not immediately anyway). There, there baby. And then as with all these little setbacks in life, I recover. I know, what resilience.

It feels great to be liberated from the preoccupation with the male erection and orgasm once in a while. It is ridiculous how much we pander to it and measure our success in the sack by it. Me included (but this isn't due to any insidious socio-anthropological gender conditioning I swear, I just love cock). It dictates the rhythm and tempo - and indeed, the start and finish - of the majority of sexual interactions between men and women. Such that, an erection is taken as an unspoken cue to start having sex. And consequent ejaculation means time to dim the lights and ask for that extra toothbruszzz...zzzz.

But true to his word, Felix was on fire that night. I showed him exactly how to nibble at my nipples with his teeth, how to stroke my g-spot with his fingers, how to flick my clit with his tongue. I never had more of an apt or willing pupil. He got so good he could get me worked up to a gasping-tear-at-the-sheets orgasm within 2 minutes.

And all the time he keeps his eyes open. Again maybe because he doesn't felt the need to hold back his orgasm (read: close his eyes and think of granny). Nor is he at all fussed with reaching his own climax (read: close his eyes and grunt with effort). We would kiss, fingers would stray, tongues would quest, and all the while, his blue eyes would drink me all in. He would watch me orgasm and lose control. And as my own eyes slowly opened and I came slowly back to earth, his chin would be propped up against the side of my thigh, and he would be watching and smiling. It was sexy as hell.

I would turn the spotlight back onto him. I know he is extremely aroused, but a non-erection is a different kettle of fish. It needs to be handled delicately. Indeed, almost deferentially. I put a glob of cold lube on my fingers and spread it over him, gently pulling back his foreskin. Slowly, sensuously, my lips lock up and down his shaft. I find it is also a good opportunity to lavish attention on his other erogeneous male parts, the underside of his balls. The rim of his arse. In the absence of an erection, he has grown extremely sensitive to me touching him. Its like being with a virgin. The feel of my teeth against his nipples sends him into shivers. When I gently ring my fingers round his cock, it drives him crazy.

And then he makes me lie back and decides to kiss and lick every single inch of me. "Like the way when we first learned how to make love." He is unbelievably gentle and takes his time with me ("lie back, you don't have to do anything") such that it becomes a complete torment. My toes start to tingle and soon enough my whole body has turned into a writhing erogeneous zone, I beg for release. He indulges me, and I surrender in a gush of desire, such that my juice drips down his chin and onto the sheets. "I love the way you taste," he says and licks his lips.

We play like that for hours. Perhaps because there is no full-on penetration, we don't get tired. There is no beginning or end. The hours merge crazily into each other until we realise the sun is rising and we laugh. One of us reluctantly checks the time. It has been almost 5 hours. I am so tired after cumming for the upteenth time, I am beginning to just lie there hoping for the curtains to fall but of course, we find we both can't sleep.

So I make him lie down facing me and stroke his hair with regular motions as one would do a restless child until I hear his breathing steady and deepen. I listen to him breathe for a good period of time and then some time later kiss him slowly to rouse him. At this point, his cock also emerges from its inebriated slumber (thank God for the humble but trusty 'morning glory'). And the rest of the story is quite predictable really. ;)