A man describes the ‘Great Fucks’ in his life

There are boob men. There are ass men. Men who look
first at shapely legs or eye color or hair length. For
me, life is not nearly as simple as that. What I prize
above all else is not something visible in the public
woman. What I prize is the secret between her legs.

A lover once opined, “Women may have different bodies,
but pussies are basically all the same, right? Warm and
slippery?” There is but one safe answer to this
question. The truth is more complex.

Every woman is different, of course, though only a true
connoisseur appreciates the delightful rich reality of
each woman’s uniqueness. You have to explore her with
your fingers, learning her shapes and folds, how she
lubricates, the size and shape of her clit and how it
wants to be caressed. Your fingers discover the texture
of her walls and the sensitivity of her G-spot.

You have to explore her with your mouth to bring more of
your senses into play. Her musky aroma that penetrates
your nose and makes your head spin with lust. Her taste,
mild or moderate or strong, tart or delicate. The
coloring of her labia, how her vulva flushes and blooms
with her arousal. Whether her inner labia remain thin
and only barely separate with a hint of what lies
between, or whether they fatten and yawn fuck-me wide.

And then the ultimate is exploring her with your penis.
With it you can reach farther into her mysterious sheath
and learn the variations of her internal heat and
slickness, assess the nuances of her labia as you
stroke. You marvel at the subtleties of her texture and
her degrees of snugness inside. You edge your body
higher to scratch your shaft against her clit, and drive
in deep to nudge against her cervix. You rejoice at the
clutching snuggles she can apply that tell you that you
are welcome within her body.

Sometimes you encounter a vagina that is seemingly
disconnected from its owner. As good as it may feel to
thrust into this passive clasp, as satisfying as it may
be to romp forward to your orgasm, there is always the
nagging question in your mind about whether the face
you’re looking at has any intimate relationship with the
vagina you’re fucking.

And then there are those women who can best be described
as Great Fucks. If you’ve never met one, then you have
no idea what I mean. If you have met one — two, a dozen
— you’ll never forget.

A Great Fuck. How can one best describe such a woman?
Her vagina is alive. It has muscles with which she can
exert at least some small measure of control and
acknowledgement of your intruding hardness. She has hips
that can move, a body that does more than just lie there
dispassionately, and she also knows how and when to
surrender to you.

A Great Fuck knows how to entice you into her body and
to keep you there. She knows how to get you to scrub
your erection up one side of her cunt and down the
other, how to get you to penetrate her deep or shallow,
quick or slow, whether you are on top of her and pumping
away, or whether she is on top and in control.

A Great Fuck loves to fuck. Loves to be fucked. Loves to
feel your stiffness rooting around, stretching and
rubbing. Loves to be penetrated, to feel your cockhead
prodding past her entryway “O”, again and again. She
loves to be held, to be desired, to feel your passion
igniting hers and hers igniting yours. She loves to
climax, as many times as she and you can manage.

She loves you to climax. She loves your deep, rutting
thrusts that press your pubic bone against her inflamed
vulva and her solitary soldier that stands at attention
and just wants to join in. She craves your frantic final
lunges and the long, pulsing releases of your white-hot
seed into her cunt as she clenches around your stalk and
squirms her hips against the paralyzed rigidity of your
body.

As vaginas go, the first truly memorable one I
encountered belonged to Kris, a married woman in her
mid-twenties with a sexually apathetic husband. I found
his disinterest to be unfathomable. I was the third man
she’d slept with — her husband, whom she’d been with
since high school; and a brief extramarital fling with a
bartender, the year before me.

Kris had an athletic body, compact breasts and strong
upper legs and a round, muscled butt. Her cunt was
equally athletic. Brown fringes and a tender, tasty pink
center. Its outer Kegels had a firm, constant grip that
encircled my shaft with the width of a man’s thumb and
forefinger, and further inside she was modestly snug and
lightly textured in a wonderful contrast to the muscled
entrance.

That glorious opening just demanded repeated, full-
length thrusts to friction her distinctive grip up and
down every inch of my cock, from base to tip and back
again.

I learned early in the relationship that Kris only
orgasmed from oral, from my tongue slathering up and
down and side to side while my fingers pressed rhythmic
circles on her G-spot. Afterwards, when we fucked, Kris
remained highly aroused, receptive and amiably giving.
Most of the time we’d do it Missionary. Her wide-open
eyes would lock onto mine, she’d beam a joyous smile,
and her hips would pump upward in an eager, get-that-
cock-IN-there urgency.

Kris was a marvel to fuck. I’d go shallow for a few
tantalizing teases, then when I couldn’t restrain myself
I’d plunge hard and deep, eliciting squeaks from the
protesting bed and a loud, happy moan from Kris.
“Again!” that moan would call out its demand to me,
“Again! Again!”

Sometimes I’d prop myself up on my elbows and watch her
eager face and her erotically dancing breasts, and
moments later I would press my furry chest against those
hard-tipped breasts and stab into her marvelous cunt at
different delicious angles, just to sample everything it
had to offer.

Nothing seemed to make her happier than when my climax
hit. “Tell me when you’re going to come,” she’d demand
when she sensed I was close.

When my cock signaled its impending launch and I
affirmed it with a gasping “Now!” I would bury myself
and her ankles would pull tight at my thighs, and Kris
would exhale a squeal of pleasure at my first powerful
spasm. Then, with my hips frozen in paralyzed pleasure
and my cock spurting release after release, Kris would
undulate her hips beneath me, and her grippy little cunt
would tug around my shaft just a little bit tighter to
urge out every last drop.

I can only assume that Kris’s naive husband had no idea
what a gem he had in his bed every night.

And then there was Lynn. Single, almost thirty, with a
history of intermixed long- and short-term
relationships. Lynn had a cunt that was quite different
from Kris’s, yet just as satisfying. Whereas Kris’s body
as a whole and her cunt in particular had a muscular,
dynamic feel to it, Lynn’s body and cunt were softer and
more femininely graceful and delicate.

She had a gentle mouth, small hands and thin fingers,
tiny breasts, and wider womanly hips. Her vaginal walls
were remarkably smooth and uniform, with no discernable
texture or variations in width as I penetrated, and this
uniformity was exaggerated by her voluminous
lubrication.

Whereas Kris’s cunt made me want to drive into her with
strong, deliberate thrusts, Lynn’s creamy snatch instead
called for smooth, almost sedate lovemaking. I wanted to
caress her, inside and out. She cradled my body atop
hers, pressing the soles of her feet against the outside
of my calves and softly stroking my back with her
fingertips, and I gently stroked her cunt with a steady
rhythm.

She sighed happily as I slid inward to arrive at a soft
landing, and on each equally languid withdrawal she
gathered a breath for my next return. As her excitement
grew, so did the pace of her breathing and the
remarkably creamy slickness of her cunt. Our mouths, our
tongues, regularly connected in long, wet kisses.

Lynn had a predictable orgasm, an inexorable rise of
arousal that clearly signaled her approaching crest. By
then our fingers would be intertwined above her head and
her happy sighs would have turned to gasping, quivering
vocal tremors. Only when she was irreversibly near did I
accelerate my thrusts and leap with her over the edge.

When she climaxed, Lynn’s cunt emitted no detectable
pulsing clenches, but her soft, delicately feminine body
did arch and stiffen for a most wonderful dozen seconds,
and I would just keep stroking, stroking, stroking my
spurting erection into her slippery sheath, breathing a
moist “Oh! Oh! Oh!” into her ear.

And then there was Kathleen, an Amazon of a woman,
taller and heavier than me, married to a man even larger
than she and just as apathetic as Kris’s husband.
Kathleen had heavy-lidded, smoldering Italian eyes and
an intensely passionate soul. Pendulous breasts with
soft, sensitive skin and perky nipples. A rounded body.
Wide hips, sparse pubic hair and a pussy that nestled
between thick thighs. And what a pussy! Kathleen
possessed chubby outer labia that I pried apart to
expose tiny inner labia and a moderately sized hooded
clitoris.

My first surprise was the remarkable way Kathleen’s
clitoris swelled in size a few seconds before orgasm.
Five minutes of delectable cunnilingus was all she
needed. Her climax was like a missile launch — a
gradual start that seemed to be going nowhere fast, then
a rapid acceleration that almost left me behind. A few
seconds before her peak, Kathleen’s clitoris swelled
between my lips, growing in length and width to almost
the size of the last joint on my little finger, and then
she crested with straining, noisy groans and rippling
tremors of her tummy and thighs.

My second surprise, days later, was discovering the
strength of her vaginal clench. I had two fingers inside
her cunt, busy with her G-spot, while my mouth was
finishing its work. Her clitoris did its familiar,
magnificent swell, but this time her initial orgasmic
spasm literally expelled my fingers. It was no gentle
clench, no friendly nibble around my two fingers.

No, it was a fist-strength, all-out wet clench that
lasted several seconds. I was startled. Stunned. When
that first intense spasm relaxed, I thought to try
inserting my fingers again, but before I could act,
Kathleen’s second spasm hit and I discovered it was
impossible to force a reentry in mid-clench.

I was, of course, now curious how this would feel around
my cock. Kathleen and I had fucked on two earlier
occasions, but she hadn’t climaxed during intercourse.
Call me selfish, but that became my goal. The next time
we were together, I brought Kathleen close to orgasm
with my mouth, and then I mounted her.

I settled between her thighs and notched my erection
between those meaty outer labia, stroking against her
shy, crinkly inner labia and monitoring her clitoral
orgasm temperature gauge with the bottom side of my
shaft. Her heated cunt eventually beckoned beyond my
ability to refuse, and with a small downward pressure
from my fingers I aimed true and pushed inside.

Her cunt was, as always, a delight. I gave her half-
strokes, trying to control my own impending orgasm, and
massaging her clit with my thumb. That seemed to do it.
Her orgasm jumped out and caught me by surprise, and
alas I was only half-inserted when it struck. Halfway
wasn’t deep enough. Kathleen’s massive clench expelled
all but the tip of my cock, and I had to struggle to
maintain even that minimal penetration.

My concentration, however, was distracted by what I was
seeing above her neck. During Kathleen’s previous
orgasms, my face had been busy between her legs. For the
first time I was witnessing the effects of the orgasm on
her face. For the whole of those intense several seconds
of involuntary clench, Kathleen’s face turned a bright
red, frozen in grimaced pleasure, exhaling a loud,
dramatic groan that I knew could be heard in the
adjacent hotel room. Her neck muscles stood out like
stiff ropes. I truly feared for her heart.

When the spasm relaxed, Kathleen’s face lost most of the
crimson and she began to breathe with quick little
pants, and her cunt gave me an open window of
opportunity. I seized the moment. I jammed back inside
her, again barely halfway, just in time for the second
spasm to rip through her body. Once again my cock was
almost completely expelled and her face returned to that
alarming color and frozen grimace. Was this normal for
her? Should I continue thrusting? Was she having a
seizure?

There was no time for rational thought. When the thunder
of this second spasm calmed, I dug my knees into the
mattress and stabbed my cock in as best I could to join
her orgasm with mine. I managed two healthy spurts
before her third clenching spasm struck with that same
fist-tight cunt, epileptic-like straining body, and red
face, though thankfully less frighteningly intense than
the previous two. I shuddered a few more delicious
spurts through the tightness, then finally a more
lengthy calm that allowed me to finish my ejaculations
with some final, satisfying thrusts.

There have been other memorable women, of course. Plump,
busty Karen, a divorcee with two kids, who sported
distinctively small nipples and small labia and a tight
cunt. Then there was voluptuous, promiscuous Mary, who
would straddle my hips and swirl her juicy cunt around
my stationary up-thrust cock, roughly scrubbing her
inflamed clit against my pubic bone while I palmed her
breasts and pinched her nipples and watched her enjoy
the ride.

Petite Nina, who was a mother of three with droopy A-cup
tits and narrow hips, with big suckable nipples, large
kissable lips and meaty labia, long and thick and pouty.
Nina had a short cunt barely long enough for my
plundering cock, a desire to have me bump against her
cervix, and discernible episiotomy scar tissue that
tickled against the bottom of my shaft on every one of
my many juicy, inward dives.

Elaine, whose lower-than-normal body temperature
combined with my higher-than-normal temperature,
combined with an extraordinary tactile sensitivity of
her vagina, produced a woman who orgasmed when she felt
the sensations of my ejaculations splashing against her
cervix and filling her cunt.

And Terry, long-waisted and short-legged mother of two
who had convinced herself that her vagina was loose and
dry and uninteresting. The reality was that her sweet
vulva, framed by lush pubic hair, and it summoned me
with a heady lick-me fuck-me fragrance and taste. Inside
she was slick and silky, and her honeyed little piece of
heaven called out for as many repeat visits as I could
manage every time we got together for a few hours.

Don’t misunderstand me. I have never met a vagina that I
didn’t thoroughly enjoy. Each and every vagina — each
unique, delightful cunt, owned by each unique,
delightful woman — has been special and satisfying.
Each is different, many are memorable, and a few are
remarkable.

I propose a toast: May your lover know what is down
there between her legs, and may she know how to use it.
And may she want to share it with you.