Chasing the Bliss

by Tara Alton

It can't be that hard to have an orgasm at twenty-five years old. She'd come close to it before, and she felt really good about what was going on down there while it was happening, little tickles of gooseflesh on the thighs, a gentle flush of color on her chest, a peep from a baby chick between her legs, but no big rooster of a climax. It couldn't be that big a mystery. She had been married for five years after all. Surely, she must have had an orgasm, although her husband did say she reminded him of fucking a log. She had tried to move it, but nothing had really happened down there.

Actually, she had never even investigated down there, and now, six months after her divorce, she was truly horny. Every inch of her body craved sex. She needed release. She was about ready to dry hump her childhood stuffed rabbit, but she didn't think he would appreciate it. He was a little thread bare. She'd read an article about a woman having an orgasm with a shower massager, and although, she didn't have one, she kept giving the bathtub faucet looks. It was odd, an everyday object suddenly taking on a sexual connotation. She didn't want to hump it. She just wanted to scoot down there with her legs open, put her feet up on the ceramic tile, and let the water trickle on her.

With its bold chrome nozzle, she felt the faucet was a no nonsense type of guy. No bubbles, dim lights or candles for him. Still, this wasn't an ordinary bath. She got in the half-filled tub and sat cross legged. Feeling like a little kid, she swished the warm water back and forth across her thighs. Then when the temperature was right, she unfolded her legs and scooted down so her butt was almost against the end of the tub with the faucet. She let the trickle of water rush over her.

Her mouth opened in surprise. It had to be the most intense tickle ever. She nearly pulled back, but instead she cupped the water so it was bubbling against her and closed her eyes. Within seconds, a very intense orgasm came with a sharp, quick pain. She cried out.

As she got out of the bath tub, she felt weak kneed, a rosy glow enveloping her. So that was an orgasm, and it was so easily. Well, hello Mr. Faucet. She knew she was going to be taking a lot of baths in the future when suddenly a cold thought breezed up from the tile floor where her ex used to stand and dry off. He had been fucking a log.

It shouldn't feel this empty at thirty-five. By now she'd had lots of orgasms with plenty of boyfriends, but currently she wasn't dating because she kept hooking up with more first husband types, only they were in different packages. She was the orgasm princess though. No longer afraid of what was down there, she knew all the bells and whistles. Her sexual life was rich since those first clumsy days in her bathtub. No more faucets for her. She was quite adept with her fingers, and yet she still felt hollow inside. Empty. She craved something inside her. She wanted to be filled up, but she didn't know what to do.

Vibrators and dildos gave her the creeps. They were too back room porn and discreet catalog in the mail. She'd tried a screw driver handle, but it was too hard. In an effort to satisfy herself, she gave a zucchini from the fridge a chance, but the room temperature one reminded her of something dead,and the warm one recalled diced up vegetables on a dinner plate.

Her efforts thwarted, she beefed up her fantasies. No more romance novel cover guys for her lusty escapades. Now she wanted rugged men, tattoo artists and bikers, with massive arms. She had sex on the brain. Every night, she had to masturbate before she could get to sleep. Her fantasies were being used so much that she had to make them a lot more involved to get off. It wasn't just one biker, but his friend was joining in as well.

Finally, she met a real life guy who looked like a biker with his tattooed forearms, but he was really sweet. And what did she do? On their first date, she was so horny, she thought she might pass out before she could make a pass at him. She took him straight home to screw him.

The first kiss was like an explosion. Their clothes flew everywhere. Suddenly, she was pulling him further inside her, using her heels to bring him in closer. Finally, she had that connection with a person. He was filling her up, crushing inside her. A great rush of an orgasm swept through her. She completely let go. Her toes curled. Her head felt weird, like she was rising to another planet.

As she came back to earth in his arms, she panicked. Oh god. What had she done? She=d slept with her dream man on the first date. Surely, he would think she was a slut and never see her again. She=d never had this feeling again. Why did she have to ruin this?

Could it hurt this much at forty-five? She wasn't talking about being dry. She was talking about getting a migraine every time she climaxed. Also, her hormones had become brazen bitches, taking her libido with them on their frequent vacations. This wasn't supposed to happen until she was in her fifties or sixties. She was happily married to her biker man. He was the one. Why did this have to happen now?

Perimenopause was the darkest monster to cross her path of sexuality. She was terrified he was going to leave her because she wasn't the sex goddess of ten years ago. One of the most wonderful experiences she could share with her husband she had to avoid like the plague. It was like really loving to eat macaroni and cheese, but every time you reached to get it off the stove you got burned.

There had to be a way to do this. The quicky sex hadn't been working, so now she was going to take it slow with mood music, dim lights and a sexy nightgown. No over stimulation. She hadn't had an orgasm in so long now. She was really ready to go.

With him standing at the edge of bed, she wrapped her legs around him. Maybe she wouldn't get too excited, if he wasn't too close. As they touched and things started feeling good, she found she kept holding her breath. Breathe. It felt so good. He was inside her again. The sheer relief. Then the pressure started in her head started. It was building up. No hand on the pussy this time, but the orgasm was still coming. She wasn't going to fight it. The pain started slicing through her skull like an ax, but she hung on. Breathe. Air rushed in her lungs. He cried out.

The moment they pulled apart, she hopped up and ran into the bathroom. The shock of the cold wash cloth on the throbbing between her legs made her cry out, but she felt the rush of the orgasm backing off. Now this she could handle. The brutal chill was almost pleasurable. Maybe she should have tried a cold zuchinni.

Running more cold water, she smiled at the faucet. It was funny how things came full circle, but when she put the wash cloth back under the water, she saw a tiny smear of red. Her period had started. God, what was going to happen when Flo stopped coming to town?

THE END