' the older the violin, the sweeter the tune '
So says an old proverb. One might add -- if music be the food of lust, play long and strong, and feast with hunger and passion.
I am of the humble but learned opinion that a woman's desire and capacity for sexual pleasure increase as she matures, as does the intensity and duration of her orgasms. She becomes the deliciously seasoned feast of wet dreams, the uninhibited wanton wench of the secret boudoir. And when it cums to the pleasures of the flesh, there's little that she does not know, or love.
I was a cunnilingus virgin of 23 and she was a vivacious fortysomething Quebecoise. It was a much desired seduction and in the grand tradition of European women of a certain age, she taught me how to eat pussy, in a sound-proof room in her basement. I quickly fell in lust with the delicious delights of going downstairs for dessert, and the incredible rewards of worship at the awesome altar of Venus between her thighs. The sheer screaming agony and intensity of her violent epic orgasms filled me first with fear, then with relief and amazement when I realized that an ambulance would not be required. I bathed in a warm glow of cerebral gratification that spawned a tidal wave surging into my heart, a blessing previously unknown. And when I awoke next morning, I was the world's greatest lover.
Now many moons later and I am still drawn inexorably, like a bee to a flower, to sip the sweet nectar from the sacred lotus. And savour the mature ripe peach of the harvest, full and lush and juicy, and ready to be plucked. And sucked. And swallowed.