Marcia had reached the age of forty, single, having lived a quiet life without much embarrassment. She had no boyfriends, no friends with a right to rub, no friends with a right to sex, not even official lovers, or anything like that.
The bad and viperinas tongues of the neighborhood, they said that their singleness was due to their secret tendency by the lesbian passion and that, in the early morning, when the cats meowed by the street twenty-two, she went out in search of the kisses and the caresses of the amazons of the port.
But Marcia did have a lover, a secret one, and his name was Peter. He was faithful, discreet, unspoken. He was barely whispering, never asking questions and was always willing to take her to those places where no man had yet been able to take her. To total ecstasy, to madness or even sexual nirvana.
Peter knew what points his body touches. He did it with supreme mastery. Without saying a word. He was moving like a fish in the water. Playing in her vagina, making the movements exact and precise. Not one more, not one less. Until he got his whole body to shiver. Then he had no choice but to let out a great cry of pleasure when he received that orgasmic group. One after the other.
But one day, Marcia decided to go out in search of other sexual adventures. She wanted to know if she could reach, with other lovers, the pleasure that Pedro gave her.
Without much hesitation, she jumped into the search and capture of new lovers. It was easy for him. The men are always willing to keep it warm, without much consideration. She tried one, then another. Up to twenty and always with the same result. No one satisfied her like Peter. They weren't up to it.
She arrived every night miserable and sad, while Peter slept in the darkness of the night, in silence. Waiting for the warm touch of his faithful Marcia, who for this time, did not arrive.
Marcia started worrying. It could not be that only Peter could satisfy her and that there was not a single man in the world who could even make her come to a fucking orgasm.
She even wondered if she was obsessed with Peter's caresses or if she was a sex addict.
With that concern, she made an appointment with a sexologist. She gave her his case. The sexologist told him it was strange. That could be due to Peter's purely sexual character. Somehow it predisposed her, physically and mentally, to reach orgasm.
Marcia didn't understand anything at all. When she arrived home, she lay on his bed in the dark, looking up at the ceiling. She undressed himself and as she did so, she searched for the rubbing of his hands with every erogenous part of his body. She felt her sex get wet. She spread his legs and held out his hand for a long time. She opened the drawer of her bedside table to look for Pedro, who waited under the red lace thong. She grabbed him tightly. She pressed the little blue button and set it in motion. She put it in his mouth. She sucked it with lasciviousness, sensing its pleasant vibrations. She wore it to his face, his neck, his nipples. Going down little by little, until you reach your vagina, to end up introducing it and ending up saying:
What would I do without you, Peter?
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