-{ redgeek.net }-

My ear is a clitoris.

Well, both actually.

You don’t get to touch them without permission, and even if you do, it doesn’t mean you’re doing anything right. In fact, touching my ears will probably just piss me off. But, as some of my past girlfriends could tell you, if I’m in the mood, and you can read me and breath and nibble just right, and everything moves just so, I’ll get extremely excited. There’s an art to it – you can’t just slobber and bat them around for a while. It requires alternations of pressure, breath, tongue, motion, teeth, sound – all that good stuff. You know, the foreplay thing. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.

Every girl I’ve ever been with has had one of these little magic buttons, these little seemingly innocent places where, if you dial the right combination, you unlock some imprisoned siren. I’m referring to those bits outside of the traditional erogenous zones: deep pressure on the bottoms of the feet, bites just above the collarbone, light caresses behind the crook of the knee, finger scratches at the small of the back. Combine these acts with the context, some previous experience of this button pressing as a precursor to something more; the establishment of sexual anticipation. Predisposed psychological conditioning, kinesthetically triggered. Like how roasting chestnuts remind so many of Christmas, only this is so much better.

These are the things that can halt your partner mid-sentence, anywhere, anytime. I think (or at least hope) everyone has one of these, and it in everyone’s best interest if their partner can find it. Besides, the exploration is half the fun.

J- found my magic button on our first date.

As of last night, I still hadn’t found hers. I knew where I could tickle her and she couldn’t surpress a laugh, but that a far cry from the magic button.

We’d spent the evening thick with grapes: sampling four different “Racy Red” wines at a small joint in Hillcrest, back to her place for more wine and Jeff Buckley, wine in coffee mugs for a trip down to the Landmark to see Broken Flowers. (Short review: quite good and quite unsatisfying. I liked it.) Back home, finish off the bottle, Portishead (hell yeah), camping out on the couch. Around 1am, I found her magic button.

I teased her with it, working her breath deep into her lungs, and left.

You should never abuse magic buttons.