*     *     *     *     *

     It’s 3:46 P.M. and I’m already nude!

     I straddled Gia’s equally nude body as I diligently massaged her back muscles and incredibly perfect derriere.

     Gia has a neat “crash-pad” on Green Street, in the Cow Hollow district, which she shares with another dancer.  She insisted we properly perform her Thai massage in our birthday suits, using perfumed oil.  I must admit it was an excellent suggestion, for I’m discovering kneading her glistening body, in the subdued light, has definitely turned me on.

     The decor of her compact bedroom can best be described as Indian-Hippy, with silk tapestries lit by a single, enormous candle, to the accompaniment of soft Indian Sitar-music, while a pleasant haze of incense drifted past my body.

     I find this bedroom is pleasing to the senses, and as I scanned it, I remarked, “So this is your infamous commuter’s crash-pad.  It’s really quite c-cozy, Gia.”  Then, as an afterthought, hoping her roommate won’t walk in on us, I asked, “W-Where’s your roomy?  Is she working the m-matinee shift at the O’Farrell?”

"Dusty"

     “No...Dusty went back to Vegas last night,” Gia replied.  “She’s taking a couple of weeks off.”  Gia then uncorked a long moan, and said, “My God...that’s wonderful.  Give me some more of those Thai judo chops.”

     I placed my hands together in prayer, and pounded across Gia’s upper back muscles in a chopping motion; my hands produced the usual popping sound. 

     Subsequently I returned to massaging her lower back muscles, generating more groans of approval.

     Finally Gia noticed, “Tell me something, little boy...is that a Mars Bar poking the left cheek of my butt?  Or are you just happy to see me.”

     Holy-galloping-gonorrhea, dear reader!  ‘Mr. Meat Puppet’ was rigid as a flagpole, digging into her derriere!  How embarrassing!

     “Whoops!” I exclaimed.  “It appears ‘Mr. Meat Puppet’ has a m-mind of his own.  S-Sorry about that...”

     Gia laughed, and said, “Oh Christ, Uncle Petie, don’t be sorry...let’s put ‘Mr. Meat

Puppet’ to work.”    

   

          *     *     *     *     *

     Naturally, dear reader, I fully intend to accept Gia’s gracious invitation. 

     However, over-thinking this proposition as usual, here’s the challenge I’m presently faced with: It’s a proven fact, most women once in a blue moon, fake orgasm.

     Anything to get the big lug off you.  Right ladies?

     This natural acting ability that women seem to possess - simulating orgasm - has always disturbed me.  Why?  Because I’ve personally felt that if a woman is untruthful in this area of our relationship...could she also be lying regarding other areas?  Such as: lovers on the side, secret bank accounts, or clandestine meetings with attorneys to divorce my ass and take everything. 

     You know, dear reader, minor concerns such as that.  But hey...that’s simply paranoid me; I’m certain your relationship is perfectly hunky-dory...”choke.”

     Okay, let’s take a step back for an intermission and seriously examine this situation.  In my limited history I’ve made the discovery that the primary sex organ in our bodies...is the brain.  Eighty-percent of the sex act seems to occur there...including the all earth-shaking orgasm.  Through the years this has led me to believe that orgasms and lie detectors have a great deal in common: they both can be used to seek the truth.  The trick is determining whether or not she’s acting.

The Lie Detector.

     Being an old fart, I’ve had the privilege of experimenting on numerous partners, and have developed a method of detecting the genuine article, more or less, 86% of the time.  Whenever my “paramour” builds to a climax, I insert the tip of my pinky finger inside her navel, and search for where her abdominal muscles attach.  This connective tissue between the abdominal muscles is termed the linea alba.  It vertically separates the “six-pack” muscles above the navel, and the two larger muscles below it.    

     I’ve always found this vertical recess, dear reader, above and below the navel exceedingly attractive on women...if not downright erotic.  I fully realize that’s merely the strange way my brain operates.   

     With the tip of my pinky in the navel, I can locate the linea alba, and, as the abdominal muscles contract in the throes of an orgasm, this connective tissue will expand and tighten, feeling comparable to a stretched rubber band. 

     If of course she’s experiencing the real McCoy.

        *     *     *     *     *

     After gently rolling Gia onto her back, exercising immense patience and care, I tenderly explored and massaged her incredible glistening body; bringing her, and myself, beaucoup pleasure.

     At length, I spread her legs, and worked my way down to those two magnificent, major leg tendons that terminate just above the top of the vagina.  These I caressed with my lips and tongue with affection.  Gia moaned in response.

     Ultimately I moved to her clitoris, nestled atop the vagina’s entrance, raised its hood, exposed that perfect pink pearl of her clit, teased it with the tip of my tongue at first, and then eventually sucked it, never giving up, no matter how long it took, until she peaked.  In the end, Gia abruptly gasped and clenched up; every muscle in her body appeared to go rigid.  Her abdominal muscles and the rubber band tissue connecting them became hard.  Gia shuddered once...twice...thrice.  I stopped massaging her clitoris and maintained an even pressure on this magic organ with my tongue.  She trembled sporadically.

     By Jove...I think we’ve hit pay dirt!

     Finally Gia relaxed; no longer digging her nails in the back of my head and neck.  I also relaxed, released her clitoris and removed my pinky from her navel; then stroked the side of her face, throat, breasts, ribcage, waist and hip, with ample tenderness; hopefully adding to the enrichment of her afterglow.  She now caressed the back of my bald head in appreciation.  Gradually Gia’s rapid breathing slowed.  We stayed this way for an exceptionally long period...merely drifting...occasionally caressing each other.

Drifting on an afterglow cloud.

            *     *     *     *     *

     After I feel that Gia has caught her second wind, I slid my right middle finger inside her remarkably wet vagina. 

     Women possess some uniquely amazing equipment.  For example the “vagina”: a Latin word meaning sheath or scabbard, which is an elastic, muscular tube - on average roughly three to four inches in length and an inch in width – that exhibits the ability to expand itself during sex two to three times its original size.  Incredible! 

     I delved as deeply as I could, penetrating Gia’s warm, liquid sheath, discovering her vagina is small, a bit over three inches in length; my fingertip grazing the tough, minuscule doughnut-shaped opening at the cervix of her uterus.

     Ah yes...the uterus.  That hollow, muscular organ, which causes nearly all women to change their minds when it’s absurdly inconvenient; driving their male partners to distraction, drink, drugs...and suicide!

     Gia gasped as I probed her deeply.  My move has surprised her...only she doesn’t fight it.  Instead her hands return to the back of my head and neck.  I sensed she’s getting ready for the rapture that lies ahead.

     Presently I slowly rotate my entire middle finger, pressing against the wet, soft walls of her sheath, which reminds me of coring an apple.  Gia moaned with pleasure and, after two to three complete rotations of my finger, I felt the muscular walls of her soft vagina suddenly expand and grow hard, as her muscles flexed from sexual excitement.

     At this stage it’s appropriate to begin “The Hunt For Red October,” that most elusive of organs, shrouded in mystery and myth, known as the G-spot.

     Ever since Dr. Gräfenberg submitted his paper - way back in 1950 – with reference to this unique organ, reams of misinformation have been written regarding it.  Case in point: “G-spot.”  This is a term coined by the press.  The good doctor never once used this term in his paper.

     Therefore permit me, dear reader, to snap on my pocket-sized flashlight and share with you the result of expeditions I’ve had - literally stumbling across this “mystery organ” by accident - with various sexual partners.

     The first tip that something strange was occurring in the vagina was given off-handedly by my second wife in 1976.  Earlier, I had brought her to orgasm by massaging her clitoris, and then later I manually brought her to climax again massaging her vagina.  Afterwards, while lounging in bed, she made a casual remark, which stuck with me.  She said her vaginal climax was “different” from her clitoral orgasm, which got me to thinking...and exploring.

     Please, dear reader, understand that I am not a doctor, merely a layperson who for years has been probing uncharted waters.  Hence my findings and terminology won’t exactly be scientific.  Nor will they apply to everybody, for, like our fingerprints, we are all uniquely different; especially when it comes to sexual satisfaction.  I apologize.

     Apparently there is an area of spongy tissue that surrounds a woman’s urethra, or urinary tube, that becomes engorged with blood and swells during sexual stimulation.  So far I’ve turned up three terms that label this area: urethral sponge, Skene’s glands and of course G-spot.  In my experience usually when I stimulate the vagina with my middle finger, and it expands, I can normally pinpoint this organ practically midway up the vagina behind its upper wall.  To me it “feels” close to the size of a fingerprint, and ridged.

     Hey, that’s strictly me.  For you, dear reader, it might be entirely different.  Although, while we’re on the subject, let me relate that I’m terribly jealous of women when it comes to orgasms.  For us guys reaching climax is purely one massive blast...then it’s finished.  After an adequate interval, and another attempt, once again it’s the same old eruption.  Ho-hum.  On the other hand, for a gal, she’s capable of multiple orgasms, and “different” orgasms.  I’m tellin’ ya, guys...life ain’t fair. 

     In due course, as I continued to rotate my middle finger inside Gia’s vagina, consequently locating her G-spot, I crooked my finger slightly, and proceeded to really massage it with my finger tip.  At length I shifted to a whole new gear, massaging her “mystery organ” faster, and faster, as I slid my left hand down to her navel and inserted my pinky.  By this juncture her six-pack is severely flexed, and her rubber band linea alba is stretched to the breaking point.

     In the long run my diligence paid off – her body tensed like a steel spring - as her fingernails gouged the back of my head and neck.

     Houston, we have lift off! 

     Gia violently went over the edge!

          *     *     *     *     *

     Much later, after experimenting with several different sexual positions, Gia somehow winds up atop me impaling herself on a rigid Mr. Meat Puppet, riding me cowgirl-style; diligently working on her third orgasm.

     Writhing snake-like, rocking her glistening, tight body back and forth, is about all my battered brain can take!  As I gently attempt to capture both of her perfect, slippery breasts; hanging on for dear life!  At any second now Mr. Meat Puppet will explode!

     In order to avoid this, so Gia can continue using Mr. Meat Puppet to stimulate her clit and G-spot, hopefully to an earth-moving orgasm, I desperately flood my grey-matter with the procedure for landing a 747 in a crosswind.

     After all, dear reader, since an orgasm occurs in that grey lump three feet above my ass, it’s impossible for it to think of two things at once.

     Abruptly, Gia froze as her body went rigid, causing Mr. Meat Puppet to at last erupt in a gushing orgasm!  She then pounded my hairy chest with her petite fists, and convulsed three times...afterwards collapsing on top of me.

     Subsequently I tenderly kissed Gia, as I stroked her silky river of ebony hair.  She nestled in my shoulder, keeping Mr. Meat Puppet safely tucked inside her.

     Evidently, dear reader, I’ve lost my “property rights” to Mr. Meat Puppet.

     Our hearts fluttered rapidly together, as we drifted in a mutual afterglow; while we caught our breath.  Joyfully we remained in this wonderful position for an extended spell.

            *     *     *     *     *

     After a while, as Gia remained aboard me with Mr. Meat Puppet locked inside her, she broke the spell, saying breathlessly, “Where in hell did you learn all those things?”

     I cleared my throat, and replied, “Oh...I’ve strictly been b-bedding Thai women for the past t-ten years.  They taught me all that s-secret female sexual stuff.”  After a pause, I added, ”S-So if you plan on suing me...blame them...not me.”

     Gia giggled, then said, ”Suing you? Are you kidding?  I wanna give you a medal...or as least a Mars Bar.  The next Thai woman I see...I’m gonna run up and give her a big hug.”  After another moment, Gia confessed, “Jesus, Uncle Petie, I’m still vibrating.”

     I laughed, and then said, “Well...spank you.”  After a brief interlude, I then admitted, “Truthfully, that was stage-three of my Thai massage, which I never g-got around to at the O’Farrell.”

     Gia rose up slightly, smiled warmly, thumped my chest with her fist, and exclaimed, “You bastard! I knew you were holding out on me!”

     We both laughed.  Gia snuggled back into my chest, as I continued to gently stroke her silky hair and beautiful back.

     “I have a c-confession to make, Gia.”

     Gia immediately fired back, “You’re actually a woman in drag.”  She chuckled, and then suggested, “Golly...won’t ‘Mr. Meat Puppet’ be surprised.”

     I laughed and said, “Goddammit, woman...I’m t-trying to bare my soul here.”

     “Well, hell...” Gia shot back, “...tell Mother Mary and ‘Mr. Meat Puppet’ all about it.”

     After snickering a little, I said, “When I asked y-you out to lunch it wasn’t my intention to w-wind up in the sack.”  I then went serious, and stated, “I have s-something important I must tell you.”

     “Oh, bummer...” Gia remarked, “...why don’t I like the sound of that?”

     “W-When are you going back to L.A.?” I asked.

     “Tomorrow morning,” Gia replied.  “Why?”

     “So you’re w-working the night shift at the O’Farrell today?” I asked.

     Yeah...” Gia replied, “...I hafta leave here at six.”

     I then said, “Gia I’ve got to ask you a special f-favor.”

     At that point, Gia rose up and studied me; Mr. Meat Puppet slipped out of her.

     “Okay...” Gia said hesitantly, “...so what’s the favor?”

     “Don’t come b-back to San Francisco next week,” I said flatly.

     Puzzled, Gia asked, “What?  Why not?”

     “By accident I found out that an attack may h-happen next week that will totally d-devastate this city,” I replied.  Letting this sink in, I then emphasized, “I don’t want you getting hurt...or killed.” 

     “Now you’re scaring me,” Gia admitted, and I saw fear in her exotic, almond-shaped eyes.

     “I apologize for that...” I said, “...but Gia, honest to God, your life may depend on believing me.”  After taking a moment, I elaborated, “I wish to Christ I could t-tell you more.  However...the less you know the s-safer you’ll be.  Just stay out of Frisco for the next c-couple of weeks.  Promise me.”

     Gia laid down on my chest again; remained silent for a long spell; obviously mulling over my words.

     At length, still uncertain, Gia said, “Okay...I promise.”  She heaved a huge sigh, and then acknowledged, “Shit...I could use the vacation anyway.”

     “I need one more f-favor, sweetheart...” I said, “...could you also pass on this m-message to Angel and Danielle?  I don’t have their phone numbers.”

     “Sure...” Gia replied.  “When I go in tonight, if they aren’t working, I’ll get their numbers from management.”

     I then made the mistake of glancing at my fake Bangkok Rolex, which prompted me to say, “Damn...that c-can’t be the time.”  Stroking her silky raven hair, I regretfully said, “I hate disturbing you, Cupcake.  Except I’ve g-gotta get back to my hotel.”

     Without even attempting to move, Gia asked, “Why?”

     “Some people are g-gonna be looking for me,” I replied.

And as the icy grip of fear and dread encased my heart, I added, “I don’t wanna disappoint them.”

         *     *     *     *     *