It’s not what you think. Well, you’re close. Allow me to specify.
Every new relationship between a boy and a girl progresses to the physical expression of love. It begins with touching, moves to handholding. Then come the embrace and the kiss. Shortly thereafter, articles of clothing shed from the body. Alcohol often lubricates this process. In my youth, I discovered Walgreen’s Premium Vodka was the WD-40 of the clothing-removal machine. Thank you, Jungle Juice.
When you’re in high school, the day you first remove a girl’s bra becomes your own, private national holiday. But like so many things in life, getting some just makes you want more. The line of want extends into infinity, or, in the case of physical love, to the nether regions of the opposite sex. But I digress.
The courtship ritual is a very stressful, nerve-racking affair. You want it badly, But you’re not sure you’re going to get it. And the wrong gesture could snuff the possibility entirely, at least for the length of an evening. It’s a delicate dance. Women are fickle and fanciful. A kiss doesn’t necessarily mean a touch. An embrace doesn’t necessarily promise a stroke. And a pair of knockers bouncing in your face doesn’t necessarily mean intercourse. Think of foreplay as an escrow account; it can fall through for any number of reasons and you usually can’t keep the earnest money.
Consider how many times you’ve been at a particular stage of physical love only to learn it wasn’t going to conclude in intercourse. This brings me to my point: the greatest feeling in the world. When exactly do you know when it’s going to go all the way? If kissing, touching, removing articles of clothing and stroking naughty parts aren’t reliable predictors of intercourse, what is?
I’ll tell you what is. And I’ll describe the circumstance conjuring the greatest feeling in the world.
Every romantic throe eventually reaches a moment of truth when you learn for certain whether you’re going to be knee-deep in ass, or if you’ll become familiar with your hand later that evening. That moment of truth happens when you slide your trembling hand down the side of her half-naked body and hook the string of her thong with your thumb. Once your thumb secures the strap, you give it a gentle tug…
Suspense! At this point, one of two things will happen. Either she blocks you at the wrist and tilts her hips away (damn!), or her ass raises up in the air, allowing you to tug her panties down to her ankles, where they belong. And on the occasion her ass elevates, it’s the greatest feeling in the world. Until her ass lifts up off the bed (or countertop, driver’s seat, park bench, etc.) you don’t know anything for certain. Until you have “lift-off” your romantic escapade could be “everything but.”
You see, women have a variety of reasons for doing “everything but.” For example, some women labor under the delusion that we men will “like them more” if they make us wait. I’ll pause until the laughter subsides. Others believe they’re being “cheap” or “too fast” if they engage in intercourse early in the relationship. If women only understood how deeply and thoroughly we respect a girl with enough self-confidence to put out on the first date. It’s the best-kept secret in the world.
Of course, they have other, more practical reasons for failing the elevate the ass when they feel the tug. Sometimes the moon is in the wrong phase (if you take my meaning). I actually appreciate this a great deal. Keep that ass in the hanger on those days.
Anyway, there you have it -- the greatest feeling in the world, when she lifts her ass when you tug at the strap.