Page 4 of Bedroom Therapy

Dear Esther,

I have a new boyfriend. He’s a lot more into foreplay than the last guy I went with. Anyway, last night we were fooling around. He started stimulating my breasts, and all of a sudden, I had an orgasm. I mean, all he was doing was kissing me and playing with my nipples and I went off like a firecracker. Is that normal? I was embarrassed.

Kara in Ohio

Amanda shifted her shoulders, her own nipples now painfully tight.

Damn. Maybe she should take a tranquilizer before she opened any more letters. The assignment would get easier, she told herself. It had to get easier. It would be like the summer she’d taken a job scooping ice cream at the Big Dipper. The employees could have all they wanted. At first she’d gobbled up a lot of Raspberries & Cream and Mint Chocolate Chip on her break.

But after a few weeks of gorging herself, dipping up ice cream had become as exciting as dipping up barbecued beans. Hopefully, this overdose of sex would turn out the same way.

She went back to the missive she’d just read, gripping her lower lip between her teeth as she tried to frame an answer. Why did women get defensive so easily? Why did they always think something was wrong with them? Really, the lady with the sensitive breasts was lucky. She had a guy who wanted to turn her on. She was highly sensual. And she wasn’t really inhibited.

“Kara, there’s nothing wrong with you. Be glad that you are so sexually responsive. A lot of women would envy you. There are all kinds of ways for a female to reach orgasm. Some women feel that there’s something wrong with them if they don’t climax during intercourse. But each one of us needs to experiment and find out how she functions best.”

She stopped, arching her back as she moved her bottom in the seat. How far should she go here? Should she enumerate all the ways a woman could reach climax? Maybe she should look at some of Esther’s old columns to see how much she expanded on each topic. But at least she had the crux of an answer.

She got up and went to the bookcase where she’d stored several notebooks that Beth had given her. In them were ten years of Esther’s sexual advice columns, and part of Amanda’s job was to make sure she didn’t write about any subject that had been covered recently. Or at least, if she did, she’d need to find a different angle.

Instead of staying in the living room, she carried the books to the bedroom where she could spread them out. Climbing on the bed, she picked up one of the books and began thumbing through the pages. Sentences and topics leaped out at her.

Two years ago, a woman had asked if bondage was a normal part of a sexual relationship.

Esther had answered:

“If both partners are interested in trying bondage games, there’s nothing wrong with experimenting in this area. But one partner should never force the other. And if one partner keeps pushing the subject when the other is turned off by it, you should wonder why he or she is making it so important.”

Bondage. That was a little extreme she thought, circling one wrist with her thumb and forefinger. On the other hand, she silently admitted, there was something very sexy about putting yourself into another person’s power. Of course, it had to be someone you trusted implicitly. Because if you picked the wrong guy, you could get into serious trouble.

There was nobody she’d met like that. She’d never played bondage games. Actually, there were a lot of things she’d never done.

But it was interesting to think about them. The concept of a bond of trust like that with a very special man was quite sexy.

She piled the books on one side of the bed and lay back against the pillows, getting comfortable.

She’d been working hard. There was no reason she couldn’t take a break and explore her own sexuality. She’d get rid of the tension she was feeling and get back to the letters.

She closed her eyes, imagining a man beside her on the bed instead of a pile of notebooks.

What man? Somebody great looking. With a great body. Clever hands. A man who was as interested in pleasing his partner as in pleasing himself.

She wanted to give him a face, and Beth’s description of Zachary Grant came back to her. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Thick, sooty lashes. Tanned skin. Very sensual lips. A blade of a nose. A guy with the physique of a mountain climber or something.

That was all Beth had seen. But what about his cock? What was that like? Just letting herself contemplate that question raised her temperature a few notches.

She’d silently pretended she wasn’t interested when her friend had extolled his virtues over the phone. Now that she was alone in her bedroom, she could admit that he sounded yummy.

And since she was in charge of her own fantasies, she could make him into anything she wanted. He’d be an excellent lover. That was her most important requirement, not the size of his cock, she decided, as she let her hands hover teasingly over her breasts, then lowered them to brush the hardened tips.

A jolt of sensation went through her. Nice. That was nice. She knew what she liked, knew how to give herself maximum pleasure. She brought her hands lower, lifting her breasts, kneading them gently before letting herself return to the centers.

Her breath was coming in little bursts as she pulled up her tee shirt and repeated the caresses she’d enjoyed earlier—this time on her naked skin.

She’d never climaxed just by breast stimulation, but she got pretty hot that way.

It took only a few moments before she was opening the drawer next to her bed and bringing out her vibrator.

Laying it beside her on the bed, she skimmed her shorts and panties down her legs and kicked them off.

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