Dancing On The Ceiling (Part One)
Copyright 2003, MyWeb Ltd

    Monday morning and caffeine steam climbs from a friendly love goddess mug. The office is waking, people arrive in from the rain. Briony Williams continues to grip her mug, feeing its warmth and letting the bitter steam soak into her eyeballs. She fuses the moments of the weekend together until, in her mind they become distilled down to that same old pang of apprehension. The problem remained the same and it really needed a solution; the search for the infamous ‘real’ orgasm was tying her head in knots.
    Briony knew it bothered Mark that she wasn’t satisfied, which in turn bothered her, making her more troubled, and no one can have an orgasm when they’re tense can they? And so it made matters worse. In the search for the elusive during-intercourse orgasm they had tried everything: sex in the morning, in the bath, standing up, sitting down... under the influence, over the stroke of midnight and even in the shed. All had been to no avail. It wasn’t anyone’s fault as such, the right bits were in the right places OK, mentally and very definitely physically, but still nothing. It just wasn’t happening for her. Advice, Briony thought, was now required.
    “Morning,” her desk pal Daisy chirped from behind her. Sitting down Daisy read the immediately glum face of her colleague “Don’t tell me, sex again?”
    “In one. He still thinks it’s his fault.”
    “Still not hitting the spot then?” Daisy asked rhetorically.
    “I don’t know, is it him, is it me? I mean maybe if I knew what I was looking for possibly I’d know how to get there you know?”
    “No pun intended, but you’ve hit the nail on the head there girl. OK look, lets be upfront here my friend,” Daisy was always upfront, “You can bring yourself off, right?” Briony looked away apprehensively. Admitting to a friend before nine o’clock that you wank is easier said than done. “Right, so I’ll take that as a yes then. Don’t worry most girls do, though not as much as blokes obviously, that would be sick. OK, and he can bring you off, right?” Briony nodded again. “OK, well we’ll stick to metaphors for now, less embarrassing, so... just think of it like... like learning to dance the tango? You see because it’s best if you do it on your own first, like read a book practice the steps that sort of thing, right?”
    “I’m hanging in there,” Briony confirmed.
     “So, but,” Daisy continued, “Like in the end it’s a couple thing, he leads you after all, but first you gotta know where to step, right?”
    “Are you saying I need a hat stand?”
    “Sort of, yes.”
    Briony had never had an orgasm during sex. She’d thought about it, and her and Mark had talked on the subject of it. The problem was that whenever she thought about it that just made it seem more unobtainable, like the pressure to score right at the last of extra time. Sex was becoming like an unnecessary football match, she thought. If metaphors were good for sex therapy what Briony needed now was an own goal.
    “What I’m saying is,” Daisy continued, “you know, they say practice makes perfect, try before you buy and sink or swim, or something.” Daisy rambled. “You see you get frustrated because you can’t. And of course he’s pumping away like a traction engine with zero result and getting worried about his performance, which makes the whole thing worse. Nightmare!” Daisy sat back in her seat, exhausted from this revelation of clarity. “You see HE can’t make you come during sex, only you can. I mean obviously you need his… help but just like the dancing you see, he’s taking the lead but it’s all those subtle things you do, a twist here and a clench there, that make the whole thing good.”
    “So non metaphorically, what are you saying?” Briony twisted with confusion, her coffee had gone cold.
     “Oh, non metaphorically… you need a vibrator, girl.”
    “You serious?” Briony squirmed at the idea.
     “Oh yeah, that’ll work. The trick is to find out about yourself first, with something you can control see, get used to it, learn about you, and you’ll be dancing on the bloody ceiling in no time at all, trust me.”
     “OK, now I’m embarrassed.”
    “Don’t be, I have one” Daisy admitted, making Briony at ease.
     “OK. So how does it feel, I mean a REAL orgasm?”
     ”You mean from penetration?” Daisy smiled, grinned and rolled her eyes, flinging her head back and starring at the ceiling before gasping in a bucket load of air and letting it back out again
     “Pretty much, like that.”

***

    As the rain soaked bus trawled its way through the more dubious urban sprawls of Manchester Briony peered between the streaks of rain, remembering the days heart-to-hump conversation with crazy Daisy. They had decided that Briony’s mission was to purchase a vibrator. Briony had visited a sex shop once before, she pondered the chances of her ringing the bus bell and disembarking to visit that shop again. But then she recalled the first time. The door to the shop had noisily announced her presence and she had stumbled in. While she had stared bemused at the all kinds of fantastic plastic adorning the walls the proprietor had thrown his indicative glances upon her. Briony pretended to browse, feeling as if she had dared to actually pick up anything the man would have instantly begun extolling the products virtues, or imparted its vital dimensions to her. She remembered wanting to blurt out the truth; that she was there to purchase something purely for her friend’s hen night, and that this was not her kind of thing, blah blah. She knew though that it was pointless; he would have heard it all before. Nope, whatever she chose the man would instantly assume was to be shortly worn, inserted, read, or in extreme cases eaten by herself, and that was too much to bare.
     In the event the bus trudged on and the sex shop stop passed safely by, and Briony daydreamed. She was becoming turned on, on the number 97 bus. She delved through her sexual experiences as her mind willingly recreated the syrupy expectancy of her lover Mark and his hand cupped over her sex, his index finger hovering just there, poised. The longer he would leave it the more aroused she would become, until sometimes, levitating her buttocks from the bed, she would rise to meet his finger, breaking herself and that sweet anticipation with a warm sliding sensation that would make her explode.
     Briony made herself wet far too easily, and as she reached her stop she felt the welling inside. Briony’s vagina was tight and always concealed her excitement well. Her insides would quickly become wrapped with her cream, until finally just a little would seep and dampen her knickers. Briony felt the spot, and as she jumped off the bus the warm trickle of juice down her thigh. She couldn’t stop now, with thoughts of herself easing down her own knickers, the air on her muff –an anticipation that she would soon be bringing herself that deepened pleasure.
     In her mind she’s watching Mark remove those knickers from her socked feet. The damp patch is there as they fall to the carpet floor, he would know she was ready. Mark’s palm is on her rounded mound, his finger searches for her gap. It breaks the seal and her juices flow as his finger explorers.
     It’s raining hard now, Briony’s soaked inside and out, but still, as she trudged home, she played with her most intimate thoughts. Sometimes Mark offer up that finger for her and she’d suck. For Mark, it was the most erotic thing she could do, and for Briony it was the most dangerous. And now, here in the rain, the thought of the taste of her own sex, her own excitement pasted over her tongue, was exquisite. She came back to reality only slowly on that walk until, passing a billboard, it caught her sight. On it a friendly mouse advertised a bank, it pointed the way to the Internet. Of course, That was it.

***

    With another cup of coffee dutifully keeping her awake, Briony browsed later that night until finally, at around midnight, she plucked up enough courage to release her credit card from her purse and order. After being assured through endless re-reads of the amiable website pitch that the said goods would arrive firmly plain packaged Briony took the plunge. She Choose what she considered to be a reasonable starter weapon from the hundreds on offer. It was rather like choosing a car, she thought; a man of course would go for as much thrust and extras as financially possible, while Briony’s principal dilemma was colour. Perhaps not the Mark of an experienced dildo diva she thought, but realism was they key to this. And so too she had settled on penis shaped, pink in fact, with a warming end, adding a touch of luxury to proceedings. Daisy had told her that men prefer the anonymous shape of a the ‘massager’ style as it was less threatening to use on their beloved. Bollocks to that, Briony thought. This had to be a bona fide experience if nothing else, and besides, perhaps a little penetration envy was what Mark needed. The scene of that thick tool shaped wedge sinking endlessly within her would do him no harm at all. Her tender mound ached at the prospect, bring on the postman, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.
     Briony’s excitement had grown through the hours until she found herself at by her desk hoping desperately that the package might be there when she arrived home that night. And on Thursday evening it was. Briony had become more and more excited by the hope of just learning more about herself, and yet knowing that she alone had total control over those eight inches inside her.
     Briony went upstairs, switching the phone off, isolating herself, she undressed and lay down on the bed. The cool of the bedroom’s air toyed with her skin as she glided her hands down over her belly, towards her sex and to tease her tuft. A normal wank for Briony was a mechanical affair; nothing more than the release of pressure, she’d roll her fingers around her clit and go no further. She would come quickly and timidly, watching her legs twitch below her as she did. This time however, it would be as Mark would do it. She tugged at her hair, just as he did, and stroked the inside of her thighs -feelings parallel to his touch. She skirted around her mound mimicking his teasing, all the time building the tension, with each touch almost, but not quite, grazing her lucid outer quim stroke by stroke.
     Briony had still never really discovered herself, and while Mark would finger her for hours Briony had never slid so much as a little finger inside herself. She had never needed to, that was until now. If she wanted to experience that second kind of orgasm, that Daisy had so wordlessly described, she would have to get to know her own body as closely as Mark did, every contour, every muscle, every pulse. She cupped her hand over her enlarging mound and raised her index finger, letting it tenderly part her, twitching with pleasure as she did. Briony felt around an entirely new world, feelings uncomfortably strange at first at the tip of her finger. Quickly she became amazed by how smooth her love walls were, and how tight her hole was.
     It took ten minutes, but slowly Briony became accustomed to the weird feelings. It wasn’t having something inside her that felt strange, but the feeling of her own fingers inside her that took some acclimatising to. Now though she began to push her finger in and out, then letting another join in, both exploring, becoming more daring with each incursion. She clenched her pelvic muscles with the rhythm, tentatively at first, then more audaciously, propelling her hips forward and letting herself fall into the moment more and more. She was loosing it, she was turning herself on more and more, feeling the grip on her own finger, enjoying it. Briony wanted to moan, to throw her arms back above her head, to close her eyes.
     Her fingers were now covered in the smooth, silky juice and she removed them slowly, jolting as they slipped from her. She massaged her clitoris with them, allowing it to soak the juices up and to deliver her a warm tingling sensation. The virgin vibrator sat next to her on the bed. She looked at it. It was now time.

To be continued....