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Sometimes it is really easy for me to forget that a woman’s emotions are as a deep as the sea, and there are as many seas as there are emotions within her. And—even though I have been in ANR since I was 17 (another story untold), I do forget how emotional and personal an ANR session can be to a woman.
The woman I met today took the long road to meeting me in person. We have talked over the past few years off an on. In fact, I did not have a picture of her until the day before she invited me over. She had given me plenty of opportunity to request a picture by leaving openings in our talks, but I told her that ANR is a personal connection for the individual, and if she wants to send a pic, I would be honored to receive, but it is not required. I fully believe that if I had requested a picture, it would have sullied our interactions, as she would have believed that she was more of a trophy to be collected than a woman to be adored.
I am guessing that the statement above gives away that she is aesthetically pleasing to the eyes. Fair enough, because she is. But that in no way detracts from the passion and euphoria that ANR has to give.
When I arrived at her apartment, she graciously, albeit nervously, let me in. She had set up her living room area with drinks and light refreshments. As she sat down, she extended her hand on to the back of the sofa at the same time as I sat down in the recliner, adjacent to her. In my mind, she was keeping a weapon within arm’s reach. I cannot confirm or deny that, but I certainly understand it.
In the beginning with a person, especially if they’re new, you often talk about many things other than ANR as a means of getting familiarity. Even if you have talked online and on the phone for years. The in-person talking is always different, even if it appears to be the same. After all, ANR requires full trust and relaxation. In order to reach the euphoric moments that both parties are seeking, there must be no reservations about what’s going on.
But when talking with this wonderful woman today, I realized that most people don’t take her seriously. She’s a brilliant person, but also very stressed out. She has a very bubbly personality, with a high pitch voice. In addition, her physical attributes often overshadow her intelligence, though little fault of her own.
Now, I am not oblivious to the fact that I was there for ANR, which is obviously a carnal activity. And, as a part of that activity, I would be receiving some of those physical attributes that she is judged by daily. But when talking to her and listening to her, it seemed that she got the same amount of pleasure out of just conversing with someone who was actually interested in what she had to say.
She even confessed that she was on the fence about this whole ANR thing. She admitted that while it sounded quite passionate, it also sounded like another way to be used as a trophy. Honestly, I didn’t know really how to take that because I don’t think it is, but that’s how she felt about it, so I had to take it at face value.
But the more that she talked and the more that I engaged with her without giving any kind of indications of moving forward, the more she seemed to light up. I could see the enjoyment in her eyes and the excitement within her words over just having a meaningful conversation. In actuality, I would say that I was more talking her shirt on than off. And believe me, I considered that this would be one of the first sessions that ended in conversation only.
We talked for over an hour and a half, exchanging laughter and serious moments. She talked about family, work, and heavily questions why I was, the way I was. Instead of just answering, I inquired how she saw me, and what her thoughts on me were. Again, being asked her opinion in an environment where that opinion was apricated and respected was such a joy for her.
But then it started…
I watched as her fingers slowly rose to the top button of her blouse. One by one, seductively, and slowly, she undid each button. The pressure of her breasts upon the shirt began to pull it tight. Why on earth I smiled at her and said, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I know we were enjoying the conversation.” She looked back at me and said, “Oh, no…this is for me. This is what I want. I have read your writings and watched your videos, and now, in person, you have given me more enjoyment in conversation than you can imagine. But you have not given me this yet, and I want it!”
The shoe was certainly on the other foot. When I first sat down, and I got the impression that she was keeping a weapon close for protection, I now felt that weapon was close for fulfillment, should I disappoint.
As her shirt fell aside, she unclasps the bra from the front, and allowed my eyes to see what so many men would have traded their lives to see. I could not help but smile as I looked into her eyes, and then she hit me with, “Excuse me, but my breasts are down here.”
I gently slid from the recliner and crawled over as she sunk back into the couch. As my lips touched her areola, and my tongue extended to embrace her nipple, my latch closed upon her breast as a wave of goosebumps tore through her body. She let out these immortal words…
“Oh fuck…”
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