"Too old for Hamlet, too young for Lear"

I wish that was mine, but I confess I stole it. But the description is right and the analogy is appropriate, so I thought I'd share it with you.

There are so many things buzzing around my head many of them sex-related (oh yawn, here he goes again).  One thing is about what men and women need for good sex. There is a commonly spouted misconception that women need emotional connection and men don't. For me, that isn't true.  It's not just mechanics, which partly explains why porn leaves me cold. I need an emotional connection, something that draws me into the woman's soul, otherwise the pleasure is diminished (i.e. no more and sometimes less than self inflicted pleasure).  And although I cannot speak for all the escorts I've met, it is apparent that some/many/all (delete as appropriate) are able to switch off the requirement for an emotional connection in order to get mechanical with a fee-paying stranger. So both sides can be more masculine/feminine in their requirements. 

My God what an awesome revelation! He's onto something there! It ain't all black and white!  Why didn't I think of that. He's a genius that Sexy MF!

Ok so startling insights into the human psyche aside, where is this leading? Last week in 316, aside water, before bridges, upon white sheets, Bardot and me fucked for England.  And it was good. Oh yes, it was good.  And apart from the fact (the obvious fact) that we're both sex magnets (I mean there was a disorderly queue forming outside the room, drawn in by the orgasmic sirens playing inside), the fundamental source of all that quality love making was the emotional connect.  And that connect was built up over six months of blogs, e-mails, texts followed by walks and talks from station to latte, so that when we finally got in to the room every little emotional atom had been brought to a perfect simmer.  And then we blew! For an evening, a night and a breakfasted morning, we kissed, licked, sucked, nibbled, touched, caressed and connected physically and mentally.

And she remains there in my head.  All those minutes replayed over and over in a different order each time.  And each time I relive a particular touch or kiss or look I am there in 316 again: hard as rock and wanting to pleasure and be pleasured.

But now we're both back in our respective lands and the simmer is back, ready to be brought to the boil once more. But patience is required. Good things come to those who wait. And I can't wait but I shall wait.