What do you think about when you’re having an orgasm?
Nothing.
Maybe you’re thinking, but I know I’m not thinking. My
mind is clear. My mouth goes on autopilot, the sounds coming out of it
may occasionally be words but they have no intellectual thought behind
them. The “oh god”s and “fuck”s are almost a mantra. I am a blank puddle
of nerve endings, completely open to sensation. I have no control over
my rapidly contracting lower abdomen or my flailing limbs. My back
arches, dragging my shoulders over the now damp sheets, pushing my hips
down into the mattress. Warm inner forearm skin pressing into my hip
bone and leg hair gently crunching against the back of my thigh.
What’s going on here is pure haptic sensation. Touch.
