Orgasms Lie?

Is that all?

They say sex is the highest pleasure it is out there. Then why it is so insufficient? An endless line of sex and still it is unfulfilling. It is like a hunger for something you don't know yet and no matter what you eat and drink, it does not satiate. 

Sapiosexual, she claimed to be one. She has met men of achievements and ambitions. She is thankful that some men are actually different: they care. Nights have gone by like papers scatter when you let a windy window open. Each paper has been engraved with a story of its own. Yet, they are all gapping into the empty room like they want to suck in more air, more substance. What more could she have typed to make the paper feel satisfied? The papers are so inked!

Bodies rubbing against each other, making the winter temperatures rise, aren't settling for just it. They assume one more lap will do it, but it doesn't. The rushing hormones are in no mood to rest and breathe; the hands don't seem to have tired enough; the legs are still twiddling. The silence of the room is punctured with their heavy breaths. Yet, it seems more to be achieved. 

The counter-top, the sofa, the shower are all painted red. Find a new corner, or let's just head out. Embraces are of so little help, like a green leaf dying to be consumed by raging fire. Fire, it is, may be. Then why gulps and gulps of water don't calm down the thirst? May be it is a thirst. Then why doesn't it dry up? Find the corner that is to be conquered next. In the next nook, we will give our best: indulge, immerse and evoke. 

Yet, we know we are set up to fail. Even stones birth fire when rubbed hard. We are humans. We are conscious of wanting more than fire. The human mind wants to storm the whole universe just to relish it for minutes. You want more than the consuming fire, more than the safety of harbours, more than the storms in open seas. All the adventures put together, all the silence jammed up, and still, sex will leave you wanting more than just itself. You will be tired, sweaty every inch, and still won't give up. 

What does she want? The body is long tired; the spirit is just waking up. Until absolutely consumed, she won't stop. While filing her up, her fingers are empty. While kissing, her heart isn't pounding. While gripping her hair tight, his touch is missing. May be sex isn' the greatest pleasure out there after all. What is it then? That is the quest she takes up with every new page she writes, every new night she spends, every new corner she explores, every new body she feels. For sure, satisfaction is the orgasm she hasn't tasted yet.