A.D.D. Between the Sheets
Heightened focus = heightened pleasure.
I was never on Ritilin or Adderall or Vyvanse or any of the other childhood killers. Luckily I had parents that ignored that trend. Thank you parents. However, from 6th grade on, I had a teacher suggest I get on something. I had to sit in the front of the room to minimize distractions as the slightest sound from the hallway shot my imagination in another direction. Even now, the garbage truck is emptying our dumpster and I caught myself staring out the window for 30 seconds.
What if I had some form of Adderall to assist in foreplay? It would be better than Viagra!
We live in a world full of distractions, most especially right now with political upheaval, throw a couple kids in the mix, a stressful job and a mortgage and that sufficiently hits mental capacity. At night, exhausted and mentally drained, the moment strikes and you're turned on. It's easy to go through the motions and play the normal hits but that's not being a good lover, that's routine. They will know, or worse, they won't care. Twist and turns, surprises, just like a good movie, are the key to pleasure in bed, but you have to stay focused... for an extended period of time. Hell, right now I can barely finish an article on my Apple News before Twitter pops up, or I switch over to Instagram. Damn it, if only her intimate parts were a fidget spinner, this would be much easier.
Dial-in to your partner's wants, even when they don't know them, especially so, but admittedly, it's tough. I am distracted by every sound, change in light and thought that races through my mind. There is no worse time than erect, turned on and in the middle of trying to pleasure my partner. Down between her legs, licking up, down, rubbing right up against the g-spot, left a little- I grab her thighs, feel her pulse- Damn Samantha Bee hit home tonight, whoa- Did I send in the credit card payment? What the fuck was the name of- - NO, FOCUS. Wait. Where was I? The motion is interrupted. Did she notice? I can't tell. I kiss her. I hide the fact that I wasn't focused 100% on her like I'd hide a flaccid penis in the same situation. Well, one causes the other.
In foreplay the naughty devil is in the details. The minutiae in which we pleasure goes a long way, longer than what most men claim they're equipped with. I have to focus on her needs and how her body is reacting. Foreplay is not like shooting an arrow- There is no bullseye. I should have the determination and focus to keep my partner, who is in her most vulnerable state, at the forefront of my attention. I feel like I am betraying her, as if the entire act from that moment on is a farce, a shell of its sexual potential. Remember in Men In Black, the marble that's around the cat's neck, Orion? Look deep enough, focus into it's nuances and you will see a gateway to an entire unknown universe. Works the same way. The pleasurable possibilities are endless. At the same time, I think of the countless Sex and the City scenes where a woman's mind is elsewhere as the man tries earnestly to be a sexual Adonis but is actually exhibiting symptoms of Sisyphus.
I should probably talk it out with her, but in this day and age, it’s easier to self-medicate.