Recently, a new phrase has been popping up in various articles on sex, relationships, and women: The Orgasm Gap. Sometimes it’s referred to as “The Gender Orgasm Gap.” It is the result of various studies’ data showing that women in heterosexual relationships have far fewer orgasms than their male partners. This gap disappears in gay relationships.

There’s plenty of literature out there for you to do your own reading into the matter, but what I would like to discuss here is the orgasm gap that exists between Lo and me. In our relationship there is undoubtedly an orgasm gap, but it is the inverse of the one referred to above.

I’ve conducted my own non-scientific study. One October a few years back (I deemed it “O-month,” for “Orgasm Month”) I did my best to count the number of orgasms achieved by Lola (either during coitus or on her own) and the number achieved by me, your faithful author. The results were 70+ for Lo (not exactly sure of the actual number because I was relying on her reportage of her solo sessions and often she lost count), to my 18. That’s approximately a 4:1 orgasm gap in favor of the female.

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Now, in our relationship there are many “understandings.” I am not allowed to jack it unless specifically instructed by Lola. That usually means in her presence, so she can enjoy it. I am not allowed to have sex with anyone outside our relationship. Lo, on the other hand (so to speak), has no strings attached. Solo sex, sex with others, accidental orgasms — all are fair game for her.

But a while back, when Lo was cross with me about something and thus withholding her pleasures from me, I took matters into my own hands, literally. I got myself a Stoya Destroya Fleshlight. It served the purpose at the time. It also came in handy (can’t seem to get around that double-entendre) one night when Lola was too inebriated to give consent.

Lo doesn’t like my using Stoya’s pussy. Her jealousy reigns supreme. It matters not that it is literally just a pussy and not a person. But the other night. . . .

I had to work late. I was at the office around 7 pm and I got a text from Lo saying that she was going out to dinner with her friend Candice. Lo and Candice had become close friends over the past few months. Candice is a self-described “thick” woman. I would describe her as lusciously zaftig. She is heavier than Lo by at least fifty pounds. When they met, she was in a committed relationship, but that fell apart very suddenly. Lo became her go-to confidante and wing-woman. They went to clubs, bars, restaurants together about three or four times a week. I think Lo enjoyed the singles scene and having someone to share it with. Candice frequently found fuck-buddies, but was longing for a man who would be a dedicated daddy. She admired Lo and was particularly envious of our special relationship.

Candice would often come over for brunch after her one-night-stands and dish the details about it to both of us over mimosas.

And then the other night. . . .

As I was saying, Lo went out to dinner with Candice. I thought nothing of it since it had become part of their repertoire. I figured that Candice was horny and looking to find a cock to bring home for the night and Lo was going to help her, as usual.

(A little aside here: If I were granted permission to have sex with just one of Lo’s friends, it would be Candice. I find her voluptuousness very attractive. But, either out of respect for Lo or lack of interest, Candice has never reciprocated my flirtatious banter with her. Unless, of course, the juicy stories she tells us about her sexcapades are intended to rouse me, which they do.)

But when I got home, I found Lo in bed, jillin’ herself silly. She had all her toys on the bed and it looked like she had used each and every one. Currently she was banging with the largest of the bunch. It was stuck to the headboard and she was sliding her ass back, taking it all in, and then sliding forward. Back-and-forth, slapping her cheeks up against the wood and then easing off. She didn’t stop when she saw me enter the room. I sat and waited, patiently by the foot of the bed. She looked at me as she fucked her dildo. Our eyes were locked as I saw her desperately trying to get off. When she finally climaxed, slid off the dildo, and sprawled out in the sheets, legs spread and sloppy, I kissed her hello.

“Are you mad, Daddy?” she asked.

“Why should I be mad?” I responded.

“Get naked and I’ll tell you.”

I did as she requested, got in bed next to her, and listened as she told me the following story:

I went to the restaurant to meet Candice for dinner, but I was early and she was late. I sat at the bar and ordered a drink while I waited for her. As I waited, a handsome, young, black man came in and sat next to me. He was very good looking, very fit, and I suddenly found myself getting very wet.

Candice finally arrived and as I was finishing my drink, the young guy got up and went to the bathroom. I turned to Candice and told her how hot I thought he was. She admitted to me that she thought so too.

When he came back, he paid his tab and got up to go. But Candice immediately went after him. She told him what I had told her in confidence, and he returned to the bar and sat between us. He started up a conversation with me and I found out that he’s a football player for the college.

As we talked, he began rubbing my thigh and moving slowly further and further toward my crotch. I didn’t protest.

Eventually he came very close to me and kissed me. I reciprocated. But then I pulled away and told him that I was there for Candice — her wing-woman. She wasn’t supposed to be mine.

I think he liked that. He showed an interest in both of us and the thoughts that went through my mind. . . .

She didn’t elaborate, so I asked her, “What thoughts would those be?”

I was fully expecting her to say, “Get in me and I’ll tell you,” but she didn’t. After a pregnant pause, awaiting her command, I finally got between her legs, poised to strike, but she covered up her crotch with both hands and protested, “No, Daddy! I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” I asked, frustrated and eager.

“I did myself a little too much. I’m swollen and sore.”

Not only did I want her, badly, but I also wanted to hear the conclusion of her story just as badly. I asked her politely if I could use the Stoya Fleshlight.

She said, “Why don’t you just use your fist like a real man?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Instead of using your Hitachi, your 18” dildo, or your Remus, why don’t you just use your fist like a real slut?”

She laughed despite her anger as she threw a pillow at me.

“Fine, get her out,” she said.

“You’ll hold it for me?”

She didn’t answer. I rummaged through the back of the closet and pulled out Stoya. I grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer and I got both Stoya and me nice and slick. Lo took the hefty contraption in two hands and I slid right in.

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“Comfortable?” she asked.

“Yes, very,” I said, making her more jealous. “Go on with your story.”

“You like fucking her, don’t you?” she asked.

“Not as much as fucking you.”

“You like fucking Stoya. You like that she’s a porn star. You like thinking about how many men have fucked that pussy already, how many men have cum in it.”

I was getting very turned on by her dirty words.

“Nothing would be hotter than seeing you make a porno,” I replied. “I would stand in the wings while the director, the lighting crew, the sound engineers, and of course, the four or five male porn stars stood around your naked body as two or three of them fucked you on camera.”

“Do you want me or do you want Stoya?”

At this point, I admit, in my mind, Lola and Stoya were fused into one person as I imagined the set of the film.

“Fuck her! Fuck her good and hard! Come on,” she demanded. “Fuck that used, slutty pussy. Cum in her. Cum deep in her,” she commanded. I can never resist her commands. I came and I came hard as Lo pressed the Fleshlight down on my shaft, licking her lips as she watched me crumble as if struck by an arrow of pure pleasure.

I never did get to the end of her story that night.

I have no idea how many times Lo came before I got home, but this is just one example of the so-called “Orgasm Gap” in our relationship.

[Your claps are appreciated and for more orgasms, visit: and for more support, buy the books.]

Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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