She did things that made the earth move under my feet, but it was the sounds that she made in bed that sent me over the edge. My heart went boom when she walked across the room, she knew just how to touch me to make me melt. I met her in a barroom in Memphis, she covered me in roses and then she blew my mind. Marianne Faithfull and Anita Pallenberg knew how to moan and groan, but my girl put them to shame, as she was the only one who could make me feel this way. She had a thing for making that perfect sound, she would groan, grunt, moan, pant, and squeal, which always made me want to mess around. She had a gift for articulate language and her voice always touched the right spot for me.
There was the heavy breathing followed by the dirty talk and then came those gushy words of encouragement, “Yes, oh yes, that is the spot”, which always did the trick for me. She was the poster child for the totally uninhibited woman who used her sexual freedom to express herself. Under the right circumstances, she just made it happen. She knew how to synchronize her “Ahh, ahh, ahh” vocalization to the movement of her undulating body. These sex sounds served as our communication when we were approaching orgasmic bliss. She let me know what gave her pleasure and enjoyment and these amorphous noises always encouraged me to do it again and again. Her animal sounds always me feel confident in my abilities, but sometimes I wondered who let the dogs out.
Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is animal sounds.