There's a ten second span of time that can feel like an eternity, in which my mind and body sit on the precipice of orgasm. The precipice is a space, a demarcated area, the top of a mountain, and every wave of vibration from my toy, nudges me there until I am in just barely that space, waiting, waiting, before I get to fall.

I don't get to choose exactly when it happens. Normally I can experience myself as an agent in which my mind tells my body what to do. Even in sex. It's the sounds and the murmurs, the breaths that get me. I'm almost always in my head. Except when I get to the precipice.

Then, it's my body that is in control. I'm waiting for my body to respond, in a conflicted space in which the agony of waiting for the fall is excruciating, yet the waiting holds intense pleasure because I know I am going to orgasm at any second. Any second now. Before I get inside that space, I feel that things are delicate, that I can almost get there but might slip. Might not make it.

But when I get to the precipice, it's the confidence that I am securely in the space, the knowledge that I will orgasm, that allows me to go all the way, and let myself fall, down, down, down.

I like laying back on the bed with my legs splayed open the best. That's the position that allows me to writhe as I please, trying the spectrum of infinite angles, as if exploring every single one of the thousands of nerve endings in my clitoris. That bud is a universe unto its own. If each nerve ending was a star, my job, while masturbating, is really like an astronomer, to identify new constellations, new arrangements of nerve endings that I stimulate in sequence until my orgasm emerges forth.

Around, and around, in circles, the vibrator moves. Slightly to the left, then pushing it down a little hard. Moving it up, then down, those glorious waves in my skin. Sliding my hips from side to side, feeling the friction of my movement on the bedsheets warm my back, my buttocks, my legs.

What is my mind doing? No coherent linear narratives now. Ruminating on images, phrases, situations, real and fictional. Feeling a stranger's erection as he slides past me on a crowded bus, his hard cock poking my back. Seeing the head of a purple, swollen cock rubbing in between my breasts, and then spurting all over my face and chest. "You pretty little slut." A hard yet affectionate voice of a kinky ex. What is like to be taken by two guys, one fucking my pussy, one thrusting in and out of my mouth? The way last weekend's one night stand contorted his face when he came inside my pussy while I was riding him eagerly. If my older Sean Connery look-alike neighbor was fucking me right now, what kind of grunts would he make as he stuffed my pussy with his thick looking cock? I've seen him get hard watching me do yard work. The feel of hands grabbing my hair, pushing my face down all the way so I take that cock deeply down my throat, swallowing it as stream after stream of jizz pours down it, a salty delicious waterfall of cream spurting into my mouth.

The edge is near, near. The infinite agony starts, the pure pleasure that's almost better than the spasms itself, the tightness. My feet dig into the bed, my hips rise. How long can I stay on the edge? This time it's like I'm so close to falling off of the cliff, I can see the distant expanse below me, my feet kick off little bits of earth that fall into the sky and down, telegraphing the fall I will take at any second.

And then it comes. I fall off the edge, my body takes over, squeezing with spasms beyond my control, I thrash, I twist. My vaginal walls twitching and pulsing, the fluid running out from between my pussy lips, down the crack of my ass. Pure primal ecstacy, leading me to moan helplessly, "uhhhhhhhhh!" I contract and release over ten times, each time such a good release that tears almost come to my eyes.

Then the spasms subside. My pussy tingles. I come down from the rush of the fall. Fast breaths become slow, my ruminating mind becomes still. A temporary feeling of being in my body only, just feeling.