Super close-up of pleasure sprouting.

They say that everything begins with a sweet tremor at the root. As the tension builds up, a hot energy rises and falls madly down every venous path of me. At a good pace, embraced by the pleasure of what my imagination hides in secret, in this suspended instant, the pupils dilate, the breath breaks in a muffled gasp. The muscles of the lower abdomen tense in an exquisite arc. The wave hits, not like a gust, but like a chain of deep pulsations. Each contraction is a discharge, an echo that runs through the nerves. The world is reduced to an explosion of pure sensations, while the mind is clouded in a delicious, fleeting oblivion. It is total surrender to pleasure: OOOOhhhh... Everything went away and I surrender at half-time.