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Introduction:

Female viewpoint this time.
Rhythm Method


I am not sure when I first heard of biorhythms. Certainly I was a teenager then, maybe as young as 12. You read about a lot of things at that age and don't know whether to believe them or not. I'm still not sure about biorhythms.

The idea is that everyone has a physical cycle that is 23 days long, an emotional one that lasts 28 days, and a mental one that goes for 33 days, all starting on the day you are born. This was less complicated and easier to accept than, say, astrology. It might be wrong, but you almost have to believe that there are cycles in people's lives. As a woman, I can tell you there damn well is one in mine, though it's not tied to the day I was born. But the idea appealed to me, and I did a lot of arithmetic to see where I was, and when the high and low days were. Then I'd usually forget about it. But sometime later I would start thinking about it again, and drag out my figures or do them over. I must have done that a half-dozen times.

As I got older, I started collecting the birthdays of boys I dated (and, later, men). Somebody 33 days older or younger than you has the same mental cycle, as does someone 66, 99, and so forth days away from you. And of course the same goes for the emotional and physical cycles. The closer the better, in theory. A perfect match, though, has to be the same date of birth or 55 years away, so you don't expect perfection. You probably couldn't stand it anyway.

I hung up charts with the long triple curves at the times when the interest came back, and planned trips around them to some extent, and was careful on certain days. That last part didn't hurt, anyway.

People knew me for talking about the rhythms, and asking a man for his birthdate serves as well for a conversation starter as asking what sign he is. Maybe better, since he won't fudge by a year or two if he understands that there might be an advantage in not doing so.

I met Ken Riley at a wedding. I worked with the bride, and he was a friend of the groom. We talked to each other some, but nothing happened. The married couple gave a party a couple of months later, and this time Ken and I made a date, and that led to another one.

I had been living on my own for two years then. In that time I had a long affair with a man which ended badly, and two more that didn't work out but weren't really unhappy (though one was pretty stupid.) In all three cases the patterns were way off, but I had never taken the biorhythms seriously enough, steadily enough, to look before it didn't matter. Though I had the information. It might not have mattered; my friends had already been telling me that the one man was really wrong for me.

By the fifth time I went out with Ken, I wasn't really starting to think about getting physical with him, but I was thinking about thinking about it -- if that makes sense. We were proving to be a good match in a lot of ways, and I wondered... But I wasn't going to do anything about it; al least for a while.

We were in a liquor store at the end of an evening because he wanted to buy some wine for a party we were going to that weekend. The owner asked for ID for proof of age, and Ken showed his driver's license. Ken went back with the man to see about the size and brand, and left the wallet on the counter. I moved up to it and put my hand out to keep anyone from grabbing it. I looked down and noticed Ken's birthdate.

Years before, when I was feeling very horny one day, I figured out that the physical and the emotional cycles would both match every 644 days. (23 times 28.) That's 86 days short of two years. I was born on October 9th, so somebody born on January 3rd of the year before was a perfect physical and emotional match for me.

That date had stuck in my mind. That's when Ken was born.

When Ken came back, I looked at him carefully and with almost some apprehension. Ironically, I had never asked him what I had asked a lot of other men.

He noticed that I seemed a little nervous, and as we left the store he asked me why. I wasn't willing to say, since he might think I was crazy. Also, he might decide if he put a move on me, I would be more likely to say yes. And he might be right; I wasn't sure of myself.

I had only half-believed in the rhythms, but if there was anything to it at all, I was playing with fire. I remembered that I was at a physical peak today -- which meant that he was too -- but I couldn't remember where the emotional cycle was. But knowing that my body was supposed to be at its most sensitive made me more, uh, inclined than before. But no less chicken.

Before I had to quit stalling and answer Ken, the sky opened up. It was a fast summer rain, and we were both soaked before we could get a block to where his car was parked.

His apartment was only a few minutes away from there, and he invited me in to put on a bathrobe and to let my skirt and silk blouse go into his dryer.

As we went into his building, I noticed that my peach bra was completely visible through the wet blouse, and in this light it looked flesh-colored. Ken might think that I had nothing on underneath unless he looked for my nipples, and I hoped he would be too much of a gentleman for that. I blushed as we went up in the elevator.

I went straight for his bathroom, and a minute later he knocked on the door and passed through the bathrobe. When I came out, he had put on another pair of slacks and a shirt, which he left open to dry his skin out. He had a big cup of coffee waiting for me, and he was sipping on another one while he stood there barefoot.

Here he was half-naked, and I was half-naked, and I really would have felt that we were moving too fast if there was any way he could have planned it. As it was, he was acting comfortable and casual, as if we were long married.

He took the blouse and skirt from me and put them in his dryer, with I think all the clothing he had worn. I had kept my bra and panties on, though the bra wasn't fastened; it seemed too much trouble to hook it back up after I dried off with a towel.

We talked and warmed ourselves for a while. The bathrobe did not stay closed all the way up, so he could easily see that I had a bra on now. And probably he could see a bit more than that. After we had both finished the coffee he took my hand as we kept talking, then he kissed me.

The kiss got longer and I opened my mouth. Ken took the opportunity and things turned serious. His tongue entered me and circled around, touching and sliding along mine until I was gasping from excitement and for breath. Then he withdrew, so that my awakened hunger made me pursue him and send my own tongue after his. He held me to him, and the heat of his chest spread all through all of my body that touched him as we stood there, and it radiated from there to the rest. Especially one area down below that began to ache for him.

He pulled on the belt of the bathrobe and it fell open, and for an instant all of my body was against his. His hands swept up and his fingertips touched the skin at the tops of my breasts. His hands were even hotter there than his chest had been.

I jerked away from him. I pulled the bathrobe closed as I ran across the room, and I stopped. Ken stood there, watching me, and I looked back at him.

The two of us stood for a minute in complete silence, then I pulled the cord on the bathrobe. I opened it wide and dropped it to the floor. I had decided.

While Ken walked toward me, I pulled on the bra and tossed it beside the robe, then I slid down my panties.

When he stood before me, before he touched me, he shrugged off his shirt and dropped it on his bathrobe.

Now I stood naked in his arms while he held me. He kissed me deep in my mouth, and even deeper in my emotions. It seemed as if every motion of his tongue could be felt in a place where with every passing second I more wanted another part of him to probe and thrust. He pressed his hairy chest to my breasts and I could feel every hair of it against my rigid nipples. He caressed me all over my back, beginning at the shoulders and slowly settling to my hips, which his hands eased forward, opening my legs slightly to let one finger touch my moist warm cave from behind. I felt a warm bulge pressing down below that felt like it would leave a permanent ridge in my stomach. After I began to tremble I said in a hoarse whisper: "Get a condom!"

He turned away and I collapsed to the floor, lying on the robe with my arms open, my knees raised, and my legs apart and waiting. I sniffed his shirt, which already had a faint odor of him on it. I was ready for him to take me right there, or in any other way that he wanted.

When he came back, he was wearing a condom and nothing else at all. That white tube stood out against his body and made it look even larger than my desire for him had already made it seem.

He did not sink down onto the floor and into me as I wanted at first; instead he raised me to my feet again and pressed that hard cylinder into my belly while he slid a hand down between my thighs, reaching behind me to do it. It was only a matter of seconds before I gave a convulsive shudder.

"God, you're so hot in there, so hot..." he said to me.

I shut my eyes tight and tried to do the same with the place that he was fondling. I raised my hips to relieve the intensity of the sensation, which was almost more than I could bear. "Please," I gasped, "Don't keep doing that. Please, I can't bear it. Make love to me...properly... I don't want to...to..."

He stopped immediately. He squatted and he drew me down on him. My legs went quite naturally around his hips, as if they had always belonged there, and he held me in the air while he positioned me until I felt his erection just beginning to part the lips at my entrance. Then he relaxed his arms and I was impaled on his spike. I cried out as I went all the way down on his hook of
thick meat. That sudden full entry was exactly what I needed from him at that moment.

His hands cupped my buttocks, taking most of my weight while I pumped up and down, in and out. Later I held on to his shoulders and let his powerful hips push up into me while I lay back in the air, until we were almost at the ultimate height.

Then he rolled me back onto the bathrobe without breaking contact and I felt his semen fill the latex envelope as he drove in and my own climax came.

Later I lay in his bed and did some arithmetic on a pad. It made sense that I had some trouble recalling where the emotional cycle was... That day was a mental lowpoint for me, and an emotionally critical day for both of us!

As I said, I don't know if I really believe in biorhythms. They seemed to work that day. And I'll certainly tell you that the physical peaks with Ken have been much more often than one in 28 days.
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