The Discovery

At the age of sixty I believed that my body had no more secrets, at least for me.

I was, for example, among the few lucky women who discovered their G-spot.

Often, after lunch, I loved to visit it: with my right hand I caressed my clit while with my left I guided an anatomic vibrator between the walls of my vagina and without difficulty massaged the magic point that gave my orgasm absolute fullness.

So I believed until then.

I had cum and, as usual, I played with the curls of my Mount of Venus, full of pleasure. I liked to roll the soft hair around my fingers and then abandon them, almost cotton, in their place. I found myself doing this little game near my clit: not a very big clit but with a hood of meat that covered it completely, bending over the tip. Here, the hood of meat: I had never treated it like the little cock it was and so, that afternoon, I start to move it up and down like a miniature glans. This movement, new, I liked and tended more and more the meat of the clit until I feel the hood pulled to the maximum. Abandoned the vibrator, with the tip of the middle finger of the left hand I began to tap the tip and what I felt is difficult to describe: three electric discharges began to rise from my groin and from the bottom of my vagina; the first two, under the skin, rose towards the breast and the other, in the center of my body, reached the throat; here it was as if it were unloading on a lump that had formed and that began to melt into an unknown cry. One of the happiest cries of my life.