Wassily Kandinsky

Elsa asked if she could measure it. I’d just climaxed, lying on top of her, nose buried in her neck. My eyes must’ve been shut; I couldn’t figure out what she was after. Well can I, or not ? I didn’t budge. Woozy with pleasure, drowsy between her thighs, our sweat mingling. She kept at it. It’s not at its best right now, I said, you have to give it some time to recover. Then she pushed me off. I don’t like it when she rushes things after sex.