May is Masturbation Month, but Lo’s self-pleasure cums three hundred and sixty-five days a year. It turns out that May is also Mental Health Awareness Month. Coincidence? I don’t think so. A large part of mental health is sexual health, sexual pleasure, and sexual self-stimulation. So, go for it. Yes, you may! Yes, you should!
In honor of this annual celebration of manual manipulation of the genital variety, I bought Lo two gifts: a Lovence Lush remote-controlled vibrator and concert tickets to see the philharmonic.
These were separate and distinct gifts, but leave it to Lo to combine the two.
She put on her sexy, contour-fitting blue dress with a little black jacket over it and her new toy securely and secretly inserted in her hideaway under it.
Lo, Dressed for Success
Off we went to hear some beautiful music.
On the ride there, Lo said to me, “I want to take this sexy little pink plaything for a test drive during the performance.”
“But Lo,” I tried to protest.
“But Lo nothing,” she said, shutting me down. “The vibe is a gift and so are the tickets and I want to enjoy both simultaneously.”
She is a master debater and am no match for her oral skills.
We filed in and the show began with a contemporary violin concerto with which I was unfamiliar. Lo had her right hand on my left knee and indicated that she was not impressed. But then, without intermission, the main event of the evening began – Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony.
Lo indicated that now was the right time to test out her new gift. I inconspicuously pulled out my phone and turned on the toy. Throughout the first movement I gently and thoughtfully applied the vibrational intensity to the mellow and subdued melody of the orchestra. But, as the piece transitioned to the second movement, increasing in passion and drama, I followed suit with the controller I had in my pocket. I could feel Lo’s grip on my knee holding on for dear life and I saw her bite down hard on her lower lip.
Her legs pressed tightly together. The she crossed her legs, one over the other, pressing her inner thighs against each other as she rocked back-and-forth a little. She began to perspire just a bit on her brow. And then, she let out a primal scream like I had never heard before that echoed and reverberated throughout the acoustically dynamic hall.
From my long experience with Lo, I knew that this meant she was also simultaneously squirting and that her Kegel strength was clenching on the small but powerful device. I immediately shut off the remote and pretended to be looking forward as if nothing were happening, but as soon as she regained control of her vocal emanations, I could see, without drawing attention to it, the small puddle that had accumulated under her seat.
Thankfully, the band played on and eventually, people stopped staring at us.
It was impossible to get up and leave in the middle of the piece without further drawing the ire of the polite audience upon ourselves and, in the process, demonstrating Lo’s very wet bottom. But as soon as the symphony was over, we made our way out of the concert hall as the audience around us was still applauding. Lo held in her hand the little pink conductor whose baton had caused her crescendo. She placed it in her clutch and we slipped into the night.
Little did we know that her vocal accompaniment to the concerto would be caught on tape and that her little performance would headline the evening. Perhaps she has a future as an opera singer.
One thing is for sure, Lo’s lullaby proved that there is a permeable line between art and porn.
The End
