Stealthy Orgasm

I have mastered the art of the silent orgasm
The house is full of listening patrons
Scurrying about upstairs
And I have mastered the way my hands move and my lips never moan
The nightly routine
One where my hand is down the pants of my jeans and Chopin plays in the background
The one where I think of the curve or women's hips and how they grind when they are aroused
The cup of breasts and my hands can't help but search out the little happy button
The gentle circles, little loops to keep me satisfied
And when I stifle a moan I bite my lips
Causing a little sliver of blood to pool
And make my eager fingers move that much faster
The thrill of the chase
The knowledge that any moment someone would walk in the door and see what I am doing
I breath, heavily, fast, chasing after the release of sexual tension
The desire
The need
The final thrill of a pleasure wave that sorrounds the sheets and blankets around me
Somewhere in the distance a dog barks
And I don't hear, because all I can think about is the overwhelming amount of orgasmic bliss that blossoms me
And the reminder
That silence
Is golden