Apparently she was dead serious when she moaned  "don't fuck this up" and followed shortly thereafter with "you're fucking this up".

Frankly, the pressure got to me. I lost the rhythm and the spot I was focusing on.

My mind wandered off topic a tad. The words were banging around my head and the banging must have gone south.

It could've been minutes or hours, flop sweat induced by the pressure fell in slow motion splattering on her pretty face. I tried to discern the message emanating from her contorted facial expressions.

Ecstasy? Um, I think not.

You can see this was not all my fault, I wilted under the immense pressure. I found myself as out of sync as a William Shatner tune, yeah he has an album.

Damn, how the hell did William Shatner get into the bedroom during the height of sex? Not good.

Oh, yeah, now I recognize that facial expression, it's the one she got when I burned a hole in the couch with a blow-dryer.

Her lips were definitely ready to blurt something out and I'm thinking about the hole in the couch and the time I used a product designed to remove hair from men's backs on my then chemically burned face. She had the same look then, "at least I didn't use it on my groin" was my extremely impotent defense.

About that time, I damned the word "impotent" for sneaking up on me.

Not a positive word when one is mid coitus, neither is "flaccid" which quickly followed "impotent" into the pleasure center of my brain joining William Shatner on the couch with the hole in it applying back hair remover to his face.

Yes, her beautiful lips were definitely getting ready to spit out some emotional enlightenment...  

"Get off me, I'll finish myself."

I was hoping for something a little more orgasmic.

Alas, this was not to be.

I did hear some moaning coming from the bedroom a few minutes later as I watched Jon Stewart on the couch with the hole in it.