In a few days under the determined tutelage of Queen Morgan le Fay, I learned more about sex than I had in the first forty-five years of my life. In one stolen afternoon with Princess Elaine, I easily doubled that knowledge. And if I didn’t even get to use any of the tricks Morgan had taught me—well, there would be other days.
The single biggest trove was a thorough understanding of what I’d first glimpsed at Morgan’s: nothing increases sexual enjoyment as much as being in love. Youth and vigor, a comely partner, great tits, raging horniness, all the tricks of the trade, even a lover who’s bathed recently—all pale in comparison. Apparently there is an emotional aspect that I’d only now begun to suspect. I guess that’s why the bards call it ‘making love’ when they’re telling the great love stories like Tristan and Iseult.
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