Sexual Relationships 
Sexual Health 
Orgasmic Bliss = Police Visit
I see questions all the time about women who make noise during sex. I had a girlfriend one time that I believe took the cake in that category and thought I’d share the funny story.
I was straight out of college, starting my first job in Austin, when I got a call on my work phone. The only people with the number were my parents so I had no idea who would be calling. We didn’t use our phones in the office. We just talked across the bullpen. It was the pastor of the church I’ve been at ever since. He asked me to lunch. It turns out my college pastor had called him about me since I ushered in college. He spared him the interesting detail that the reason I started ushering was to meet women! You won’t believe the halo effect you get with the girl, but especially with her parents. Anyway, he invited me to visit and I did and the rest is history.
There was a beautiful coloratura soprano in the choir. Turns out she was a ringer: a student the church paid to sing in the choir and do solo work, etc. I was smitten: long dark hair, pale, clear complexion, and a nice body. We started this torrid affair: all flash, no substance but who cared? We had tons of red hot sex.
The first time she was over to my place and we got busy, we were in missionary. I’m banging away and she’s getting very close. All of a sudden I’m being squeezed like a boa constrictor is in her pussy and she lets out with a high G. It was incredibly loud, coming from a future opera singer. I couldn’t hear out of that ear for two days. We went to doggy after that so she could bury her face in a pillow.
We finish and a few minutes later, there’s this loud, incessant banging on the door. We tried to ignore it but it just kept up with someone shouting outside. I finally got up, slipped on my jeans, and answered the door. There stood two police officers. They barge in demanding to know, “Where’s the girl?” I said, “What girl?” They tell me they have a report of a rape or murder with screams coming from my apartment.
I call back to the bedroom, “Diane, the police want to see that you’re okay!” She has slipped back into her red stiletto pumps (and nothing else), struts out into view, does a graceful pirouette, and asks the officers, in a Marilyn Monroe style voice, “Do I look injured or in distress to you, officer?” The two young cops beat a hasty retreat and we laughed the rest of the night. It was a great moment in the life of two young people and two young cops.
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