If anyone asked me my favourite sexual position, I don’t think I’d be able to narrow the list to fewer than five or so. It’s like the ‘desert island disc’ question when I struggle to squeeze my selection of CDs to 10 (which I did start typing but I reached 15 and had to get back to the reason for this post).

Some of the less obvious criteria for sexual positions include practicality in impractical spaces (like cars) and a partner’s anatomy being suited to some positions more than others. More obvious criteria include the ability to orgasm, ready access to reaching other parts of a lover’s body and visual interest – sometimes closing the eyes and feeling without distraction is what’s needed but at other times watching the scene unfold provides a new layer of sensory joy to the experience.

My least favourite common position is the favourite of a lot of men: doggy style. Each time I flip readily on to my knees and brace myself for a good time, but after the first thrust I remember that I have to concentrate avidly with anyone who has a medium-sized or larger penis. From my fading memory, I think Jekyll was the only man of a size small enough for me to relax and not worry about having my cervix smashed into my liver. Everyone since has required a high state of alertness and the Country Boy is no exception.

He was sitting upright and I was riding him quickly and then slowly; the speed depended if he wanted to delay coming and then if he wanted to submit to his urges. In growing frustration, he grabbed my ponytail and pulled me close for a kiss before asking if I’d like him from behind. I said yes and launched into position on my knees and stretched out on my elbows, waiting for the re-introduction of his cock.

“YOWWW!”

I leap-frogged and landed face-down on the covers. He recoiled and was sent flying backwards. We laughed.

I couldn’t help making an understatement and said, “I think that one was a bit too deep.”

He couldn’t stop laughing. Occasionally he throws in an overly-deep thrust as an act of mischief, but this time he’d gone too far out of abstinence and forgetting that he needs to be careful. We shifted back into our respective positions and started again, with me coiled like a spring in case he started strongly the second time.

He was more restrained but I still lowered my shoulders to temper the angle and intensity of the sensation. I was enjoying myself but my constant vigilance didn’t allow me the mental space to relax and move with him – equally, I’m sure I felt more than enjoyable to him but he also couldn’t relax and deliver the pounding that his body was by now telling him was required.

My reward for enthusiastic and stoic behaviour was being rolled on my back with my legs pointing upwards. I know I can come easily in this position and soon after he entered me I was apparently filling the air with swear words. He enjoyed the uninterrupted view from above until I was almost pleading for a rest and he was fit to burst – from other fading memories I don’t think he’s ever come from that position as much as he seems to enjoy it. He split my legs like they were a banana’s skin and drove hard in the missionary position; his orgasm brought his own noises of release and he disappeared into a reverie for a long while.

I settled under his weight and remembered many of the reasons why we go through so much for brief blasts of physical interaction.