Can a Male Author Write a Sex Scene?

Can a male author write a sex scene in first person from a woman’s perspective? You be the judge; the scene already has my wife’s approval!
I stare at George. He is not the best of looking men. He does not have a chiseled chin. His hair is never combed. His smile is a bit crooked. He is thin and bony. He has taken to wearing glasses Clark Kent style. But he takes care of me and loves me and he is mine. So I attack him. I undo his belt buckle quickly and pull his pants to his knees. I grab a hold of his penis and watch him grow. It is like magic watching him get hard, and like the rest of his body, his dick is long and thin. He pulses slightly at my touch. He makes no noise and lets me do what I want. I take him into my mouth. He tastes of honey and salt, but I don’t let him cum. I sit up and take off my clothes. I climb on top of him and he stares at me in disbelief, like he stares at me every time we have sex, and at first I thought this was cute. A guy who didn’t know what to do with a woman, but dammit I’m his woman and he should know by now. He grabs my breasts and fiddles with my nipples like they are radio dials. George I say, and he takes this as encouragement, and tunes in more radio stations. This will have to be something I fix later. Now, I just want to fuck him, so I pin his arms to the bed and keep them there. He smiles like he is sixteen and cashing in his virginity card. I close my eyes. After, we lie next to each other, me naked, him half naked. He is about to fall asleep. I place his hand on my breasts. Relax I say. Like this I say. Slow and soft.  
In the morning, we wake, and he does it right. He nuzzles up to my neck and gives me small kisses. I can feel his breathing, and he is trying to control himself.  I can feel his heart flutter.   
His hands tremble against my body. I tremble. He tugs at my bottom lip with his teeth. His hands are at my hips. He lifts me up, pushes himself into me. One two thrusts. I’m so close and he pulls out. He goes inside me again, deeper than ever before. Deeper than I’ve ever had anyone. And I want him to stay. I want him to stay with me forever. But he doesn’t. He pulls out again and again. I claw at his back. I push him down. He goes in once more, and he stays; he holds still, unmoving. His whole body wet with sweat against mine and I can’t hold on any longer. And then he releases. He shudders, and I can tell he wants to keep going, keep pushing, thrusting. He rolls off me, his breathing—my breathing—erratic. We’re holding hands. The sun shines through the cracks in the vinyl blinds. The dust flotsam dance suspended in midair.
Better? he asks.
Like slow jazz and dark chocolate I say.

The above is an excerpt from my forthcoming novel Banana Sandwich. If you liked it, consider downloading free on Amazon beginning June 10th through the 15th. And I’d also appreciate a Thunderclap support at  http://thndr.it/1PIuB1s.  

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