Well, sort of new...
It's interesting, the amazing variety a simple act is capable of. I've been thinking about how different sex feels in different circumstances. Last night, I went home with a charming someone who I met in a bar after a frustrating date. They took the time to seduce me, and there were moments of genuine sweetness, of epiphany and insight. It felt... healing, and was full of basic, carnal pleasure. I could have stayed the night, if I chose, and woken up to comfort and pleasure. But maybe a little too much intimacy too, so I didn't.
This afternoon, I woke up from a nap to familiar hands and familiar pleasure. It felt like a dance with someone who knows how to lead, perfectly synced steps, not scripted, but known. Immensely satisfying, even in its lack of newness.
And tonight I went home with a date, someone who I could tell wasn't going to be a good lover. Too cocky. But I was attracted to him, and wanted to give it a chance. But my first instincts were right. He was awkward and ashamed, mechanical and distant. Any moments of true connection were quickly pushed aside. He was fascinated by the idea of a woman who truly loved sex and was comfortable with her sexuality, but he couldn't believe it was real. There is no worse mood killer than the knowledge that your date is never going to believe you're not faking it. So, I gave him what he wanted, mechanical sex. And I left quickly, ignoring his hangdog, why are you leaving look. There was nothing I could do to convince him I wasn't the construct in his mind, so why bother?
And now I'm in a bar, waiting for a second date to wake up. I have a good feeling about this one. Sweetness is always a good thing, as long as he's not too fragile. I worry about this ones heart, and will have to be more careful than I'd like.
Lots of sex is great. It is. The more I get, the more I want. But its also genuinely dangerous, and draining, and so much work to make sure you're not hurting someone that sometimes its not worth it.
But only sometimes. Other times, the infinite potential is almost overwhelmingly awesome. You don't have to be hot to love sex (believe me, I know). You don't have to be heartless, or cocky, or desperate, or slutty, or needy, or unhealthy. I have to remind myself of that fact after guys like tonight.
This afternoon, I woke up from a nap to familiar hands and familiar pleasure. It felt like a dance with someone who knows how to lead, perfectly synced steps, not scripted, but known. Immensely satisfying, even in its lack of newness.
And tonight I went home with a date, someone who I could tell wasn't going to be a good lover. Too cocky. But I was attracted to him, and wanted to give it a chance. But my first instincts were right. He was awkward and ashamed, mechanical and distant. Any moments of true connection were quickly pushed aside. He was fascinated by the idea of a woman who truly loved sex and was comfortable with her sexuality, but he couldn't believe it was real. There is no worse mood killer than the knowledge that your date is never going to believe you're not faking it. So, I gave him what he wanted, mechanical sex. And I left quickly, ignoring his hangdog, why are you leaving look. There was nothing I could do to convince him I wasn't the construct in his mind, so why bother?
And now I'm in a bar, waiting for a second date to wake up. I have a good feeling about this one. Sweetness is always a good thing, as long as he's not too fragile. I worry about this ones heart, and will have to be more careful than I'd like.
Lots of sex is great. It is. The more I get, the more I want. But its also genuinely dangerous, and draining, and so much work to make sure you're not hurting someone that sometimes its not worth it.
But only sometimes. Other times, the infinite potential is almost overwhelmingly awesome. You don't have to be hot to love sex (believe me, I know). You don't have to be heartless, or cocky, or desperate, or slutty, or needy, or unhealthy. I have to remind myself of that fact after guys like tonight.
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