Life after sex
It cracks me up, and awes me a little, how much better life is after sex.
I have had a deeply conflicted relationship with sex for a couple years now. I let it control me, freaked out at how easy that was, and promptly went WAY overboard in the opposite direction. I'd go for months with nothing, indulge in a furiously carnal and generally ill thought out bout with an inappropriate but easy connection, freak out again, and start the whole cycle over.
The past couple of months, I've been focusing on allowing myself to make the decisions when it comes to sex. I have been propositioned numerous times, after having opened myself up energetically to the idea, and have given myself the time to think about each one. Regardless of what kind of pressure I was under, I always gave myself the time. I wouldn't apologize for it, wouldn't call myself a tease for making out with someone and then pulling back to analyze how I felt. I just took the time. And, generally, it's meant I haven't gotten laid. I've said no to every question. I didn't question too hard WHY I was saying no, I'd just let myself say it. It's amazing how difficult that was. I am not a teenager. I am a very experienced 38 year old woman, with more notches on her bedpost than bedpost.
But every time I said no, my heart beat faster. I'd sweat a little, get an upset stomach.
Jesus.
Anyways. The more I said no, without thinking too deeply or caring too deeply about why I said no, the easier it got.
I went dancing this last Friday night, after having been invited by a very young friend. I met a couple of people I knew while there, and we all hung out together. It was a deeply redneck sort of night, cowboy hats and glitter and tight jeans and bad perfume. The music was good, though, and I danced like I haven't danced in years. Loose, happy, and sucking in every ounce of sexual energy around me and spitting it back out in a fine spray to make everyone happy.
I saw Darius while I was dancing, coming in with another man, and gave him a good long look. He was tall, handsome, and had very wide shoulders. I love wide shoulders. They're such good resting places. He was also black, and extremely sharply dressed. Sexy button up shirt, nice pants, well shaved... he just looked like he smelled really good.
He gave me a look back, and smiled a little smile.
He told me last night, shortly after my 4th wet, screaming orgasm, that he'd known I'd follow him out to the back deck. He told his brother, who he was with, that I'd follow them out to the back area and talk to him. He also, apparently, called dibs on me.
We talked a lot Friday night, drank a little, dealt with some obnoxious redneck drama (which he handled in such a compassionate, smart way), and then made out in the parking lot next to my jeep. His hands were up my skirt, baring my lacy tights wearing ass to the world, and he was well on his way to convincing me to come back to his hotel with him. But I took a moment, thought about it, and said no. Not tonight. If you want to make plans tomorrow afternoon, then hell yeah. I will show up naked at your hotel room door. But not tonight. I'm happy, I'm horny, and I've had more alcohol than I'm comfortable making decisions about sex with. I'd had 4 straight absolute with lemons, and while I'd danced and sweated most of it out, I was still less inhibited than I would be completely sober.
He handled rejection well. He got my number, he nuzzled my neck and asked me if I was sure, and he kissed me goodbye. Then he texted me 5 minutes later with the name of his hotel and a time for us to meet up.
We met at 4, went out for dinner and a drink, went back to his hotel, and fucked like bunnies. He was good. Hefty, with a bit of a belly and self conscious about it. His dick was lovely, thicker towards the tip, and not too long. I got on top at first, and I could tell there was no way I was going to come in that position with his particular shape. So I asked him to kneel, so I could lie on my back in front of him with my ass elevated and my legs around his waist and use his dick the way I needed. He was, unsurprisingly, completely down with that.
I also was able to go down on him for a good half hour. I was surprised by that. I had set firm boundaries at dinner, letting him know I'd just recently had jaw surgery, that I had dental plates, and that I honestly wasn't sure what I'd be able to do. I told him no taking charge when it came to me being able to do whatever I wanted. I had to be able to be in control of where my mouth was and what I did with it. He was, again unsurprisingly, completely down with that. He was respectful and sweet and grateful. And I was able to do far more than I had thought I'd be able to do. Hallelujah!! That was a big fear for me, that I'd be incapable of or too self conscious to do what I love doing.
I came I don't know how many times, in ways that I might have blushed to think about if they weren't so much fun, and he was thrilled with each one. He was the kind of guy who needed his partners pleasure, like I need my partners pleasure, so we were pretty insanely compatible.
After, we got up, got dressed, and went out for some Mexican food. We ate back at his hotel, and when I said goodbye, he wasn't happy. We've promised to keep in touch, and make another meetup work.
I've spent the days since then glowing, with excellent skin. I've been more emotionally stable, more mentally aggressive.
I hate needing sex. But I love wanting it. I don't need it to be happy, but I AM happy as a sexual creature. I am happier when I have embraced that facet of my own power. In some ways, it feels far more than physical, the power it gives me. I've always felt like a bit of a succubus with partners, though I try to give back as much as I take, because of just how much I gain from nothing more than their desire and pleasure. I'd have made an excellent Madam, I think.
I have had a deeply conflicted relationship with sex for a couple years now. I let it control me, freaked out at how easy that was, and promptly went WAY overboard in the opposite direction. I'd go for months with nothing, indulge in a furiously carnal and generally ill thought out bout with an inappropriate but easy connection, freak out again, and start the whole cycle over.
The past couple of months, I've been focusing on allowing myself to make the decisions when it comes to sex. I have been propositioned numerous times, after having opened myself up energetically to the idea, and have given myself the time to think about each one. Regardless of what kind of pressure I was under, I always gave myself the time. I wouldn't apologize for it, wouldn't call myself a tease for making out with someone and then pulling back to analyze how I felt. I just took the time. And, generally, it's meant I haven't gotten laid. I've said no to every question. I didn't question too hard WHY I was saying no, I'd just let myself say it. It's amazing how difficult that was. I am not a teenager. I am a very experienced 38 year old woman, with more notches on her bedpost than bedpost.
But every time I said no, my heart beat faster. I'd sweat a little, get an upset stomach.
Jesus.
Anyways. The more I said no, without thinking too deeply or caring too deeply about why I said no, the easier it got.
I went dancing this last Friday night, after having been invited by a very young friend. I met a couple of people I knew while there, and we all hung out together. It was a deeply redneck sort of night, cowboy hats and glitter and tight jeans and bad perfume. The music was good, though, and I danced like I haven't danced in years. Loose, happy, and sucking in every ounce of sexual energy around me and spitting it back out in a fine spray to make everyone happy.
I saw Darius while I was dancing, coming in with another man, and gave him a good long look. He was tall, handsome, and had very wide shoulders. I love wide shoulders. They're such good resting places. He was also black, and extremely sharply dressed. Sexy button up shirt, nice pants, well shaved... he just looked like he smelled really good.
He gave me a look back, and smiled a little smile.
He told me last night, shortly after my 4th wet, screaming orgasm, that he'd known I'd follow him out to the back deck. He told his brother, who he was with, that I'd follow them out to the back area and talk to him. He also, apparently, called dibs on me.
We talked a lot Friday night, drank a little, dealt with some obnoxious redneck drama (which he handled in such a compassionate, smart way), and then made out in the parking lot next to my jeep. His hands were up my skirt, baring my lacy tights wearing ass to the world, and he was well on his way to convincing me to come back to his hotel with him. But I took a moment, thought about it, and said no. Not tonight. If you want to make plans tomorrow afternoon, then hell yeah. I will show up naked at your hotel room door. But not tonight. I'm happy, I'm horny, and I've had more alcohol than I'm comfortable making decisions about sex with. I'd had 4 straight absolute with lemons, and while I'd danced and sweated most of it out, I was still less inhibited than I would be completely sober.
He handled rejection well. He got my number, he nuzzled my neck and asked me if I was sure, and he kissed me goodbye. Then he texted me 5 minutes later with the name of his hotel and a time for us to meet up.
We met at 4, went out for dinner and a drink, went back to his hotel, and fucked like bunnies. He was good. Hefty, with a bit of a belly and self conscious about it. His dick was lovely, thicker towards the tip, and not too long. I got on top at first, and I could tell there was no way I was going to come in that position with his particular shape. So I asked him to kneel, so I could lie on my back in front of him with my ass elevated and my legs around his waist and use his dick the way I needed. He was, unsurprisingly, completely down with that.
I also was able to go down on him for a good half hour. I was surprised by that. I had set firm boundaries at dinner, letting him know I'd just recently had jaw surgery, that I had dental plates, and that I honestly wasn't sure what I'd be able to do. I told him no taking charge when it came to me being able to do whatever I wanted. I had to be able to be in control of where my mouth was and what I did with it. He was, again unsurprisingly, completely down with that. He was respectful and sweet and grateful. And I was able to do far more than I had thought I'd be able to do. Hallelujah!! That was a big fear for me, that I'd be incapable of or too self conscious to do what I love doing.
I came I don't know how many times, in ways that I might have blushed to think about if they weren't so much fun, and he was thrilled with each one. He was the kind of guy who needed his partners pleasure, like I need my partners pleasure, so we were pretty insanely compatible.
After, we got up, got dressed, and went out for some Mexican food. We ate back at his hotel, and when I said goodbye, he wasn't happy. We've promised to keep in touch, and make another meetup work.
I've spent the days since then glowing, with excellent skin. I've been more emotionally stable, more mentally aggressive.
I hate needing sex. But I love wanting it. I don't need it to be happy, but I AM happy as a sexual creature. I am happier when I have embraced that facet of my own power. In some ways, it feels far more than physical, the power it gives me. I've always felt like a bit of a succubus with partners, though I try to give back as much as I take, because of just how much I gain from nothing more than their desire and pleasure. I'd have made an excellent Madam, I think.
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