Rough week with the current boy in my life this week – lots of misunderstandings and anger, compounded by the fact that we’re communicating virtually, not face to face. Sometimes it’s hard to remember why we’re still bothering to keep in contact at all, so, in bed one night I made a list of the top 3 things he’s taught me to love.
Loving kissing per se didn’t necessarily come from him. There’ve been plenty of (well, some) boys in my life before who I’ve enjoyed kissing, often enjoying it most when we’ve been getting it on in public and kissing has to serve as foreplay.
But, oh, god, this one can kiss. I know I’ve mentioned it in a few previous posts, but I don’t think I’ve yet captured quite how amazing it feels when I’m doing something mundane, like pouring a glass of wine, or making dinner, and he moves closer so that I know what his intentions are even before his lips meet mine. I’d happily spend hours kissing him, but the problem with being a good kisser is that it rarely stops there …
Woman on top
I can’t begin to explain how much I used to hate this. The only good thing about it was that it made my tits look nice, but everything else – straddling him without accidentally kicking him/elbowing him/falling off the bed just scared me. And that’s just the side of things that relates to my insecurities around my disability. There was also the fact that I went through a phase of sleeping with skinny, geeky type guys, and even though I was much slimmer than I am now, I was terrified of them having to bear my weight.
None of those things are problematic when it’s done properly, of course – I can use his hands to give myself leverage, he’s strong enough to pull me onto him without me feeling like some kind of elephant, and I can see his expression change with each different sensation. What’s not to like? So yeah, that one is something he’s taught me, and for that, I am undeniably grateful.
Coming inside me
He’s the first guy I’ve ever had condom-free sex with, and nothing, nothing, prepared me for how hot I’d find it when he came inside me.
I have a friend who hates this – she’s always relieved to be able to use condoms with a new guy because semen makes her feel messy and unclean.
I don’t get that. There’s nothing I like more than sliding my underwear back on at the end of an evening knowing it’ll be soaked with his come by the time I get home. Sure, he can come on my tits, my stomach or my arse, and I can rub it in rather than wipe it off so that I’m still covered in it, but it’s still nothing compared to the feeling of it dampening the insides of my thighs hours later.
Pingback: Condoms: fictional contraceptive of choice | Sex blog (of sorts)