sex is such a mystery to me.
by myself, i can writhe and twitch, but with him it is never the same. the foreplay is always lovely; his mouth and tongue twirl with mine, and our bodies grind and crush each other with ferocity. i love to stroke his beard, and he loves to squeeze my ass--i get so flustered. but then, we get to business, and it is as though i turn to stone. there are brief moments of light, and i try so desperately to hold on to them, but i they always seem to slip through my fingers. in the end, i become an actor. i make the noises i should make, i tell my fingers to clutch and claw at his skin, i contract and shiver, until he has had his fill and we can end our secret little dance.
this charade baffles me. he is charismatic and experienced; he is funnier than most of the people i have ever known in my life, and i have known many people; he is incredibly handsome, with those chocolate eyes, that wiry beard, and such thick, dark curls; i am overwhelmingly attracted to him. thinking about our late night activities makes me grin with hunger. and our agreement could not be more perfect: neither of us are emotionally available--with my lingering mental issues and his half-hearted breakup--so we simply have no-strings-attached friends-with-benefits sex with each other.
i do not understand what is so wrong with me that i could be so red hot for so long, and then, as soon as the moment of electricity comes, turn cold as ice. maybe there is nothing wrong with me. maybe this is just my brain's twisted way to tell me to stop being a fucking whore. i just cannot wrap my head around this situation.
i hope some day i will just have a breakthrough, just finally LET GO and GIVE IN to the mid-blowing orgasms i know i could have with him. maybe, some day. until then, i will continue to bide my time and play my part. a little practice never hurt anybody, eh?
by myself, i can writhe and twitch, but with him it is never the same. the foreplay is always lovely; his mouth and tongue twirl with mine, and our bodies grind and crush each other with ferocity. i love to stroke his beard, and he loves to squeeze my ass--i get so flustered. but then, we get to business, and it is as though i turn to stone. there are brief moments of light, and i try so desperately to hold on to them, but i they always seem to slip through my fingers. in the end, i become an actor. i make the noises i should make, i tell my fingers to clutch and claw at his skin, i contract and shiver, until he has had his fill and we can end our secret little dance.
this charade baffles me. he is charismatic and experienced; he is funnier than most of the people i have ever known in my life, and i have known many people; he is incredibly handsome, with those chocolate eyes, that wiry beard, and such thick, dark curls; i am overwhelmingly attracted to him. thinking about our late night activities makes me grin with hunger. and our agreement could not be more perfect: neither of us are emotionally available--with my lingering mental issues and his half-hearted breakup--so we simply have no-strings-attached friends-with-benefits sex with each other.
i do not understand what is so wrong with me that i could be so red hot for so long, and then, as soon as the moment of electricity comes, turn cold as ice. maybe there is nothing wrong with me. maybe this is just my brain's twisted way to tell me to stop being a fucking whore. i just cannot wrap my head around this situation.
i hope some day i will just have a breakthrough, just finally LET GO and GIVE IN to the mid-blowing orgasms i know i could have with him. maybe, some day. until then, i will continue to bide my time and play my part. a little practice never hurt anybody, eh?
