Sunday, February 13, 2011

The first time makes all the difference

I think the quality of your first time makes all the difference in how you feel about sex for pretty much the rest of your life.  At least, that's the idea I carried with me through my teens.  And that's why I made sure my first time was good and special.

It was the summer before my senior year...Fourth of July, in fact.  My boyfriend and I had been dating for all of a month after a year of flirting and friendship.  We were madly, passionately, in teenage love.  It was the kind of love where we would just lie around and stare into each other's eyes.  It was the kind of love where we would make out for hours and I would be slick and wet and wanting.  It was the kind of love where I wasn't afraid to have sex. 

So, when we were away for a day trip to an amusement park, just the two of us, and the sky opened up on us, it wasn't such a stretch that we would end up...making other plans.  In my mind, I knew what was going to happen, but I still was nervous.  There's no reclaiming one's virginity.  Once it's gone, it is something of a done deal. 

Still, we stopped at a pharmacy.  He double parked in his frustration to get our day going.  He ran in and picked up snack food, a rose, and condoms.  I knew what we were in for once I was handed the rose.  It was a lovely gesture.  He was great with gestures.  No one has quite measured up since, except for my man.  The difference is that my first, his gestures were all monetary.  And my man, his gestures are all actions.  I think I prefer actions.

Our next stop was at a cottage rental place.  And when he hopped back in the car, we drove to a cottage on the lake.  Pretty freakin' perfect, huh?

Then we went inside.  He sat on the bed.  I was...circling it nervously.  He took my hands in his and looked me in the eye. 

first: Listen, we don't have to do anything.  I just didn't know what else to do since it's raining.  We can just watch tv if you want.  No pressure.

So, naturally it was on after that.  He was the first guy I slept with.  He was the first guy I gave my heart.  It was special and good and right.

We undressed.  He undressed me.  There was plenty of awkward fumbling, even though I wasn't his first.  And there was a lot of kissing and touching.  Then it came the time that I most feared...penetration.  He eased his way in after plenty of fingering and stretching.  There was that painful tearing part.  It burned.  It hurt.  Some. 

He did want I had asked, what we had planned.  He just stayed there in me for a moment, letting me adjust to his presence.  Then he started moving slowly, and before I knew it, my hips were rising to meet his thrusts.  Then, it was over.  No, I didn't cum.  I was too busy feeling and analyzing and thinking my way through it.  I wanted to remember everything.

He let me sleep, all nestled against him.  It was bliss.  And when I was on.  Actually, it was on two more times.  He bought a three pack of condoms and naive innocent that I was, I thought we had to use all of them or they'd go to waste.  I came the second time, on top.  It's still my favorite position.  And I came the second time, too.

After that, I came pretty much every time.  I was a horny little thing.  Is it any wonder that guy wanted to marry me?  We didn't, of course.  Not many people marry their high school sweethearts.  I thought I would.  I probably should have, but I broke up with him a year or so later.    Long story.  Best saved for some other time. 

What matters is that I had an amazing first time.  I felt so loved and connected.  And I guess I still associate sex in a relationship with being loved and connected.  And that's why I miss my man sooo much.  We're three weeks into the drought.  He still holds me.  He still touches me.  I'm hanging in there.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

A response...

Since I haven't been doing anything sexy lately, I haven't been checking my email.  Well, technically, it's our email.  It's the email that we have had for our feisty life.  It used to be so fun for us to check it throughout the day.

I would report to him, he would contact me.  It was one of the many ways that we stayed so connected.  I loved it.

Yeah, so I haven't been looking at it lately. and there, I have.  Clearly, however, he has no interest.  No interest in our email.  No interest in sex.  No interest in me...other than in a purely companionable way. 


I think I've taken it rather well.  Still, I miss the closeness.  I miss having him in me.  I miss having him fondle and play with me.  I miss fondling and playing with him. 

He still holds me nightly.  We still spoon.  He even frequently cups my boobs as we fall asleep.  It's good.  It's nice.  It's enough...for now.'s not. 

We had a a chick we contacted a month ago...on Rudester.  She would love a threesome.  She would love to give me a nice girl on girl experience.  And she loved my nipples. 

So now I have to wonder how I broach this subject, how I bring up the longing and the need.  I wonder if I can convince him to participate...or watch...or watch while I participate.  I need me some serious sex.  And we're just this side of the weekend.   Or as I like to think of it...three official weeks of drought.

Somehow...I will bring it up.  Just not right now so much.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

The conversation went a little something like this

I know I seem to have fallen off the grid.  But it's damn hard to write about sex when you aren't having any.  Finally, I had to address the glowing neon pink elephant in the room.

me: Is it me?  Are you not attracted to me anymore?

man: No.  We just have a lot going on right now.  Sex isn't on my mind.

me: *sigh*

man: I've gone as long as six or eight months without sex when I've been going through changes.

I must have looked really alarmed at this point.  I remember letting my head hit the door frame as I leaned against it.  And I'm pretty sure there was more sighing and my eyes may have even filled with tears.

man: I'm not saying we will go six or eight months.

me: I can't do it.  Two weeks is about my limit.

man: I know.  You were masturbating last night.

me: What would you like me to do?  I can't go that long.

Seriously, I can't.  That was about my breaking point.  And he loves when I masturbate in front of him, so I suppose I was secretly hoping that it would turn him on, spur him to action.  No such luck.  In fact, he was annoyed so I had to take it to the living room.

man: It will get better.  Give me time to adjust.

I'm giving him time.  All I ever do is give him time.  It's the story of my life.  Being with him has been this amazing practice in patience.  And I worry that one of these days I'm going to tire of it and move on.  And I suppose I also worry that I won't.  I worry that I'll stay longer than I should, that I'll hold on when I should let go.

But I'm here now.  And I'm making the best of it...even if I do run out of things to write about.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Those who Those who can't...dream.

And so I've taken to dreaming about sex.  My man has been sick and under the weather for almost a week.  We are snuggly, but not so sexy.  That's completely understandable.

I'm going to have to guess that's why I've taken to dreaming about sex.  Last night's dream was particularly steamy.  Apparently, I've also taken to dreaming about things that NEVER actually happen between us.  Totally a-typical.  Completely awesome.

I started to tell my man about the dream.  His first concern.

man: Who was the sex with?

me: You.

He seemed satisfied for a moment.  Then a new thought came to mind.

man: Just me?

me: Yes, just you.

WE have amazing sex.  Why is that so hard for him to believe?

In my dream, he walked into the room, looked at me, and asked if he could make mad passionate love to me.  (See, total dream.  He would never suggest that we ever make love.)

He was loving and passionate.  His hands roamed all over my body, stroking, teasing and tempting.  It was so good I could almost feel it.  (Of course, it helps that he does roam all over my body while he sleeps.)

What struck me most about the dream was the intensity.  He was so in love with me.  He was so intent on me and our shared passion.  He was absolutely perfect.

And I teased him.  He had to train me to smile during sex.  When we first started having sex, I was always so completely overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through me that I suppose I looked as though I was in pain.  He would urge me to smile.  He would even smile lovingly down on me. 

Now, we smile all the time.  We smile and moan and talk.  Sometimes the talk is a little dirty.  Sometimes, the talk is affectionate.  Mostly, he urges me to orgasm.

Maybe soon, I won't have to dream and we'll have some serious sex.  Until then...