Updated: Dec 22, 2019
I thought I knew what it meant to be intimate --- then I met him
I was sure I had a clue.
But he reminded me there’s still much to learn and discover.
Our encounters are sweet. The newness of them stashed away in my mind. The first lover I let record our session. Though the humidity of a spring afternoon brought out the kink in me, there was something genuine about our connection.
Been years since someone loved on me.
Fuck buddies became a dime a dozen and as much I craved more, I’d gotten used to the ins and outs of pastime peen. Intimate moments far, few, and in between. Couldn’t even get a nice postcoital snuggle. Dudes would just roll over and catch a snooze before leaving — but not him. He rested. Nuzzled his body into mine. Didn’t mind the sex stains from our bodies.
We conversed afterward.
About our plans for the rest of the day and the week. Whether I liked a certain move. How much we enjoyed the reciprocity of mild asphyxiation amid soft grinds. Avoided the realities of life that tend to trigger depression after a good sexcapade and stuck to the pleasantries — like the bottle of chocolate red wine we capped off before we indulged in one another and the “adult brownies” we shared between each glass. Laughs about his other lovers, in particular, the ones who drained him most.
Surprised I wasn’t green with envy.
I understood the nature of our engagement, clear on his purpose. I say all relationships are karmic until we meet our life partner and knew there were a plethora of lessons to learn, wounds I needed to heal.
He helped me heal.
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