A Long Night

Last night... So last night was an interesting night.


I didn't 'man up'.


I didn't tell him I wanted him to be firmer with me. I just told him he was sexier when he was assertive.


He was at first. He was firmer. He dragged my hips over the end of the bed and pushed me right over the edge with orgasms. So many orgasms I was quivering and shaking. I'd guess more than a dozen.


I got him on his back on the bed and went down on him.


And nothing.


He just wasn't up for it.


I could sense the disconnection immediately. Like something had washed through his mind. Like a thought had been swirling through his head and had re-routed the blood.


I could feel him tensing up. Him retreating from sex. As though it was game over. I curled up next to him, Kissed him and curled up next to him, running my hand over his muscular chest. 


I asked him what was going through his head. He chose not to say. I nuzzled and kissed his neck. It wasn't sexual, more comforting. I didn't want to make a deal out of it. I've dealt with penis issues as a girlfriend - it's easy then. You tell them how you feel, that you like them for who they are. What the hell do you say to an ex? 


I rushed a platitude. I wasn't trying to be condescending. I just wanted him to relax. My comfort sounded hollow to my critical ears. I paused and breathed. His dark brown eyes were a zillion miles away. My trite reassurances were lost in the void.


I hung in that awkward place. I quizzed him. I got imprecise blurred sentiment. 
"It's different. Now that we're not together. The sex is. I'm different" he stuttered. His face impassive. His voice lacked it's usual cadence. The sentences were forced. The sentiment lost. Yes, the observation that things are different was valid. Things were. But why? My sexual feelings hadn't changed.


And then it struck me.


For me, sex and love are exclusive feelings. I can love someone asexually. I can have amazing sex with someone I don't love. He was in crisis: he'd never really slept with a girl he wasn't on a "path". To him, this gentle but fulfilling sex was filled with all those guilt emotions that those of us who are less conservative feel only when we breach one of societies more illicit rules.


To him, this was me compromising. And with that, he some how felt freer. Freer to touch me, freer to push me sexually. Then the guilt. Guilt that women deserve more. Guilt that he wasn't respecting me. And for him, those two feelings had been personified in the moment that I pulled his cock from my lips, licked it then sucked the head like a lollipop. That was what caused the freeze. I'd done it so he'd be able to see. I thought that he'd like the look of my soft lips. And I'd been right. I hadn't anticipated the guilt.


I assured him that there was nothing I was doing that I wouldn't have done as his girlfriend, that the freedoms he was exploring was just him exploring his sexuality. I assured him that the sex was amazing. My trite reassurances from before became veritable truths. With more direct and genuine conversation, he eased. Pulling me on top of him, he slipped his rock hard cock inside me and I started to grind against him. His fingertips stroking my soft breasts, as I came he pressed them against my clit, rocking my hips harder with the other hand.


We rested for a moment after I came for the sixth time on top. It was seconds before he had me on my back, legs over his shoulders. His cock pressed firmly against my vagina, slipping in. 


I came instantly. He pressed my knees down against my chest, pushing his cock further inside me. I was a shaking mess. I came again. I shook so hard. The more I shook the more he pushed and the more I came.


I finally shook and shook and moaned and he came hard, deep inside of me. He rolled of next to me. We lay in bliss. The whole encounter, from him pulling me to the edge of the bed to us lying shaking on the bed was four hours. I'd had well in excess of two dozen orgasms. I was physically exhausted. We laughed, shared a moment of peace together. The chemistry between us was electric. 


We curled up together and I slept in his bed. Two hours later I got up, went and sat on the couch. Passed an hour and a bit with some Angry Birds. Weighed up what I'd wear when I got home. I'd woken with a pounding headache and a very sore throat. The chills were running through my body. I curled up back in bed and (s)Ex brought me something for my fever and some water. He stroked my tired head. We lay naked and entwined for another hour, my fingers running over his morning erection. 8am. I excused myself. It was home time. I did some basic stretches to ease my aching muscles. My head was still throbbing and my throat was aching. I kissed him, dressed and he walked me to the door.


I rushed home, the painkillers slowly easing my achy body.


I showered quickly, make up, lipstick and a tidy outfit later, I met a new man for a cup of coffee. TallBoy. He was handsome and funny. Outdoorsy. He's muscular. He looks like something off a glossy cover.


Conversation flowed easily. His big bright blue eyes have a flash of cheekiness. The coffee was easy, the chat was pleasant. He laughed at jokes that weren't funny. Turns out, it's not just girls who do that.


He kissed me on the cheek goodbye. I was grateful to go, the painkillers from earlier were wearing off, and the drive home seemed like an eternally long way.


I rested my forehead against my steering wheel.


It's early afternoon. There is so much more of today left.


So much more.


Despite my aching muscles and my throbbing headache and sore throat. Despite my returning fever. I prepare to text (s)Ex. I'm going to tell him that I'll see him after I finish with some friends tonight. I want to see him. I want to feel his tongue pressed against my clit again. I want to see his big brown eyes looking at me like I"m something of wonder. I feel like a princess the way he looks at me.


As I sit, message screen open. I ponder. What do I say? I know TallBoy is the embodiment of everything (s)Ex would dread I'd like. He'd hate him. If he knew I'd spent the morning with another man, he'd be green eyed and jealous. He'd retreat. Those warm brown eyes would become steeled cold. I'd hate to lose the little care we have left. It'd be saddening to watch him walk away. Fear that he'll make me sad reassures me. I hate being afraid. I'll keep my secrets from him. He need not know. Right?