I’m glad we fucked before we got drinks.
I am always tense around him before sex. I keep wondering if it will happen, worrying about how I look, what I say. Am I witty enough? Fun enough? Worthy of his cock inside me? All of this is silly shit, yet I can’t help the thoughts running through my brain.
He took that tension away within fifteen minutes of my arrival.
“Can you be naked when I get out of the shower?”
His quotes consistently make me grin.
This wasn’t a marathon session, but quality over quantity always.
He has this way of guiding me exactly how he wants me. A grabbed shoulder, a push, a nudge. It’s the subtle things about our sex that I’ll miss.
Each time we had sex, I knew, could very well be the last time. This time I was right.
He had me ride him, made sure I came multiple times. We finished with me on my hands and knees, him pumping hard and fast.
Our sex left my spirits buoyed knowing I still had time to spend with him.
He didn’t know where he wanted to go. I wasn’t hungry, but did want a drink. In the car, I was chatty, bright. I remarked on the pretty houses we drove by, memories from my previous gig work in the area, and a random joke I wanted to keep going.
We ended up at a bar in a trendy neighborhood. It was busy, so we sat on stools and ordered from the bartender. He was hungry, got a couple appetizers. I sipped slow on a delicious flavored martini.
Alcohol making me brave, I ended up asking one of my dick-drunk-ridiculous questions.
“Why do we have such bad timing?”
“I don’t think we have bad timing. We only have bad timing if you want something else than what we are.”
He seemed more open, though it may have been my lack of nervousness allowing me to be more inquisitive. It probably helped that we knew we had to have a difficult conversation.
Though actually it wasn’t that difficult. We both knew things were to change.
I wanted reassurance he was happy, that this relationship was better than his last. He alleviated my worries, for now.
He needed me to understand what he could give me from here on out, that for now he didn’t see that changing, but he couldn’t promise it wouldn’t. Again, I understood.
Yet still, our banter continued.
He pushed me, asking about my obscene levels of eye contact. I pushed back at his almost utter lack of any.
I confess, I probably should’ve eaten something beyond the three wings he gave me from his plate and the few nibs of calamari I nabbed, but I wasn’t hungry. I did end up tipsy by the time he paid the bill as evidenced by my lack of volume control during later parts of our conversation.
In a moment fueled by insobriety, I confessed an idea that’s been nagging me lately.
“I’m contemplating not having sex for a year.”
He asked why. I want to know who I am if sex were never an option when I meet someone. He countered that I’d still be the same person, just without sex. I answered with a simple fact: who we are is wrapped up in what we do. Our actions dictate how we are perceived. So then, how am I perceived when I never allow sex to be a part of the equation?
It’s a thought. I’ll get back to you on if it goes anywhere.
On the way back to his place, a phone call came in over his car speakers. I clamped my hands over my mouth. Giggles desperately tried to break loose, but were held back.
After his call, he asked, “Were you covering your mouth?”
The giggles then came.
Somehow we transitioned into a conversation about our less than stellar childhoods affecting our motivations and actions in life. Each of us had our reasons for who we are. He thinks, deep down, beyond any of my self-claimed labels, I would be happy as a wife and mother. He thinks, ultimately, I just desperately want to be loved. In this he is probably right.
Parked outside of his place, we sat in his car for ten or so minutes chatting at the end of our visit. I suspect he didn’t want me back up in his home because he knew I would drop to my knees as soon as his front door was closed.
He again assured me that we were not through, just different now. We each promised not to ghost the other. There was talk of schedules, and the realization that ours didn’t match up for quite a while. But there was still connection, still comfort, still a person to lean on in each other.
I’m glad I still have Gent in my life.
Categorised as: Gent
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