Earlier, I wrote about the first time that I had sex and how I didn’t really remember much of what happened. While I could probably make something up (who would really know the difference?), and try to make the process of losing my virginity exciting, I think that I should instead tell the story about the first time that I had good sex.
Now, for me, the best sex isn’t just about a mind-blowing orgasm. Sure, I’m not going to pass if one happens to come my way, but there were times that sex just felt right. I don’t think that everyone wants the same things that I do, but I hope that people don’t settle when it comes to sex. Figure out what you want, figure out what’s important to you, and don’t lower your standards when you lower your pants.
The following recounts the first time that I realized that I had not only the sex that I wanted, but that I was in the type of relationship that I always wanted. Regardless of the type of sex that you have, or who you have sex with, I hope that you feel the same way about it that I did: safe, secure, and comfortable.
“Well, not really. I say I am…”
“…But you aren’t.”
“No, no, wait. Really…”
“It’s okay, really, I know.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
The floor creaked as we made our way through the hall—you always forget the spot on the floor even though I’ve told you so many times over the years—and annoyance colored your words, but I knew that you were smiling.
“Why do we have these arguments? You know I always win.”
“I’m just saying…”
I slid my finger into your waistband and pulled close. The smell of you made me pause. Through the fabric I felt you stiffen for just a second and then let go; your breath came hard as I began to exhale on the back of your neck. I ran my chin along the curve of your shoulder and bit down.
The words came out and lingered for a second before they were swept away by the hum of the fan. I had intended to say them louder, but I could not speak above a whisper.
“I thought that you always win?”
“Maybe not this time.”
In that space, I gave you everything—I gave you me. The arguments that I had prepared caught on my lips and faded away into the empty air. I knew that although I never failed to prove my point, you would always triumph in the things that mattered.
You sat at the foot of the bed staring off into your thoughts. You stood up slowly and began to undress—you knew I liked to watch. We fell down together and I saw alarm cross your face.
A finger across your lips and a smile told you that everything was fine. We began to move to the sound of the wind outside, to the rustling of the leaves on the lawn. Swollen lips. Finger tips. Flushed cheeks. A flash of light. Don’t stop. Your face buried in the pillowcase. Your waistline dancing with mine. Don’t stop. Don’t stop until our backs arch and our toes cross. Don’t stop.
Fingers cradled your head and felt the smooth coolness of your hair; I loved the way your scent lingered long after we’re done. I smelled the sweat and I felt the heat. There was a time when I needed to hear you say that you loved me—that was before I knew. My hand wound around you ear and down your body, settling on your stomach. We talked for a while, about what I can never remember. Tomorrow seemed so far away and yet morning came all too soon.