How it all started

I’m hanging out in my lounge with this guy, feeling a little giddy and intoxicated. Occasionally, we ask each other questions or go out to try and gauge how well we fit. I note with great satisfaction that he orders the exact same McDonald’s breakfast that I do, and I sit back, feeling proud and content as he exclaims, “Fuck, I love this one!” in response to every song on my playlist. Although there are sometimes understandable mismatches—I wouldn’t expect a guy to relate to Karen Carpenter the way I do—he often agrees with my selections, which is uncommon.

This amount of excitement makes me feel good about myself. I talk a lot about “connection” on this blog, and this is another hint of it. This is part of a song about accepting your flaws and being at peace with the fact that you don’t matter in an infinite world. I lean in for a kiss as I face him.

This guy kisses so well. That slowly. Not only does he kiss slowly because of the slow music, but I think it’s also because I kiss slowly. At least whenever I’m allowed to. Unless there’s a very good reason to do something quickly and urgently, I tend to kiss slowly and deeply these days. Changing the pressure of my lips and sometimes where I place them (like tracing along someone’s jaw or brushing a line of shaky kisses down the side of their neck towards the collarbone), but the pace is usually just above “glacial.”

I really want to feel a kiss, you know?

I try to kiss slowly most of the time. And this guy has the same speed as me. He’s not frantically dominating or in a hurry to move on to the next sex thing. He’s also not trying to stick his tongue in my mouth when my lips are barely open. He just likes the kiss. He’s sitting on the couch with his back to me and his head turned toward me. Either he wants to take his time with this or he’s responding on purpose to the way I try to kiss him.

I’m absolutely on board.

Right away. Of the body. With power. I’m just atoms and want.

It feels like we’re slow dancing when this guy makes out with me.

It feels like every jolt of electricity that goes through my body is focused on the places where our lips and bodies touch. In addition to the kiss, I like how my palm rests on the inside of his thigh at an angle that lets me feel his cock getting hard and heavy in his jeans. As we held each other, the heat from his upper arm rose up and hit my arm. He strokes the bare skin on my back, following the thin strip of skin that’s showing where my top rises above the waistband of my yoga pants. It feels like a pinpoint of half-pleasure, half-tickling.

When done with light pressure and time to sink in, these tiny moves have a much stronger effect than when done quickly and with a lot of force. Not only do they send information to my brain, but they also reach other important places. Sending lust to the parts of my body that haven’t been touched in a while but are now screaming for it with all their might.

On the back of my neck, where tiny hairs pull up.

My breasts were rock hard against the inside of my bra.

The painful ache at the opening of my cunt.

We keep making out, enjoying the present moment, and fulfilling our wants. We’re not going to step on this moment in our hurry to get to a fuck. We are here. We hug and kiss. We let our excitement grow.

We value this fully charged chemistry as much as it deserves.

And we make out for the duration of a song we both enjoy—a song with big feelings about important life stuff. And at the end of that song, we break apart and make noises like, Oh wow, and fuck yeah, and that was pretty cool, wasn’t it?

After that, the next song starts.

I know what it is in three notes, which means I know exactly what I want to do. I think at least 70% of you already know what the song “Why not me” is about: I wanted to slowly and firmly ride that hot guy’s fabulous dick.

Not only does this man kiss very responsively, but he’s also open to ideas, both spoken and unspoken. So when I lie on top of him and start to grind my fully clothed body against his fully clothed erection, he reacts by grinding back gently while leaving that slow, passionate kiss. The kiss lasts for a long time, with only brief breaks for soft moves down the neck or up to the forehead and deep eye contact now and then.

I often get scared when I make eye contact during sex. I worry that the look is a request that I need to meet. I didn’t feel that way when we looked at each other. The way you looked at me really sunk in and made me feel everything else more strongly. Touching, being warm, and shaking so hard. It hit me that I was having so much fun that my underwear was wet against my legs. I could feel myself gushing with every firm rub of flesh against flesh and was hyper-aware of every taut thud about an inch deep inside me as my heart beat fast with desire.

It wasn’t weird to look at each other. The look in your eyes hit me right in the face.

While straddling him with their legs spread wide, they put light pressure on the spot where his rock-hard dick made it hard to frot. While he sang the first few lines of Why Not Me, he made me move around in his lap while I was high and happy.

And he replied. In time. It felt like we were dancing slowly.

I repeated my steps, kiss for kiss, pulse for pulse, and thrust for thrust, until I lost track of who was in charge and who should follow.

I’m not embarrassed to tell you that I almost came in my fucking underwear.

We didn’t fuck to that song because we were too busy frotting and making out. I was taking pleasure in the way he’d sometimes let out these horny sighs. I liked how his hands shook when he touched me. What color his eyes were, Jesus Christ, half-closed and drunk to death.

His cock was stiff as he pushed back up against me, perfectly matching my pace. As I was at that very moment, meeting me where I was with understanding, acceptance, energy, and playfulness.