Thoughts Of The Sex Variety

This was written as part of a private entry in an online diary I keep. I don't mind sharing it here.

---

Is it possible, truly possible, that I am beautiful? Loveable? I believed that in his arms. I felt it. From laying next to him on the bed that first night in the hotel and feeling his ... maleness? radiating to coming feeling him moving in my ass, I felt like I was alive. Like some long lost part of me had been found again and it was flaming into light once more. It wasn't in the context of marriage like I'd thought my first would probably be. But I don't mind and I don't regret it.

That first question. "May I kiss you?" The feelings that rocketed through me ... "He wasn't lying when he said he wanted me. What does that mean? He wants me? I ... want ... I want him."

A decision. A nod.

His body was warm and gentle-heavy over mine as he leaned down and his lips met mine, whisper soft, then hungrier. He gently slipped his tongue into my mouth and I returned. So this is kissing? I ... like. As he said, it's this small space where the definition between the two of you blurs. Soft and melding and he reached down and clasped me and I thought I could do nothing else and die happy.

"I'd like to take your shirt off."

Another nod. I sit up and raise my arms. He helps me slide out of it. A white bra, I think, I'd chosen. Symbolism. Then he reached for the back of my bra. Some observer part of my brain wondered if I should be worried, but I just wanted. His warmth against the back of me as he worked with the clasps ... so close, so warm. For one who does not regularly get touch, I could have drowned in that moment. I laid back to his welcoming gaze, simultaneously scared and wanting.

All I am was all I could offer. I am no beauty queen, but I offered what -- who -- I am. A soft smile as he asked if he could take my pants and underwear off. Honesty and need warred. "Yes." Fear of rejection and need blended as he did just that. A calm glance up at him as I lay nude on the bed. Him nude, beautifully male, solid planes against my softness.

Some corner of my mind wondered why I hadn't felt it important to turn the light off, to camoflauge my flaws. But I didn't and I didn't care.

The first nude kiss. Softness and strength blending, textures and tastes and smells and heat and cool blended. His mouth descending to my toes and the shiver at feeling such unfamiliar things on such utilitarian parts of my body. His eyes staring hungrily from so close and I could feel the force of their gaze like a physical touch. Hands in my pussy, touching gently, and I didn't know where they would go. His hand moving the vibrator quick and hard and the aching ball of flaming butterflies in my gut. The first orgasm in -- who knows how long not self-induced.

"I'd like to taste you."

Oh God.

Nod.

"Spread your legs for me."

A jolt of wetness. Pleasepleasepleaseplease. My eyes roll back as I feel him spread my lower lips and delve in. Tongue on the clit, tongue in the vagina, dancing fast, licking slow. I dive under the pillow lest my groans spread too far across the hotel. But on the other hand I didn't care. I am not the broken girl I was. I chose this and I'm loving him and he's loving me and I love who I am. Do you want to hear that? Those screams are both of passion and liberation.

I tremble as he moves up to lie next to me and his eyes speak volumes. We move to the shower and I smile at the monumental otherworldliness of watching him step into the shower and moving in after him. A look of wide-eyed wonder and we meet and blend beneath the shower water.

His fingers move in me to clean me and I nearly drop to the ground at the sensation. The bar of soap moves and moves slickly over me until my skin is aching from the feel of being touched, and I know for the first time in years that I'm alive and not some ghost flittering through the outskirts of life. His touch has given me flesh again, and it hungered.

My mind drifts into an erotic haze until I'm not sure where fantasies shared on the phone and thoughts in my head and reality are which. I move back against him as a finger slides up my ass and I'm panting sweating heaving against the front of the shower. Hungry kisses reaching behind me to him, all wet and slippery and hot together.

We slide under the sheets together and I'm just struck by the otherworldliness of there being a nude man in the bed next to me. That I won't wake up the next morning alone. Somebody there. Am I dreaming? Please don't wake me up.

He stands by me at the window the next morning and we kiss. It wasn't a dream, because this is the day, and he is here and I can touch and feel him.

Holding hands at the Kennedy School while we wait for our food, talking about politics, it's so much want and beauty in the moment that I have to gulp back tears. This is a hand in mine. And he offered it. His eyes speak and I am scared almost of the depth but I want and need and suspect mine probably speak the same message.

We return to the room to explore each other more. Kisses begin it again, and once more boundaries blur. His mouth moves below again and I am lost in the feeling. Don't find me, please ... let me get beyond me and the world and fly. Please.

Again I see he wants me. Is this me? Really? I want him so much.

"Take me in your mouth, just a moment," he says.

Uncertainty, but willingness. My turn to give, and I am pleased he allows me this. I move down, grasping him in my hand, feeling its own warmth and life. My lips move over the tip and I begin to suck and love the feel of it warm against my tongue. I try to be careful of the teeth as I do, and move my tongue over the shaft, the tip. I kiss gently down the length and take it again.

It makes me shiver to hear him moan, to know I have this little bit of power and can use it well. He says I am beautiful, and for that moment, I believe. His hands move my hair and I can't breathe for the perfection of the moment.

We make other explorations, fumbling off and on as all new lovers do, and it makes me smile. We move to other things, no conscious plan, just driven by ourselves and the moment. Tears come and I can't explain why but I kiss him frantically to make it go away and so he knows it's not him. I hear him care and I don't know what to do but to take it and feel it and love and breathe.

Breathe. That's what I can do. I did it there. Free air. Aeropagitica. It was mine.

The bed was ours for a few days. Pale yellow sheets, warm fuzzy blankets. Warm fuzzy is so trite, but so appropriate. Tangled memories of tangled limbs and warm body against mine and hungry lips and moving hands and want and healing and everything.

It struck me to explore with him. We talked of fisting and tried it just for the heck of it. Hands smoothed with lubrication, he added more and more until my bone structure limited anything more. No fear. Just want as we pushed boundaries and he began moving his hand in and out and I stretched in my mind and heart and in my body. I burned and he stoked the fire. Nerves never touched fired and I felt like a phoenix dying and being reborn again and again.

Funny moments of fucking my breasts. Slickly smooth, clenched, seeing his length moved between them. Amusement just for sheer outsider-look perspective, turn-on at this out of the ordinary act. An exploration.

I loved that nothing is out of the question for either of us, I don't think.

Showers together again, steamy kisses wrapped in hot water and nudity and moments. I could string those memories together alone and live on them and be pleased. To touch, to ... God. Touch everywhere. Reality wrapped itself in me as unreality touched its hands at the same time. I'm here in this shower with a nude man who has fingers up my ass and pussy and I want it so bad. Kisses. Hands. Want.

Hunger bites me and I push myself atop him, slightly, demanding kisses, my hand behind his head, pulling him tighter. Power distills throughout my body and I am more turned on. Reaching down to clasp him, feeling him move slowly in and out of my hand.

Feeling nakedly vulnerable with my ass in the air offered to him, waiting for the slick coolness of lube and the quick pleasure-pain of his entrance. Wildly turned on at the same time. Pushing back against him as he pushes into me, groaning my deep pleasure. Nakedly pleased as he takes from me and I give and it's an endlessly self-stoking fire. Head to the side and he moves forward to kiss me briefly and the naughty edge and the feel of him and the edge of pain-fullness-pleasure send me over the edge. I love and burn and fly.

Moment of worry as he gasps as I'm sucking him. "What are you doing?" he says in a panicked voice himself. He says it is lovely but overwhelming. Surprised yet oddly pleased, I slide up to him again and we kiss and I am him and he is me and we sort it out later.

Lust-filled kisses and groping on the couch. Need burns both of us, I think. I am dizzy with lust when he kneels over me and presents me his cock.

Lovely moments of just breathing together.

That's what sticks.

Touches grabbed on the train and bus. His hand on my face, and I can't help myself but to move into it. A finger slipped into my mouth and I suck and nibble.

Promises. Promises good for then and the future.

I learned much about who I am through everything. Someone who is not nearly as afraid as she thinks. Someone who loves and can love and be loved. Someone who needs and wants. Someone who can give pleasure to another.

Someone loveable.