there is something to be said for plain, old, ordinary, vanilla style missionary sex. there is also a lot to be said for animalistic, sweating, hanging from the rafters sex but that’s another post.
my current lover and i are the kind of people who like a little spice in our lives. he thinks it’s hot that i write sex toy reviews (he participates in some of the testing of course) and spread my particular brand of sex around the internet and i think it’s hot that he has a strap-on in his drawer and fantasizes about us fucking each other’s asses.
what makes this funny is that we are still basically having missionary sex. it’s not that we don’t have plans to try other positions, we do. we discuss said plans regularly and, in fact, have nefarious plans for my window sills, my kitchen counters, my car, his desk at work, the back of his couch, several lovely places outdoors around the city and even my tent.
we want to try at least ten different positions to start with and both of us have interest in trying a feeldoe and a strap-on and fucking each other every way from sunday.
and yet? and yet we’re not doing any of those things.
we are lost in the enjoyment of simpler pleasures. more traditional postures if you will.
he likes to lick me until i writhe with pleasure and then watch my face as i come and feel my body as it shudders it’s release into his mouth.
i like to feel his beautiful cock grow in my mouth or my hand until i can hardly believe that it’s real. i like to feel it’s head tease my lips or run itself along my channel. i want it against me as we make out like teenagers, albeit naked.
we like to feel him slide slowly but certainly into me, the extra-wide portion of his diamond shaped penis catching momentarily just inside my entrance before easing on home.
we like to move together, slowly or quickly or jackrabbit fast. pausing and readjusting, mouths occasionally meeting to kiss to the rhythm our hips will fall into. he perched above me on shaking arms or faces buried in each others necks as we tremble and shudder and often come together at least once like lovers out of some romantic tale.
i say ‘at least once’ because he likes to come two to seven times per “penetrative act” before finally collapsing, spent, to lie beside me and pant. it’s not so hard to match him at least once if i get so many kicks at the can.
[i do not mean he has a full arousal cycle two to seven times, i mean that he comes more than once per round of arousal and is what i would describe as multi-orgasmic.]
i think that we like this plain old missionary so much for several reasons; not the least of which is that it’s *fun.* but more than that we are lost in the newness of our feelings for and discovery of each other and i think that being able to look into each other’s eyes while out bodies join is especially important to us.
moreover there are the words. the words that we whisper to each other as we sigh blissfully into each other’s mouths or necks or ears.
it’s as though somehow the simpleness of the act is all that we need right now. we know what we will do someday and we’re quite excited about the myriad possibilities open to us but we know also that we have all the time in the world.
there is an entire menu out there waiting for us and yet? the first item is utterly sublime and so difficult to pass by on the way to the more exotic fare further down the list.
could be worse huh?
