Sore as Hell.
Note: Due to the circumstances described below, the tone of this entry will not by my usual circumspect style.
Yes, I am. Because, for the first time in almost four years, I had sex.
And, dammit all to hell, it was pretty good sex.
I did things I hadn't done for even longer than four years. Things to please a man. Which is so not me.
So here's the thing. I went prepared, but not anticipating.
I'll give him this: he is smooth. I haven't been "maneuvered" like that since my Nupe. And, now that I'm thinking about it, one day, sore thighs and booty, later, I've got the key. The key to how easy it was for me to have sex. How easy it was to fall into the game plan. How easy it all was: the laughter, the conversation.
He fucking reminds me of The Nupe. Same build, same anti-authority attitude, same intelligence, same ambition. Better furniture (understandably) and home. Different accent, but an accent nonetheless. And that shit drives me crazy. Fucking crazy. Because TN is, to this day, the only ex I'd take back.
We fought like cats and dogs. We dissed each other regularly. And his was the only number I'd call when I was fiending for dick. Ever. No shame. 1 am. Snow coming down hard. Once I called him before I went to the airport, to make sure he was going to be at home when I got back to school. I baked that +!&&@ a sweet potato pie. In a dorm oven. I almost moved in with him--based solely on sex. Beautiful eyes. Arrogant as hell. DP. NEVER dropped a cane. Ever. And knew what the fuck he was doing between the sheets. I still masturbate to shit we did. 10 years later.
So, last night, I couldn't put my finger on it, but the night was familiar. Easy cameraderie, easy segue into the bedroom. Silly me, I left my purse in the living room, as my reminder to not do anything. I was watching the movie, making comments, cracking jokes, and I looked over at him while he was watching the screen, and it hit me: "I'm going to fuck him." And I was calm. I was sober. I was rational. My usual behavior. I knew I was going to have sex soon. But I didn't know why him. I thought it was going to be another.
But I appreciated his company. I appreciated his skills. I appreciated that someone wanted me.
And it was so easy to just go with the flow. Then he uttered three words that mesmerized me, for whatever reason. And threw me into a tizzy. Which lasted until I washed my hair tonight.
Maybe South Pacific had it right: I just needed to wash that man out of my hair. Because I was going from one extreme to the other: why did I have to sleep with him so soon? We could have been an item. I'll never see him again. But I will. I have to, it's a small world. Then I started thinking, "I gotta get into shape! I'll be having sex regularly!" Vacillating between feeling sexy and doing my bellydance moves and feeling like a beached whale and wondering why he fucked me.
I am trying to not think negatively, I really am. I even distracted myself by playing with my hair. And washing my hair helped. Sure I need to do whatever I was going to do in my whirlwind of self-improvement. But I need to do it because the man for me, who will, most likely, remind me of TN, is out there. And I need to be ready and giving off the right signals to him.
But I'd like to fuck him again. Regularly. And well.
Sore as Hell
Yes, I am. Because, for the first time in almost four years, I had sex.
And, dammit all to hell, it was pretty good sex.
I did things I hadn't done for even longer than four years. Things to please a man. Which is so not me.
So here's the thing. I went prepared, but not anticipating.
I'll give him this: he is smooth. I haven't been "maneuvered" like that since my Nupe. And, now that I'm thinking about it, one day, sore thighs and booty, later, I've got the key. The key to how easy it was for me to have sex. How easy it was to fall into the game plan. How easy it all was: the laughter, the conversation.
He fucking reminds me of The Nupe. Same build, same anti-authority attitude, same intelligence, same ambition. Better furniture (understandably) and home. Different accent, but an accent nonetheless. And that shit drives me crazy. Fucking crazy. Because TN is, to this day, the only ex I'd take back.
We fought like cats and dogs. We dissed each other regularly. And his was the only number I'd call when I was fiending for dick. Ever. No shame. 1 am. Snow coming down hard. Once I called him before I went to the airport, to make sure he was going to be at home when I got back to school. I baked that +!&&@ a sweet potato pie. In a dorm oven. I almost moved in with him--based solely on sex. Beautiful eyes. Arrogant as hell. DP. NEVER dropped a cane. Ever. And knew what the fuck he was doing between the sheets. I still masturbate to shit we did. 10 years later.
So, last night, I couldn't put my finger on it, but the night was familiar. Easy cameraderie, easy segue into the bedroom. Silly me, I left my purse in the living room, as my reminder to not do anything. I was watching the movie, making comments, cracking jokes, and I looked over at him while he was watching the screen, and it hit me: "I'm going to fuck him." And I was calm. I was sober. I was rational. My usual behavior. I knew I was going to have sex soon. But I didn't know why him. I thought it was going to be another.
But I appreciated his company. I appreciated his skills. I appreciated that someone wanted me.
And it was so easy to just go with the flow. Then he uttered three words that mesmerized me, for whatever reason. And threw me into a tizzy. Which lasted until I washed my hair tonight.
Maybe South Pacific had it right: I just needed to wash that man out of my hair. Because I was going from one extreme to the other: why did I have to sleep with him so soon? We could have been an item. I'll never see him again. But I will. I have to, it's a small world. Then I started thinking, "I gotta get into shape! I'll be having sex regularly!" Vacillating between feeling sexy and doing my bellydance moves and feeling like a beached whale and wondering why he fucked me.
I am trying to not think negatively, I really am. I even distracted myself by playing with my hair. And washing my hair helped. Sure I need to do whatever I was going to do in my whirlwind of self-improvement. But I need to do it because the man for me, who will, most likely, remind me of TN, is out there. And I need to be ready and giving off the right signals to him.
But I'd like to fuck him again. Regularly. And well.
posted by Ms. Sidra at 22:49
2 Recitations
well as long a you didnt suck the fun out of it i'll leave it alone. hope the hair styling was fun, talk to you later.
Yes, being so out of practice, and all. And that is one regimen I probably wouldn't complain about, should I be able to regularly schedule it, LOL
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